The 1885 P. Ryan Packing Box Building - 109 Reade Street

 

The Ray family purchased the two-and-a-half story Federal style house at 109 Reade Street in 1833, at a time when the block was lined with similar residences.  Half a century later Patrick J. Ryan ran his packing box business from the converted De Raismes house next door at 111 Reade Street.  But in 1885 he would have move his operation as Maria L. Combes planned to replace that old structure with a modern loft and store building.

The Richard Ray estate followed suit and hired the same architects Combes had commissioned, Berger & Baylies, to erect a nearly identical building on the site of the ancestral Ray house.  Completed that year (and slightly ahead of its twin), 109 Reade Street was faced in red brick above a cast iron storefront.  Its neo-Grec design included projecting pilasters at the sides, segmentally-arched windows at all but the third floor, and touches of stone trim.  Decorative cast iron tie rod plates decorated the piers between the third and fourth floors, and the eye-catching cornice included a prominent semi-circular pediment.  Perhaps because this building was completed slightly before its twin, Patrick Ryan moved his business into this structure.

Trow's Business Directory, 1898 (copyright expired)

The 1890's was a period of extreme police corruption in New York City.  Businessmen like Patrick Ryan dealt with extortion from officers who, in Ryan's case, threatened to fine them for obstructing the sidewalk during loading and unloading freight.  And the extracted bribes were significant.

In 1894 the State Senate formed the Lexow Committee to investigate corruption within the Police Department.  Patrick Ryan was called to testify in 1895 but, like so many other businessmen who feared retribution, he was a reticent witness.  Nevertheless, when confronted with canceled checks written by him--each for $100 each and marked "police money"--he conceded that they covered police "tariffs" on the sidewalk.  Each of those checks would equal more than $3,300 in 2022.

Following Ryan's death around 1902, the P. Ryan business was inherited in equal shares by his children, Francis J. Ryan, James T. P. Ryan and Minnie A. O'Shea.  They continued to run it until about 1914.

In 1915, a new tenant moved into 109 Reade Street--the Crescent Talking Machine company, which leased to floors for storage.  Established a year earlier, the firm manufactured not only record players, but the discs themselves.  The company moved its entire New York operation to Reade Street in 1917, leasing the entire building.  In its May 15, 1917 issue, The Talking Machine World reported, "The sales department, executive offices, repair department and factory of the Crescent Talking Machine Co., Inc., are now gathered under one roof...The production of the Crescent factory is very large, for now that they are manufacturing most of their own motors; practically everything in the Crescent machine is turned out in their own factory."

Talking Machine World, May 15, 1917 (copyright expired)

An advertisement in 1919 boasted that the Crescent phonograph, unlike some manufacturers, played all records.  "The repertoire of the Crescent is not limited to a few singers or musicians under contract with a single record manufacturer, for it plays all records made anywhere by anyone in the world."

Phonographs were not a frivolous investment.  A 1922 advertisement depicted three models, ranging in price from $68 to $198.  Converted to 2022 dollars, the most expensive, the "Queen Anne." would cost more than $3,000.

The Crescent Talking Machine Company went out of business around 1922, the same year that the Ray estate sold 109 Reade Street to the Markham Realty Company.  In reporting the sale on May 15, the New-York Tribune noted, "This is the first sale of the property since 1833."

The building still sported its pedimented cornice in 1941.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Significant change came in 1989 when a renovation was completed that resulted in one residential loft per floor above the store.  The basement space was purchased by James McGown for $1 million in 2006.  He and his tenant, Dimitri Dimoulakis, were slapped with a lawsuit in 2010 for having converted the condo into an "extreme party" space, according to The Post.  Outfitted with a stripper pole, swings, and a slide, clients cold rent the "Playful Tribeca Loft" for $400 a night.  One commentator called it, "what I imagine a residential sex club would look like."

With that chapter behind them, the residents of 109 Reade Street moved on.  Although sadly shorn of its 1885 cornice, much of the building's original detailing survives.

uncredited photographs by the author

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The 1886 De Raismes Building - 111 Reade Street

 

When wealthy fancy goods importer John F. Q. De Raismes moved into his 25-foot-wide, three-story home at 111 Reade Street in 1833, the block was lined with similar, upscale residences.  The situation had dramatically changed by 1885 when his granddaughter, Maria L. Combes acquired the property.  The expansion of the Manhattan's commercial district had pushed homeowners further north, and the block had filled with businesses.  Combes commissioned the architectural firm of Berger & Baylies to design a five-story replacement building on the site.

The firm simultaneously designed a nearly matching building next door at 109 Reade Street for Patrick Ryan (who had been up to now leasing the converted De Raismes house).  Like its neighbor, 111 Reade Street was faced in red brick above a cast iron storefront.  Its neo-Grec design included projecting pilasters at the sides, segmentally-arched windows at all but the third floor, and touches of stone trim.  Decorative cast iron tie rod plates decorated the piers between the third and fourth floors, and a semi-circular pediment, announcing the building's name, was incorporated into the terminal cornice.

The De Raismes Building was leased to the Salvation Army.  Founded in London in 1865 by William Booth with assistance from his wife, Catherine, the Salvation Army waged "warfare against evil," complete with military-styled uniforms.  William Booth lived in England and the American work was overseen by his son Ballington Booth and his wife Maud.  On the ground level was a large assembly room, while the upper floors were occupied as various offices and meeting rooms.

One of those upper floor spaces was used for the organization's publishing operation.  Here were published periodicals like  the weekly Stridsropet, "containing interesting news and articles from Swedish comrades all over the world;" All The World, a monthly magazine about the Salvation Army's work; and The 'Deliverer,' a monthly journal concerning its social reform work.  It also published sheet music and occasional books, such as Ballington Booth's From Ocean to Ocean; or The Salvation Army's March During 1890, From the Atlantic to the Pacific. 

In her 1890 Beneath Two Flags, Maud Ballington Booth wrote, "The Headquarters, 111 Reade Street, New York City, has sixteen thousand square feet of office room for staff, secretaries, accountants, and other employés.  We own our printing-presses, type, etc., valued at $8000, and our War Cry is set up, printed and published on the premises."

The very symbol of women against sin, Maud Booth shocked a reporter from the New York World in September that year.  She began her article saying, "Cigarettes!  I fairly gasped with astonishment and could not credit the evidence of my senses."  Mrs. Booth had entered her office, having completed a "consecration meeting" in the large assembly hall, and sat down behind her desk.  As she began telling the reporter of the Army's good works, she was interrupted.  "Pray pardon me, if I am very ill-bred and inquisitive, but are those really cigarettes?"

Mrs. Booth's cigarettes were contained within a velvet case embroidered with her initials.  "Won't you try one?" she offered.  And when the reporter drew one out, it proved to be a small scroll of rice paper, inscribed with a Bible verse.  "Yes, these are Salvation Army cigarettes," Maud Booth said.  The interview then continued.

In November 1893, preparations were underway for the annual Salvation Army Congress.  On November 11, The Evening World wrote:

An army will invade New York next week, but its mission will be a peaceful one, and New Yorkers need have no fear of thundering guns and devastating bombs.  There will be no carnage and no pillaging, or looting or burning.  Only a sortie by the Salvation Army, who will hurl Christianity via rapid-fire oratorical howitzers with the deafening but non-destroying fanfare accompaniment of brass and cymbal and drum.

A journalist from Harper's Bazaar likened the headquarters to a beehive, "honeycombed with little offices, most of them airless and gas-lit; the passages are narrow and the stairs steep, and through and up and down them the busy workers are running."

By then the organization was outgrowing its Reade Street headquarters.  On May 26, 1894 the Real Estate Record & Guide reported that plans had been filed for a new building at 120-124 West 14th Street.  After the Salvation Army moved into its new building in 1895, 111 Reade Street was leased to the Enterprise Rubber Company.

At the beginning of the 20th century, Milton J. Meyer & Co., dealers in children's shoes, occupied the first three floors.  Also in the building were Cavanagh Bros., a wooden ware establishment, and the Nearwine Company, makers of "Nearwine," a non-alcoholic beverage.

On the night of March 14, 1905, fire broke out in the basement.  A second alarm was sent in by Fire Chief Croker, "owing to the proximity of the hotel," said The New York Times.  (The Cosmopolitan Hotel was directly behind the building.)  "Lines of hose were carried through the hotel cellar, and within a few minutes the fire was under control."  Croker estimated the damage at $2,000 (about $63,500 in 2022).

Despite the damage, Milton J. Meyer & Co. remained in the building until 1909.  The firm specialized in "school shoes" at a time when boys and girls were expected to dress appropriately for any occasion, including for school.

Boot and Shoe Recorder, June 27, 1906 (copyright expired)

In 1913 the ground floor and basement were leased to the Union News Co. for its news and cigar store; while C. H. Fischer & Co. operated from one of the upper floors.  Since 1875 the firm had manufactured Fischer's "Blue Ball," a laundry "washing crystal."  

from the collection of The Huntington Library

Sadly, although the firm had been operating in the United States for over four decades, C. H. Fischer's German roots made him a target of the Government when the United States entered World War I.  The assets of the firm were confiscated by the Alien Property Custodian for having "enemy interest," according to the 1919 "Administration of Alien Property Statement."

In 1938 the American Pistachio Corporation leased the building.  Run by Syrian-born Fathallah Coussa, on April 17, 1943 the Peekskill newspaper The Evening Star called it "one of the oldest importers of pistachio nuts in this country."

In 1941, both 109 and 111 Reade Street retained their rounded parapets.  from the NYC Department of Records & Information Services.

The firm suffered a financial and public relations setback in 1959.  On January 27, 1960, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin reported, "The State Pure Food and Drug Administration has destroyed 975 pounds of contaminated pistachio nuts shipped here in June and November, 1959."  The customer, Jimmy's Albalone Chips Company "discovered worms and bugs crawling in the cans," said the article.  Despite the embarrassing incident, the American Pistachio Corporation thrived in the building for more than two more decades. 

Then, in 1997, the Tribeca Renaissance caught up with 111 Reade Street.  The upper floors were converted to residences, one per floor, and the ground level became home to the Tribeca Playhouse.  The theater operated here through the early years of the 21st century, after which the space was occupied by the popular bar, Ward Three.  In 2022 it was replaced by Winston's, a bar created by Sage Laforte.

photographs by the author

no permission to reuse the content of this blog has been granted to LaptrinhX.com

Berger & Baylies' 1887 138-140 West 10th Street

Adam Happel was both a real estate agent and a developer.  Many of the tenement buildings he erected in the 1880's were on the Lower East Side.  But in the spring of 1887 he turned his attention to Greenwich Village.  On April 30 his wife, Mary, purchased the property at No. 140 West 10th Street from Sarah a. Hedden.  There was a two-story brick house on the property along with a brick stable in the rear yard.  The price was $13,950, or about $380,000 today.  A few weeks afterward the architectural firm of Berger & Baylies filed plans for a "five-story brick tenement" on the site.

Three months later, on August 25 Adam Happel purchased the two-story brick-front house next door at No. 138 West 10th Street, along with the two-story wooden stable in the rear from Alfred McIntire.  He paid the equivalent of $372,000 in today's money.  Berger & Baylies filed plans for another five-story tenement on September 2.  The construction cost for each was projected at $20,000--a total outlay including the property of more than $1.8 million in today's dollars.

Although they were separate buildings with, technically, separate owners, Berger & Baylies designed them to appear nearly as a unified structure.  In fact, there is not even a seam in the brickwork between them.  A marriage of neo-Grec and Queen Anne styles, they were faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone and terra cotta.  The design consolidated the two structures by continued stone bandcourses and shallow cornices and by slightly projecting the end bays of each.  

Wonderful decorative masonry supports adorned those bays between the third and fourth floors.  Terra cotta spandrel panels appear at this level and portrait keystones sit above the fourth floor openings.  At the fifth floor the central windows of each building sat below brick and stone arches.  Berger & Baylies stepped away from the unified design at the first floor and with the cornices.  No 140 was entered through double doors within a muscular stone portico above a stoop; while the single doored entrance of No. 138 saw discreetly between two wooden storefronts.  And each of the boldly-bracketed cornices engulfed its own raised section of terra cotta panels; clearly indicating that the buildings were separate entities. 

Adam and Mary Happel were apparently well pleased with the results.  They were listed as residents in No. 140 at least through 1889.  On November 30, 1891 both buildings were sold to Charles Lindner for $80,000, a satisfying $1 million profit in by today's standards.

Both buildings filled with a blend of working and middle class residents.  Arthur Matthewson lived in No. 138 in 1888.  He made his living as a coachman until November when he was accepted into the New York Police Department.  

Also living in the building at the time was Evelina Taylor and her husband.  Because he was a night watchman, Evelina was alone at nights.  She woke to a terrifying scene on the night of March 3, 1889.  The New York Herald reported that she awoke to find George Broderick, who happened to be the nephew of the former California Senator Broderick, in her room.  The article said he "terrified Mrs. Evelina Taylor...almost out of her wits by appearing suddenly at her bedside about one o'clock in the morning."  Her screams brought other tenants running and Broderick was "hustled off to the police station."

Once there he concocted the story that Evelina owed him money and he had simply showed up for payment.  That story soon fell apart and he fessed up.  "It was neither burglary nor worse villainy that had caused his intrusion upon Mrs. Taylor's privacy.  He had simply been 'painting the town,'" said the article.   Finding the street door unlocked, he entered.  Having pleaded drunkedness, he was fined $10--a significant $285 today.

Martin Lynch also enjoyed a drink.  As a matter of fact, The Sun flatly called him "a heavy drinker."  It did not help that he worked as a bartender in his brother Michael's saloon at No. 125 MacDougal Street.  Lynch, his wife, and their four children lived in No. 138 in September 1892 when he valiantly tried to stop drinking.  It resulted in a severe case of alcoholic withdrawal, or delirium tremens, better known today as the DT's.

The Sun reported that he was confined to his room for two weeks and that his wife closely watched him almost constantly.  But early on the morning of November 11 she fell asleep in the chair by his bed.  She was jolted away by the screams of one of her children and realized the bed was empty.  The Brooklyn Standard Union reported "While his wife was sleeping after many weary hours watching him, Martin Lynch, while suffering from delirium tremens, jumped or fell out of the second story window of his home, 138 West Tenth street, New York, early this morning and was found dead in the airshaft sometime later."

Next door lived a highly-respected physician, Dr. A. M. Fernandez de Ybarra, who worked at the Northern Dispensary.  A prolific author, he wrote an article on "A Case of Poisoning with Phenacetine" for the Medical Record while living here, published on January 23, 1892.   Two years later, he wrote the first comprehensive medical history of Christopher Columbus, published in the Journal of the American Medical Association.   Medical experts today credit him for describing symptoms which point to the fact that that Columbus was most likely suffering from syphilis by 1502.  

No. 140 was one of 18 buildings victimized by two teen-aged thieves on the night of December 17, 1891.  Nineteen-year old Paul Rogers and his 17-year old brother, Lloyd, who lived nearby at No. 251 West 12th Street, had plagued the neighborhood by stealing brass door knobs, letter box plates and "mouthpieces of speaking-tubes."  Their crime spree was brought to and end by the feisty janitress of No. 274 West 12th Street, Nellie Clark, on December 22.  

While Lloyd worked to remove the hardware, Paul stood watch, giving a loud whistle as warning when anyone approached.  Nellie Clark was aroused by the whistle that night and saw the boys flee.  She was close behind.

At the station house she identified two of the eight brass door knobs found in Lloyd's pockets as coming from her building.  The doorknobs from No. 140, it seems, were never recovered.

Twenty-five year old Robert Marilie worked as a delivery wagon driver for the Hamilton Noyes Company, trunk manufacturers, on Sixth Avenue at 23rd Street.  He was living at No. 140 in September 1899 when his courage was put to the test--and failed.

The New-York Tribune reported on September 28 that "a team of horses, drawing a big delivery wagon, covered and highly finished, ran away down Sixth-ave. yesterday from Twenty-third-st."  The wagon ran into several pedestrians and a peddler's cart, injuring all involved.  Policeman Stevenson "saw the runaway coming.  The horses were apparently making for the plate glass front of a millinery store on the west side of the street.  He dashed in front of them and seized the bridle of the nearest horse.  He could not keep his feet, but he hung on to the bridle, and was dragged along the pavement till within a few feet of sixteenth-st., where the horses turned into the curb and slowed up." 

Stevenson was badly hurt and removed to New-York Hospital.  The wounded civilians were treated on the scene.  But The Tribune reported that Marilie had "jumped from his seat at the start, and last night was not found."

In 1903 Irish immigrant John McNamara, "a likely looking lad," according to the Waterbury Evening Democrat, lived at No. 140 and worked in the kitchens of St. Francis Xavier College.  The young man had fallen in love with a "decidedly pretty girl, Nellie O'Grady," as described by the newspaper.  Their infatuation led to a public display of affection on an East River pier that shocked Detective Kirke on July 15.  He hauled both of them into the Jefferson Market Court.

The article explained "Kirke said he had done some courting himself but he never selected a stringpiece [the large timber at the head of a pier] on a recreation pier when in the throes.  He almost fell into the river at the hugging and kissing between Jack and Nellie.  It made him wilt a collar a minute when Jack would kiss Nellie, then Nellie would kiss Jack, then both would kiss and hug each other something awful, while the stringpiece swayed and the pier crowd sat around in enert [sic] helplessness."

When both assured the judge that they intended to get married as soon a Jack's got a raise in pay, he dismissed their case, saying "Discharged.  Now, if you want to spoon hereafter stay on St. Francis Xavier grounds.  Jack, I'll try to get your wages raised."

Anthony Risetti was 26 years old in 1912 and the owner of his own taxicab.  He worked during the daytime and on January 14, 1913 hired a second driver, John Stankark, for a night shift.  Ten days later Risetti's cab was found wrecked after being used in a daring armed robbery at Rohe Brothers' market on West 38th Street.  Stankark's story was astounding.

According to him, he was sitting in the cab on Seventh Avenue when a man asked if he could accommodate his steamer trunk.  Stankark agreed and the man directed him around the corner onto 26th Street.  They stopped at a building between Seventh and Eighth Avenues and the man asked Stankark to help him bring the trunk out.  Just as Stankark entered the front door he was hit by behind and stunned.  When he gathered his senses he saw the cab moving away with several men inside.

Police arrived at No. 138 the following morning when the cab was found abandoned, out of gas, and damaged in front of Columbia University.  The World reported "Rissetti led the police to Stankard, a big, stupid appearing youth, who told his story."

Interestingly, another resident of No. 138 also lost his taxicab ten years later.  On March 30, 1923 Edward Eddington (described as "a laborer") asked Bernard Van Domalen to take him to Coney Island.  They had gone only a few blocks when, according to The Brooklyn Standard Union, "Eddington told the driver he would like to eat and invited Van  Dormalen into a restaurant to dine with him."

As some point Eddington casually stood up and asked Van Domalen to wait there while he stepped outside to talk to a friend.  When his passenger did not return, Van Domalen walked out to see what was taking so long.  Both Eddington and the cab were gone.

It did not end well for Eddington, who was soon tracked down by cops in Brooklyn.  The Standard Union reported on March 31 that he was "taken to Kings County Hospital early to-day suffering from lacerations and a possible fracture of the skull as a result of a battle with three policemen who were arresting him on a charge of stealing a taxicab.  He put up a fight when cornered in a dark hallway in South Brooklyn after a long chase."

Another tenant of No. 138 was hailed as a hero later that year.  James P. Williams was visiting a friend at No. 41 West 8th Street when the building next door caught fire.  On November 16, 1923 The Evening Telegram reported "With flames licking the curtains of the windows back of her and smoke almost obscuring her from the horrified view of hundreds of persons who gathered in West Eighth street today, a woman clutching a huge cat, clung perilously to the coping above the doorway of the studio-apartment building at no. 43."

Mrs. Emma Von Zibler had been napping when her Maltese cat woke her by jumping on the bed and clawing at her face.  The room was already filling with smoke and the stairway was in flames.  Hearing her screams, Williams lowered himself from the second floor window, dropping to the coping above the doorway of No. 41.  "He teetered dangerously and then, recovering his balance, reached across, circling the wait of the screaming woman, he slowly inch by inch swung her to his ledge and from there she was taken through a window."  Emma never let lose of her cat the entire time.

The second half of the 20th century saw great changes in the Greenwich Village neighborhood.  In 1961 William Friedel and his twin brother, Bruce, opened their metal sculpture shop, Sculpsmith, in one of the storefronts of No. 138.  The 25-year-olds are considered by many to have originated the modern sunburst designs which became emblematic of the 1960's.  Collectors of their works included Sammy Davis, Jr., Malcolm Forbes, Jim Henson, Dom Delouise and former President Richard Nixon.  

Less pricey wares (some of the Fridel sculptures sold for as high as $60,000) are offered today by Jack's Coffee, which opened in No. 138 around 2008.

Berger & Baylies handsome 1887 structures have survived nearly intact, including the wooden storefronts.  They are a striking presence on an architecturally fascinating block.

photographs by the author
many thanks to reader James Ward for suggesting this post

170 Years of Remodeling - 19 West 26th Street

By the early 1850's the Joseph Giraud family lived at No. 19 West 26th Street on a block lined with similar brick or brownstone homes near the fashionable Madison Square.  Giraud had married Sarah M. Goodrich in 1815.  The couple had at least three children, Elisa Ann (who married Dr. Dudley P. Arnold on September 2, 1825), Susan M., and John G.  It is unclear exactly when Joseph died, but he left an estate estimated at $148,000--in the neighborhood of $4.5 million today.

Following Susan's marriage to Alexander H. Grant, the couple remained in the house.  Among his other positions Grant was a director in the Grocers' Fire Insurance Company.  

In the summer of 1854 Susan fell ill with what The New York Times called a "severe illness."  She declined rapidly and died on the morning of August 29 at the age of 33.  Her funeral was held in the house three days later.

Sarah Giraud seems to have seriously considered selling the house two years later.  In April 1856 Anthony Bleecker, one of the city's best known auctioneers, announced he would auction "at No. 19 West 26th-street, opposite Trinity Chapel, the catalogue comprising the unusual variety of very costly furniture of recent make and nearly new."  But then on the scheduled day of the auction an announcement appeared in the Morning Courier and New-York Enquirer advising "The Sale of Elegant Household Furniture" had been postponed.

John G. Giraud died on September 6, 1862 at the age of 39.  Newspapers reported that the funeral would be held "from the residence of his mother, No. 19 West 26th st., without further invitation."

The end of the line for the residence as a single family home came when Sarah died at the age of 77 on December 9 the following year.  As had been the case with the other family members, her funeral was held in the parlor.

Three months later, on March 31, 1864 The New York Times reported that the "house and lot" had been sold for $23,550--or about $483,000 today.  It was soon being operated as a high-end boarding house.

Among the first boarders was Edward Mott Robinson and his 30-year old daughter Henrietta, known familiarly as Hettie.    The Robinson family was the wealthiest whaling family in New Bedford, Massachusetts, Edward being the head of the Isaac Howland whaling firm.  But following the death of his wife, Abby, he sold off his interest in the company and became a partner in a New York shipping firm.

But on June 14, 1865, less than a year after they moved into No. 19, Robinson died.  Hetty inherited his $6 million estate.  Three months later her aunt, Sylvia Ann Howland, died, leaving Hetty another $2 million (a total windfall of $127 million in today's dollars).  Hetty was now one of the wealthiest women in America.  She married Edward Henry Green in 1867 and would become famous nationwide for her miserly ways in later years.

The rooms in No. 19 were advertised as being "In one of the most healthy and convenient localities in the city."  The upscale tenor of the boarding house was evidenced when the former proprietor of one of Manhattan's classiest hotels took over.

On September 28, 1875 an advertisement in The New York Herald read: "Mr. Lachenmeyer, formerly of Grand Hotel, having taken house No. 19 West Twenty-sixth street, can accommodate one or two families with elegantly furnished rooms (connecting if desired) and Board and attendance equal to any first class hotel."

The first of several alterations came after Michael Bergmann purchased the house.  He leased it to T. W. Dempter as proprietor, who in turn hired architect F. A. Greenough to make significant renovations.  His plans, filed on January 5, 1886, called for "front and internal alterations" at a cost of about $27,500 by today's standards.

Then only two years later Bergmann commissioned the architectural firm of Berger & Baylies to renovate the house to a "clubhouse."  Their plans included an addition to the rear.  The conversion spoke of the changes to the once-exclusive neighborhood.

On March 9, 1891 The Evening World announced "There will be a pool match, this evening, at the Madison billiard and pool parlors 19 West Twenty-sixth street, between P. H. Walan, champion of the State and the winner of the last two professional tournaments, and W. Murray, champion of the city of Brooklyn."  

Another major alteration came in 1895.  That year Bergmann once again repurposed the former house.  Architect George A. Schellinger removed the facade and replaced it with a front of Roman brick and limestone designed, for the most part, in the Renaissance Revival style.   The openings of each floor above the two-story storefront were treated differently.  Those of the third and fourth floors wore stylized Gibbs surrounds that complimented the quoins which ran up the sides.  The fifth floor sat above a slightly-projecting stone cornice; its arched windows framed by paneled Doric pilasters.

The top three floors now held rented rooms.  Phillip Wassung hoped to lease the storefront but the Board of Alderman dashed those plans.  On March 2, 1895 The New York Times reported that the board had denied Wassung's application "for a saloon license in the building 19 West Twenty-sixth Street, because the place adjoined Trinity Chapel School.  The application was opposed by the Trinity Church corporation."  Somehow, however, James Helde managed to squirm around the licensing problem.  Later that year The Evening World reported that rowdies were throwing bricks or rocks at the windows of Helde's saloon.

Robert B. Dedman got a job as a porter in the building that year.  He had the unenviable job of identifying the body of a friend, 27-year old Mamie Needab on April 1, 1896.  She had come to New York from Virginia at the beginning of the year and found work as a domestic in a house on Sixth Avenue.  

On April 2 The Evening World reported that police "had their dragnets out last night searching for a clue to the identity of the young colored woman whose mutilated body was found in front of the New York Bank Note Company's Building, Waverly place and Sixth avenue," three days earlier.  The article said that Dedman and Bemous Spruiedell, "both colored, called at the Morgue this afternoon and positively identified the body of the murdered girl."  It added "The last time the men saw her was at a cake walk at the Madison Square Garden."

One of the rented rooms was being used as an office in the fall of 1896; and it was the scene of a high-profile raid on October 1.  The New York Times reported that Joseph Ullman, "the greatest bookmaker in the United States;" his brother Alexander, "who is a plunger at the race tracks," Archibald C. Chandler and his assistant Frederick Fisher, "were arrested yesterday afternoon at 19 West Twenty-sixth Street in a room in which was found a great amount of evidence that convinces Anthony Comstock...that he can easily prove a violation of the law against gambling."  

Anthony Comstock was the secretary of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice and well-known to all New Yorkers for his indefatigable battle against obscene literature, gambling, prostitution and phony medicines.  He had been stalking "Joe" Ullman since he arrived from St. Louis.  The Times said "The Comstock agents who were on the trail of Mr. Ullman in this city fixed upon 19 West Twenty-sixth Street as the base of his operations."

Living here in 1898 was the actor Robert Hilliard and his wife.  When Hilliard came home around 9:00 on the evening of April 16, his wife told him that the janitor, William Jackson, "had been insolent to her."  Hillard called Jackson upstairs and asked for an explanation.

"Instead of explaining, Jackson swore in loud tones in the presence of Mrs. Hilliard," reported The Times, "and told her husband that he could go to the devil...Mr. Hilliard declared war at once and knocked the negro down by a blow."  It appeared to Hilliard that Jackson was reaching for some sort of weapon in his hip pocket, and he struggled with the man to prevent him from getting it.  After Jackson went back downstairs, Hilliard went to the West 13th Street Police Station.  But because it was Saturday, the actor was told that Jackson could not be arrested until Monday when Hilliard would be able to swear out a warrant. 

"Then, if that's the case," declared Hilliard, "I'll go and buy a gun.  I don't propose to have a drunken janitor around that house all night."  And so he did.

When he returned home Jackson was barring the doorway.  After Hilliard called Policeman Callan the janitor disappeared inside.  The officer told Hilliard to stand at the foot of the stairs while he searched Jackson's rooms.  In his absence, Jackson descended the staircase, once again putting his hand in his hip pocket.  It was a tense standoff, with Hilliard pointing the gun at him and saying "If you move that hand I'll shoot you dead where you stand!"  Jackson was arrested, but was so violent that it took a second policeman to get him to the station house.


In July 1898 Bergmann leased the store to men's clothiers H. Morley and Walter I. Wright for five years.  On October 25 that year a tiny advertisement, slightly disguised as an article, appeared on the front page of The New York Times:  A Well-Dressed Man Is Armed from head to foot for the battle of life.  Morley & Wright, merchant tailors, 19 West 26th St., four doors west of Broadway.  Moderate prices."

The apartments were unexpectedly commodious.  An advertisement in May 1902 offered "eight rooms and bath, modern improvements."

The Astor real estate offices were next door at Nos. 21 and 23 West 26th Street.  On January 15, 1910 the New-York Tribune reported "William Waldorf Astor bought for $100,000 the modern five story store and apartment building, No. 19 West 26th Street."  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide more cautiously deemed the building "comparatively modern."

Although Astor was permanently living in London, he continued his real estate business here.  By fall that year he had commissioned architect Clarence L. Sefert to convert the building into lofts.  His plans, filed on October 28, called for new interior walls, an electric elevator, plumbing and "electric fixtures."  It was a major make-over, costing a quarter of a million in today's dollars.

Upon the completion Astor leased the entire building to two tenants, fur manufacturer Jacob Adler, and fur importers Platky & Co.  Adler took the upper floors while Platky & Co. occupied the store and basement.

Other apparel firms soon subleased space.  In 1912 the Junior Dress Co. was here, and Goff Rose Burada, a manufacturer of children's garments, was on the top floor.  A water leak led to a court case between Burada and Astor in July 1913.

An Astor agent saw water leaking from the top floor and blamed Burada.  A standoff about who was responsible resulted in the landlord's shutting off the elevator to the top floor.  It was a major problem for Goff Rose Burada.  Not only were customers unwilling to walk up five flights, but some of the female employees quit.

Burada took the Astor Estate to court and won.  The court found that elevator service was "incidental, if not indispensable;" but because there was no definite proof of the monetary loss, Burada's victory was mainly symbolic.  The Sun reported on July 6, 1913 "the court awarded only nominal damages."

In 1914 the Standard Underwear Co. shared space in the building, subletting like the others from Jacob Adler.

In 1923 the Gotham Novelty Company was creating these children's outfits in the building.  Philadelphia Inquirer, May 1923

By 1931 John Guidotti of Florence was in the two-story store.  The firm marketed imported antiques and reproductions, including furniture, accessories (like mirrors), and paintings.  On January 30, 1937 a sale ad of "18th Century and Earlier Period" antiques appeared in The New York Sun.  John Guidotti of Florence would remain in the space for another four years.

It was replaced in May 1941 by a less glamorous dealer, The Reliable Metal Novelty Company.  In reporting on the 21-year lease, The New York Times noted "The novelty firm, which manufacturers and distributes bathroom fixtures and other metal products, is producing materials for the defense program."  The following February the 21-year old company added another floor to its lease; The New York Times explaining it "is expanding its quarters because of contracts on housing and defense projects."  The firm would remain in the building until around 1951.

At the time No. 19 was owned by Abraham Yarmack and it is almost assuredly he who removed the cornice and replaced it with a brick parapet with the conspicuous Y within a circular opening.

In the early 1950's Credda, Inc., a national distribution of aeronautical and electric parts and equipment was in the building.  Little changed to the property until the late 20th century when the second story show window was updated.

Today a century of dirt obscures the contrast of brick and stone.  And after a succession of major remodeling projects nothing, of course, outwardly survives of the 1850's Giraud house.  But deep within, remnants are still there.

photographs by the author

Berger & Baylies's 1886 No. 25 Grove Street

By the mid 1880s apartment house living had extended beyond crowded tenements.  "Flats" were being erected as housing not only for working class families; but also for the well-to-do.   At No. 25 Grove Street sat an old house typical for that section of Greenwich Village, formerly part of the Herring family's farm.  In the 1840s it had been home to School Board commissioner David E. Wheeler.

Developers George Rothmann and Ferdinand A. Sieghardt purchased the house and commissioned architects Berger & Baylies to replace it with a modern apartment building.  Richard Berger and Franklin Baylies had worked together in the office of prolific architect Griffith Thomas.  Not long after his death in 1879, they partnered; essentially taking over their former employer's practice.  An advertisement on May 20, 1882 noted "We have in our possession all of the drawings and specifications of buildings erected by Griffith Thomas, architect, which can be seen upon application."

The building, completed in 1886, cost $24,000 to construct--about $625,000 today.  It rose five stories above a full-height basement level.  The architects blended a brooding take on Romanesque Revival with neo-Grec elements--the incised decorations and square-headed lintels, for instance.  The basement was clad in rough-cut brownstone while the upper floors wore red brick trimmed in stone.  The last word in domestic architecture at the time, the weighty stone newels and iron railings, the ponderous entrance and somber carved decorations give a more forbidding feel to the building today.

The apartments--four per floor--filled mostly with white collar professionals.  Among the first was James G. Beach, who had previously lived above his Beach Pharmacy in the converted house at No. 533 Hudson Street.   Born in 1841, he enlisted in the Union Army towards the end of the Civil War, but according to The New York Times, "was soon mustered out of service."

In 1864 he opened his drugstore, which became a fixture in the neighborhood.  In 1891 the  History and Commerce of New York noted that he carried "a full line of drugs, patent medicines, chemicals and fancy articles being always on hand."

Among the patent medicines he carried was Paine's Celery Compound.  When The Evening World prepared a full-page article on "the wonderful remedy," it sent a reporter to the Beach Pharmacy in April 1894.  Beach's commendation would probably raise eyebrows today.  "I don't know what its ingredients are, but I do know that it sells better than any other proprietary medicine there is on the market.  It is an excellent remedy."

The History and Commerce of New York called Beach "a druggist of the widest range of experience and long practice, and is a graduate of the New York College of Pharmacy, and holds a certificate from the Board of Examination."

Early in 1898 Beach's health began to fail.  Finally in May he was forced to retire.  The unmarried druggist died in his Grove Street apartment five months later, at the age of 57.

Brownstone elements, including carved portrait keystones, have been seriously eroded.

Another of the early residents was George H. Schweitzer, the bookkeeper for Bartholomew Gray who ran a delivery company on Centre Street.  Schweitzer's professionalism and integrity were questioned during a City investigation of corruption in the the newly opened West Washington Street Market.

Vendor complaints exposed graft and bribery in the allocation of stalls.  Fish, produce and other dealers found themselves unable to obtain selling space without paying off certain officials.  One of those officials was Deputy Collector of City Revenue, David Barnett.

Schweitzer's employer had two stands in the market.  The bookkeeper was put on the stand to testify before the Commissioners of Accounts on March 17, 1889.  His seemingly nervous testimony did not help either his own reputation nor Barnett's case.

The Evening World reported "Schweitzer said that he had paid $137 for fitting up the stands.  He afterwards modified this statement by saying that Mr. Gray, his employer, paid the money to Barnett, who was requested to fit up the stands."

Schweitzer was asked to point out the transaction in his ledgers.  But there was no documentation of the payment.  "It was a cash deal," he explained.  The World noted "This is looked upon as a peculiar proceeding by the Commissioners, who have evidence to the effect that not one hook has [been] driven into the stands allotted to Schweitzer, and no attempt made to fit them up, notwithstanding this payment to an official of the Finance Department for the alleged purpose of making them ready for occupancy."

Handsome cast iron masonry supports were designed in a heraldic motif.

The O'Connor family lived at No. 25 Grove Street as the First World War broke out in Europe.  But it would be another battle that affected them in 1916.   The city was struck by devastating epidemic that year--poliomyletis, or infantile paralysis, better known as polio.

The disease caught doctors unaware, giving it a foothold.  Dr. Abraham Zingher of the Willard Parker Hospital explained on September 3 that year that "so little did the average practitioner know about poliomyelitis at the beginning of the present sweep of the scourge that many cases were treated as summer complaint or other common illness for several days before unmistakable symptoms of paralysis began to manifest themselves."

On September 4 the New-York Tribune ran that frightening headline "Experts Train Private Doctors to Curb Plague."  The same day the New York Times reported "The 8,197 cases to date...make this epidemic of the disease the largest ever recorded, and the 1,988 deaths give it one of the highest mortality rates on record."

Sadly, one of those deaths was little Agnes O'Connor, at No. 25 Grove Street.


Around the World War I years the building was sold three times, the last being to "a Mr. Birnbaum" for $42,000--about $575,000 in today's dollars and a noticeable decrease in value.

When war broke out in Europe again, young men from Greenwich Village shipped off to fight; many of them injured or killed.  Two of them lived at No. 25 Grove Street.  Private Frank P. Sposado's wife, Bernice, received word that he was injured in battle in January 1945.  Two months later, First Lieutenant Michael J. Green was wounded.   He lived here with his wife, Teresa.  Frank Sposado returned to duty, only to be wounded again in May.

Long a center of the arts and free-minded thinking, Greenwich Village was a hot spot of political and social activists beginning in the 1960s.  One resident of No. 25 Grove Street, Roger Smith, protested the Vietnam War through music.  City officials, it turned out, were not a fan of folk music.

On April 9, 1961 Smith and four others were arrested in Washington Square Park for violating a ban on folk singing.  The ban "against folk singing and guitar playing" was limited to Washington Square and had been recently issued by Parks Commissioner Newbold Morris.  The arrests provided impetus in part for the 2,000-member protest in the park on April 30, which resulted in further arrests and, according to The New York Times, near riots.

Another Grove Street resident went far beyond folk singing to make her protests clear.  Dianne Donghi was a member of the Students for a Democratic Society and the terrorist group, the Weathermen.  In July 1969 she traveled with Bernardine Dohrn to Havana to meet with Cuban officials.

On April 15, 1970 Donghi was arraigned with two other Weathermen, charged with conspiracy to plant bombs.  Described by The Times as "a thin, blonde girl," she was released on $15,000 bail on April 24; but was arrested the next day on charges of being a fugitive from justice in Illinois "where she was being sought for her alleged involvement in a bomb factory."

Berger & Baylies's somber building still has four apartments per floor.  Its somewhat grim presence is heightened by the regrettable damage caused by 130 years of weathering.  Its wonderfully unique personality on the block is, however, undeniable.

photographs by the author