Saturday, January 26, 2019

The Corn Building - 91-93 Fifth Avenue


photo by Beyond My Ken
New York, 1894, Illustrated commented on "a rising and well-known architect," Louis Korn.  The article said "He has made a first-class reputation for skill and reliability, and is fast making his way to the front in his chosen profession" and noted he had just prepared plans for "an eight-story fire-proof building, Nos. 91 and 93 Fifth Avenue, for S. & H. Corn."

At the time of the article brothers Samuel and Henry Corn were highly responsible for the ongoing transformation of lower Fifth Avenue from one of brick and brownstone mansions to modern commercial buildings as wealthy residents moved further north.  Louis Korn designed a Beaux Arts style structure faced in limestone and brick with terra cotta elements.  But what was more or less a typical design on the lower five floors became anything but above the fifth floor cornice.

Columned porticoes originally graced the entrances to the Corn Building. Architecture & Building, March 14, 1896 (copyright expired)  

Here floor-height caryatids sprung from bundles of leaves.  Unlike their Roman and Greek prototypes, the buxom figures wore no stolae nor other draping, but clasped their hands above their heads, exposing their nude torsos to Fifth Avenue.  Exquisitely designed and executed, they nevertheless must have drawn the gaze of  passing men while causing Victorian women to avert theirs.

The graceful if immodest caryatids upheld paneled pedestals which supported two-story engaged Corinthian columns.  A balustraded balcony ran the width of the seventh floor.  The sumptuous elements combined to make the upper portion of the Corn Building architecturally spectacular.

photo by Edmund Vincent Gillon from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Although construction was not officially completed until a year later, important tenants were already operating from the address in 1895.  That year London-based publisher Longmans, Green & Co., moved in; and another British publisher, the Oxford University Press, established its American branch here the following year.

The esteemed publishing firms were joined in the building by the editorial offices of the Library of the World's Best Literature.  Published in 31 volumes, it was an anthology of serious literature, "ancient and modern."  Its advisory council included professors from esteemed universities and colleges throughout the world.

There were a few tenants not involved in the publishing industry.  The Collins & Aikman Co., "upholstery goods," was in the building by 1898 and in 1899 the auction rooms of Bangs & Co. were here.  Bangs & Co. was not totally removed from publishing; its auctions routinely focused on rare books.  In April 1899, for instance, it advertised an upcoming auction of "A collection of standard and scarce works in several department of literature.  First editions, Americana, etc."

The early tenants remained for several years.  Oxford University Press stayed on at least through 1906, as did Bangs & Co., and Longmans, Green & Co. was still here in 1911.


By then, however, apparel firms were taking over the Fifth Avenue buildings.  In 1909 cloak manufacturer Peller Brothers operated from the seventh floor.  When fire broke out in the factory on March 5, the Fire Department's new high pressure engines were successfully put to the test.

The New-York Tribune reported "Flames were issuing from the windows of the seventh floor...The firm's offices were ablaze.  The high pressure stream quenched the fire before there was a chance for it to spread beyond the offices."


The Wanamaker Diary, 1916 (copyright expired)
Louis Hamburger & Co., textile merchants, took 15,000 square feet in the building in 1913; in 1916 the umbrella firm B. O. Wright & Co. leased the fourth floor; and in 1919 S. & W. Shirt Co. moved in.  No longer known as the Corn Building but instead by its address, by now it was entirely filled with apparel and related firms.

No. 91-93 Fifth Avenue was lost to foreclosure in the last years of the Great Depression.  It was sold at auction on January 19, 1938. 

The decline of the Fifth Avenue neighborhood in the second half of the 20th century did not seriously affect the building's architectural integrity; although the handsome entrance porticoes were sadly shorn off.

Like so many of the avenue's structures, vast interior spaces sat unused and neglected.  As was the case in Tribeca, artists were drawn to the large, empty floors.  One of them was commercial photographer John Pilgreen, who took an entire floor here in 1976.  He described it later as "a big, dirty, drafty Manhattan loft;" but its 12-foot ceilings and unobstructed space made it perfect for setting up scenes for his clients.  He paid $600 per month for the 3,000 square foot space.

But by 1981 the district was seeing a renaissance.  That year the owner raised his rent to $2,000 per month.  As lower Fifth Avenue was rejuvenated, the photographers and artists were forced to move on.

By 1988 the ground floor was home to Brownie's food shop and bakery and in 1991 Arc International, upscale furniture, operated from the third floor.   The seventh floor where Peller Brothers once manufacture cloaks was converted to two sprawling apartments in 1994.

Donald Trump's T Management modeling agency moved in in 2001 after Peter Guzy, a partner in Asfour Guzy Architects remodeled the space.  To eliminate a closed-in feeling, Guzy used half-in-thick glass walls.


photo by Beyond My Ken
The lower two floors have been home to J. Crew clothiers since 2005.  And for nearly 125 years the naked ladies of the sixth floor have stared down on an ever-changing Fifth Avenue.

Friday, January 25, 2019

The 1866 Benjamin F. Isherwood House - 111 East 36th Street


The entrance, now floating above what was once the basement door, originally wore an arched pediment; removed for an air conditioner.
Around 1866 developer Jacob Voorhies, Jr. completed construction of the impressive brownstone residence at No. 111 East 36th Street, between Park and Lexington Avenues.   Molded window surrounds, an ornate cast metal cornice, and the arched, double-doored entrance were all elements of an upscale Italianate-style residence.  At 25-feet wide and four stories tall above a high English basement, it was intended for a well-to-do family.

Instead, however, Voorhies sold the house to Louisa F. Rostan, who styled herself Mademoiselle Rostan.  At the time she operated her Mlle. Rostan's Young Ladies' School on 25th Street.  After a few months, No. 111 was ready to receive students.  On October 10, 1867 an advertisement appeared in the New-York Tribune:

Mlle. Rostan's select French and English Protestant School, No. 111 East Thirty-sixth-st., will be reopened on TUESDAY, the 24th of September next.  The course of instruction is thorough and systematic, and designed to combine a finished English education with the practical knowledge of the French and other modern languages.  Superior advantages are also offered in music, drawing and painting and all the classes are under the care of accomplished professors and teachers.  A very limited number of young ladies are received in the family and welcomed to share in all the comforts and privileges of a pleasant home.

As the advertisement mentioned, a few of the out-of-town girls lived in the house with Louisa and her husband.  All of the students were groomed for future lives in polite society.  Fluency in French, for instance, was indispensable for girls who would spend weeks abroad nearly every year.  They also learned the intricacies of Victorian deportment.


On March 28, 1868 Harper's Weekly reported on one daily ritual the girls would follow, the "morning walk."  Among the schools which had taken up the "pleasing custom," it said, was "the fashionable and well-known school of...Mlle. Rostan."  "These walks are usually taken every morning, and are sometimes repeated in the evening."  While the article described the walks as exercise, they were also a means by which the young ladies learned the rules of the promenade, when and how to greet other strollers, how to rebuff familiarity from someone unknown, and such.

Under the watchful eye of an instructor, girls take their morning walk.  Harper's Weekly, March 28, 1868 (copyright expired)

The end of each school season was capped by a ceremony to demonstrate what the students had learned over the past months.  On June 18, 1870 The New York Times reported "The parlors of Mlle. Rostan's Young Ladies' School, at No. 111 East Thirty-sixth-street, near Fourth-avenue, were filled by a very select attendance last evening, on the occasion of the closing exercises of the fair pupils, previous to the Summer vacation."   There were poetry and other readings, and "an interesting conversational exercise" to demonstrate fluency in French.  The ceremony, said the article "what with the fine vocal and instrumental music, the display of fragrant flowers and of pretty faces, was made to pass off in an enjoyable manner."

On January 3, 1872 Louisa Rostan sold No. 111 to Eliza Green for $50,000--just over $1 million today.  Four months later Louisa announced the opening of the school's new location, 20 blocks north on West 52nd Street, near Fifth Avenue.

Eliza Hicks Green had earlier been married to Dr. Benjamin Isherwood.  Their son, Benjamin Franklin Isherwood, was born on October 6, 1822.  His father died while he was still an infant.  Eliza remarried a civil engineer, John Green, whose profession may have influenced the life of Benjamin.  When the young man entered the United States Navy in 1844 he, too, was an accomplished engineer.

Eliza was once again a widow when she moved into No. 111.   It was almost assuredly her son who provided the money for the house.  In an 1863 letter to the Secretary of the Navy, Edward N. Dickerson noted that Isherwood "was the son of a widow named Eliza Green, who had been left in poverty, and had been supported by him."

That same year Benjamin Isherwood had been appointed by President Abraham Lincoln to the post of Engineer-in-Chief of the United States Navy.   It was Isherwood who developed the Navy's Bureau of Steam Engineering.  Under his direction the fleet of steam vessels increased to 600 during the Civil War.

In 1872 Isherwood, by now a rear admiral, moved his wife and five children into the 36th Street house with his mother (it was most likely always the plan).   It was most likely no coincidence that Admiral David Farrugat's home was next door.

In his 1965 Benjamin Franklin Isherwood, Naval Engineer, biographer Edward William Sloan, III described the house: "Solid mahogany and sterling silver fixtures were everywhere, even in Isherwood's private bathroom, where stood a huge copper bathtub, reputed to be one of the first installed in a private home in New York city."  Isherwood furnished the house with Second Empire style pieces brought from France.  According to engineer Frank W. Bennett in his 1897 The Steam Navy of the United States, Isherwood hired foreign-born artisans to decorate the rooms with frescoes, one of which depicted Pompeii.

Benjamin Franklin Isherwood from the collection of the National Archives.

In 1880 the title to No. 111 was transferred to Isherwood's name.  His children were now young adults.  Christina was the victim of a terrifying attack when she left the house on January 11, 1883 to attend a luncheon party with her cousin, "Miss Carpenter," at a friend's house on 57th Street.   They intended to take the Park Avenue streetcar, the tracks of which  ran below street level, passing through a tunnel.

Passengers descended a flight of steps to hail the Park Avenue streetcar.  photograph by Langhill & Bodfish, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York
The young women waited on the street until Miss Carpenter thought she heard the streetcar's bell and rushed down the steps ahead of Christina to signal the driver to stop.  As she did so, she passed "a tall man with sandy whiskers on the stairs, and a moment later heard Miss Isherwood cry out," according to The Sun.  The man had snatched Christina's handbag.  "Miss Isherwood, who is small, but courageous, resisted his attack, and he flung her upon the stone landing which interrupts the winding way.  He wretched the purse from her hand and ran up into the street with it."

The intrepid young woman rose to her feet and she and her cousin rushed after him, crying "Stop thief!"  A posse of pedestrians joined in the pursuit but lost sight of him around Third Avenue and 36th Street.  Nevertheless, the women gave clear descriptions to detectives.

In Christina's purse, which had cost her $17, contained a $20 gold coin, $6 in other currency, and a pair of opal and diamond earrings..  The Sun added "Her velvet gown was ruined by her struggle with the highwayman and her fall."  The article added that the description "has been recognized as that of a man who has for some weeks past been loitering around the tunnel and the houses in that neighborhood...Murray Hill is excited over the rather poor prospect of his capture."

But 52-year old William Barlow was shortly arrested.  Described by The New York Times on February 12, as "a broken-down English thief," a pickpocket and a tramp, he admitted to stealing the purse.  He had spent the money and pawned the earrings.  Although they were worth $50, he sold the pawn ticket to a barkeeper in a Chrystie Street saloon for $1.  The jewelry was tracked down in a pawn shop and identified by Christina, "who was delighted to see her property again."

In court on February 19, Barlow told the judge he committed the crime because he was out of work and had been without food or a home for days.  Judge Cowing was not moved.  "Your crime was a most serious one," he said.  "Young ladies who appear in our streets in broad daylight must be protected by the law."  He sentenced Barlow to 12 years and 6 months in the state prison.

Like the women in Louisa Rostan's school, Christina was a student of music.  In March 1899 she attended a performance of Meyerbeer's L'Africaine.  Also in the audience was The New York Times music critic, who was not impressed.  Following his unfavorable review, Christina fired off a letter to the editor.  She started off saying "Permit me to add one more protest against The Times's criticism of 'L'Africaine.'  Your critic must have left his thinking cap off when he penned that criticism."  Her own detailed and educated evaluation, several paragraphs long, followed.  She ended saying "Pardon my trespassing upon your time, but as one deeply interested in music and as a student of it since childhood, I cannot listen in silence when so fine a work as 'L'Africaine' is ridiculed."

Christina and her sister, Eliza, were both still unmarried and living with their aging father in 1907.  He transferred title to the house to them as "joint tenants" on October 7.  The transaction was listed on the documents as a "gift."

On June 19, 1915 Rear Admiral Benjamin F. Isherwood died on the 36th Street house at the age of 92.  The New York Times mentioned at the time "The steam engineering and construction building at Annapolis was named Isherwood Hall after him and bears a bronze statue to him, testifying of his services to his country."

By now Christina was living alone in the house.  She may have taken in a companion before long, however.  On February 17, 1919 The New York Times reported on the death of Jane Marsh Morehouse, noting "Funeral services from the house of her friend, Miss Isherwood, 111 East 36th St, Tuesday, February 18, 12 o'clock."

Christina was looking for a servant for both the city and country houses two years later.  Her ad on July 10, 1921 read "Chambermaid-waitress wanted, competent, for country."

Following her marriage to Carsten Boe, Christina leased No. 111.  It was home to George Eddy Donovan in 1926.  A graduate of the University of Dayton, he became engaged to Alice Augusta Roeth in December that year.

Ernest R. Shaw, a representative of the New York Air Terminals, Inc. was leasing the house in 1931.  The firm had acquired property at North Beach, Queens, for its "flying field."  That facility would later grow into LaGuardia Airport.

After having lived in the house several years, Ernest R. Shaw purchased it in September 1933 for precisely $75,587--an odd sum equal to about $1.43 million today.  It appears to have been a bad decision.   The following year, in October, the bank foreclosed and took possession of the property.

The Central Savings Bank initially leased the house.  By the early 1950's it had become home to inventor Willoughby Francis Hill and his wife, the former Lillian F. Dahl.  Hill's best known invention was the Lily cup--the pleated paper cup found at almost every drinking fountain and water cooler in America.

Hill explained that the concept came to him while he was an engineering student at Columbia University.  While in Central Park he stopped by a drinking fountain where a tin cup hung from a chain for the many users.  It struck the young man as being intolerably unsanitary.

Lab tests on the cup found it "dangerously contaminated."  Eventually Hill dropped out of college to focus on inventing a disposable cup and the machinery to manufacture it.  He went on to invent other paper items, like the frills placed on the ends of pork chops.

On May 9, 1954 the 60-year old suffered a fatal heart attack in the house.  Exactly how long Lillian remained in the house is unclear, but it was sold in July 1961 to Edith Harwood who immediately announced plans to alter it.  The renovation, completed the following year, resulted in two apartments per floor.

The stoop was removed and the entrance moved to the former basement level.  Oddly enough, the original entrance was left intact, hovering above the new doorway.  Although the carved surrounds of the windows were left untouched, the sills and their brackets were shaved flat.  Worse than breaking through the brownstone to accommodate room air conditions was the destruction of the pediment over the old entrance for the same purpose.


Despite the architectural vandalism, the house where well-heeled young ladies learned the fine arts of Victorian decorum and, later, a major figure in American military history once lived, still retains its 19th century dignity.

photographs by the author

Thursday, January 24, 2019

The 1808 Icabod Price House - 35 Walker Street


Until 1905 the narrow gap to the right was described in property documents as an alley.
According to Ambrose M. Shotwell in his 1897 Our Colonial Ancestors and Their Descendants, Icabod Price and Susan Moore were married in New York City in 1804.  The timing suggests it was the same Icabod Price who, four years later, completed a handsome dwelling at what would be numbered 35 Walker Street.

Named for Congressman and Revolutionary War soldier Benjamin Walker, the street would not be officially opened for another year.  Price had purchased the empty lot in 1805.  A mason by profession, he most likely constructed the dwelling himself.   He faced the frame house in Flemish-bond brick trimmed with brownstone.  It was originally two-and-a-half stories tall, with one or two dormers piercing the peaked roof.  The splayed lintels and layered keystones at the second floor were attractive Federal style elements.

As was common at the time, a secondary structure sat in the rear yard, accessed by a horsewalk, or narrow pathway, at the side of the house.  While some were small stables or workshops, this was a secondary house.  

The Price family was still here as late as 1816; renting part of the residence to another family.  Another tenant lived in the rear house.  Not long afterward the property was sold to John Bennet.  In 1831 his estate improved it, and it was most likely at this time that the second floor was raised to full height.  The Flemish bond brickwork was matched; although the architect was less enthusiastic about copying the lintels and keystones. 

In the early years of the 19th century few women had the chance of higher education.  That began changing around 1820 when the concept of the female seminary emerged--one of the first seeds of the women's equality movement.  By 1836 Mrs. Lockwood's Female Seminary was at No. 35 Walker Street.  It was a short-lived venture, however, no longer appearing in directories after 1837.

The residence reverted to a boarding house and around 1844 a shop was installed at ground level.  On October 14 that year P. A. Lacoste, manufacturer and importer of "fringes, gimps, tassels, cords, &c." moved his shop from No. 413 Broadway into the new space.  His announcement in The New York Herald promised that "his customers, and the ladies in general, will always find a fine assortment of the above articles, on the most reasonable terms."

Among the tenants upstairs were "Mrs. Archibald," John Harrop (who received an award from the American Institute for "the best specimen of tortoise shell work" that year),  and Madame L. Manesca Durant.  

Madame Durant was the daughter of Jean Manesca, credited with being the first modern foreign language teacher in America.  She taught French from her rooms (decorously holding separate classes for male and female students).  An advertisement in the New-York Daily Tribune on November 1, 1845 read:

French Language--Manesca's Oral System.  Gentlemen are informed that a New Evening Class will commence in November.  Also, a Morning Class for Ladies.  Persons desirous of joining either of these classes are requested to call and leave their names.

Madame Durand invites those who would be acquainted with her father's inductive and practical system, to call and witness the Evening Class, which commenced in October.  Residence 35 Walker-st.

By the outbreak of the Civil War commerce was moving northward into the Walker Street neighborhood.  The shop where P. A. Lacoste had peddled fringes had been converted to a restaurant by the mid-1860's.  Two years after the war's end, owner Peter W. Longley hired architect Michael Dooley to make significant renovations.  He extended the building to the rear, joining it with the back house.  It was almost undoubtedly at this time that the up-to-date Italianate cornice was added and a new cast iron storefront installed.

Longley was apparently now looking for new tenants.  On June 25, 1867 an advertisement in The New York Herald offered "A restaurant for sale--For particulars inquire at No. 35 Walker street."  

His buyer was Daniel Ettlinger, who was the victim of an astonishing attack on January 21, 1869.  At the corner of Wooster and Bleecker Streets Charles Coffee, a butcher by profession, assaulted him.  According to The New York Herald, Ettlinger "averred that the accused, without the least provocation, seized hold of him, struck him and from his pocket drew a large knife, with which he attempted to stab him."  Ettlinger was able to fight back long enough for a policeman to come to the rescue.

"For a moment the ruffian was frustrated in his murderous design by the complainant himself, and were it not for an officer, who was fortunately at hand, the life's blood of another citizen might have been spilled," said the article.

The upper floors were leased to small firms like Haiges & White, importers of dress trimmings.  Although the partnership was dissolved in 1869, the Real Estate Record & Guide noted that "Frederick Haiges continues."

A female patron or employee of the restaurant placed a personal ad in The New York Herald on April 27, 1873.  "Lost--A locket monogram, 'E. R.'  The finder will bring to Ettinger [sic] 35 Walker street, Monday."  The reward offered would be about $211 in today's money.

Below the restaurant, in the basement,  was what was politely known as a sample room.  The term originated when grocers or provisioners branched out into selling liquor and a separate room provided potential customers the opportunity to sample the goods.  By now, however, there was little difference between a "sample room," and a "saloon."

On October 15, 1873 the owner advertised "For Sale--A First Class Sample Room; Good place for a German; will be sold very low.  Inquire at 35 Walker street, basement."  (It is unclear if the space continued to be operated as a sample room.)

Five years later it was Ettlinger who was selling his business.  His advertisement on March 4, 1878 read:

FOR SALE--An old established restaurant in one of the best locations down town, doing a good business; sold on account of owner and family going to Europe.  L. Ettlinger, 35 Walker st.

The upper floors continued to see dry goods and apparel businesses lease space.  A dress manufacturer here in 1883 was looking for what today garment firms call a "fit model":   "A lady as figure who is a natural 38."  And the following year the newly-formed Rosenstiel & Rosenfeld, "wholesale dealers in white goods," moved in.  Henry Sobel, "importer of notions," was in the building before 1890.

Ettlinger's restaurant space had become Gottlieb Grob's saloon in the 1890's.  The German immigrant lived in an apartment building on William Street; one which seemed to be cursed.  The Evening World, on May 4, 1894, explained the tenants "consider the house an ill-fated one, and talk of moving out.  But a short time ago a woman committed suicide there by throwing herself from a fourth-story window.  A few days later there was another death in the house.  Last week a man named Herring was crushed by a wagon and died there an hour later."

And now Gottlieb Grob's murdered body was discovered in his apartment on May 2.  His skull was crushed and his throat slit.  Police did not think robbery was the motive, since everything in the apartment was in order and only Grob's watch was missing.

Investigators were frustrated in the search for a perpetrator.  On May 5 The Evening World reported "The police are no nearer a solution of the mystery attending Gottlieb Grob's murder than they were three days ago."  One theory focused on Grob's brother-in-law, Jacob Staub.  Police heard reports that Grob had loaned him $400 and when it remained unpaid, he threatened to send the I.O.U. to Staub's father in Germany for collection.  The Evening World concluded "in consequent of which Staub swore to 'get even' with him a month ago."

Following up on that lead, a reporter "found Staub at Gottlieb's saloon, 35 Walker street.  He claimed to have owed Grob but $90.  He declared he had never given Grob a note, and that he had not seen Grob for two months."  The murder went unsolved.

In 1896 Adelman & Lieberman ran its small knee pants factory upstairs, employing just two men and a woman who worked 60 hours a week.  H. Abrams also operated a pants factory here at the turn of the century.  His two-man staff worked 54 hours per week.

On February 25, 1905 the Record & Guide reported that owner J. C. Lyons Building & Operating Co. had hired architect Adolph Mertin to make renovations which included extending the building into the former horsewalk.  The $5,000 project included a 3-foot wide, one story extension, new plumbing, new stairs, an elevator and "iron columns."   Interestingly, the domestic appearance of the upper stories remained untouched.

The building continued to house apparel firms for the next two decades.  Nathaniel and Aaron Kommel ran their garment factory here in at least until 1911; Berger & Windner was in the building in 1916, and K. P. Horowitz, clothing manufacturers, leased space in 1920.


The expanded 1905 storefront is visible in this 1940 tax photo.  New York City Department of Records
The structure was deemed "unsafe" by the Department of Buildings in 1924.  After the violations were corrected, the building got a a new type of tenant.  By 1928 it was home to the office and "plant" of the Bedford Aluminum Specialty Co.  The firm marketed "machine and experimental work, inventions designed, models, dies and tools, metal spinning and stamping, aluminum specialties."

The firm remained in the building for decades.  But major change came in 2004 when plans were filed by Cogen Architects, PC to convert the building for residential use for owner Cornice LLC.  More than a decade later, however, the renovations have not been completed.

photograph by the author

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

The Harriet M. Spraker Mansion - 14 East 73rd Street



Born on September 6, 1850, Harriet Mears Starin came from an old New York family; her ancestors first arriving in America in 1696.  Her father, John Henry Starin, had increased his already substantial fortune by organizing the first railroad agency for shipping freight, and establishing the Starin Line, a fleet of steamboats for the same purpose.  He purchased Glen Island in the Long Island Sound as the the family's summer estate; but then in 1890 with "a lavish expenditure of money," he transformed it to a pleasure resort.  The family mansion became its clubhouse.

Harriet married James Dyckman Spraker on December 14, 1870.  He ran a wholesale grocery business at No. 93 West Street, the success of which was reflected in his memberships in the Manhattan Club and New York Athletic Club.  The couple had three children, Laura Belle, Marguerite, and John Starin.  By 1888 they were living in an upscale home at No. 62 West 45th Street.

Laura Belle married the well-known journalist A. B. de Guerville in 1896.  The following year John Dyckman Spraker died.   With her significant inheritance, Harriet and her two teen-aged children (Marguerite was 19 and John was 17-years-old) continued to live comfortably in the 45th Street house.

Harriet's financial lot was increased through another misfortune  On March 22, 1909 her father died.  She inherited $10,000 outright (each of the children received $5,000); half interest in Starin Place, a 144-acre country estate in Fultonville, New York which she shared equally with her sister; and one-third of the balance of the estate, after bequests to charities.

Included in that "balance" was Glen Island.  On January 25, 1910 The Sun reported that Harriet, her sister Caroline and Caroline's husband had sold the property for about $600,000--in the neighborhood of $16 million today.  Three weeks later the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide noted that Mrs. Hugh Gordon Miller had sold the four-story brownstone residence at No 14 East 73rd Street.  The unnamed buyer was Harriet Spraker.

She hired architect William A. Boring to remodel the out-of-date house into a modern residence.  His plans filed on March 18, called for front and rear extensions, new interior walls, and windows cut into the facade at a cost of $40,000.   Boring apparently left at least one of the original walls standing, because Department of Buildings documents still record the construction an "alteration."  But the result was arguably a new building.

Completed within the year, the limestone-faced mansion was now five stories tall.  Boring's restrained Beaux Arts design forewent the gushing ornamentation of some other homes in popular style, opting instead for quiet elegance.  A few steps above the sidewalk the centered double-doored entrance sat within a delicate carved frame.  Above the service entrance to the left was a handsome panel depicting an urn of flowers.

The close groupings of three openings at the second and third floors were fronted by dainty French grills.  A stone balcony with iron railings ran the width of the fourth floor windows which were united by a carved frieze and cornice.  Foliate-carved panels flanked the top floor openings, under a stone bracketed cornice.


The interior woodwork was fabricated by Theodore Hofstatter & Co., which may have also been responsible for some of the furnishings.  Like the similar firms of W. & J. Sloane & Co. and Herter Brothers, Theodore Hofstatter & Co. sometimes provided complete rooms--woodwork (like paneling, bookcases and even staircases), textiles and custom-made furniture.

Before ground had been broken John Starin Spraker married Helen Morgan Newcomb.  The wedding took place on January 20, 1910.   When the newlyweds returned from their honeymoon, they moved into the 73rd Street mansion with Harriet and Marguerite.

Some things apparently did not satisfy Harried in her new home.  In July 1911, only months after she moved in, the well-known architect John H. Duncan filed plans for "general alterations" costing $2000.

Harriet circulated in society.  Both she and her son were members of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and her name appeared in the social columns.  But interestingly, her entertainments never seem to have been held in the 73rd Street mansion.  The dinners and luncheons she hosted were held in fashionable restaurants like Delmonico's; and even when she gave a luncheon for Laura Bell on August 8, 1922, it was held at Sherry's.

It was Marguerite who finally had people in; but that was not until nearly two decades after the house was completed.  Still unmarried, she hosted a dinner here on February 27, 1931.  The New York Times reported that she would "afterward take her guests to the Pierre for supper and dancing."  One wonders if Harriet was displeased at the domestic upheaval; because that was the only mention of an entertainment in the residence by newspapers.

John and Helen acquired their own country residence at Ardsley-on-Hudson; while his mother and sister continued to summer at Starin Place in Fultonville.  The women traveled there the last week of May 1933 to spend the summer.   Harriet, who had been in ill health for some time, died there on June 3 at the age of 83.

Interestingly, John and Marguerite left their home of two decades.  On December 3, 1934 The New York Times reported that they and Laura Belle had leased the mansion to William Kerrigan.  They continued to lease it until January 1943 when "an investor" bought it.  It was the end of the line for the mansion as a private home.

In 1945 renovations were completed that resulted in one apartment on the ground floor and two each above.  The grand double-doored entrance was closed off and a window inserted for the apartment.  A subsequent alteration in 1986 divided the ground floor into one apartment and a doctor's office, and joined the second and third floors as a duplex apartment.

In 1994 the newly-formed Simon Dickinson, Inc. gallery moved into the fourth floor.  Operated by Ian G. Kennedy and Simon Dickinson, both long-time executives at Christie's Fine Art Auctioneers, it specialized in old masters.  By 2004 the Salmon Lilian Gallery was here.

While some of Boring's interior details survive...
like this lonely but wonderful mantel on an upper floor...
most have been scrapped.  photos via streeteasy.com
Despite the abuse at ground level, the exterior of Harriet Spraker's mansion still exudes its 1910 elegance.  Inside is a different story.

photographs by the author

Tuesday, January 22, 2019

The Fred R. Hamlin House - 305 West 71st Street


Period photographs show the doorway, above a shallow stoop at the right, a centered window, and the service entrance to the left, where the present doorway is located.
In 1896 the husband-and-wife team of Carline and Luther F. Hartwell completed a handsome row of seven rowhouses on the north side of West 71st Street, between West End Avenue and Riverside Drive.  Designed by Frederick Friend, they stretched from No. 305 through No. 317.

The eastern most house, No. 305, was leased to Robert Appleton, a member of D. Appleton & Company, publishers.  The well-known businessman was also a member of the New York Athletic and the University Clubs, and the Yale Alumni Association.

In April 1903 real estate operator James O'Brien purchased the house and waited for the Appleton lease to expire.  As with most other moneyed families, the Appletons left the city that summer.  While most left one or two servants behind to guard their properties, No. 305 was left unoccupied.  It proved to be a tempting target for mischievous youths.

Nine-year old Herbert Shannon lived across the street and one afternoon he and three friends, two of them also 9-years-old and the other 8-years-old, climbed over the basement gate, forced open the door "and then scampered through the house," as reported by The New York Times on August 29.  Had the intruders been professional adults, they would have made a haul; the newspaper noting "there were plenty of valuable things which could have been carried off."  But there was only one item that caught the boys' attention.

"That was a miniature railroad, consisting of trains of cars, stations, tracks, locomotives, &c., and complete in every detail.  This was all that was removed."  Having made off with the toy train set, the boys did not cover their tracks very well.   A foot patrolman later noticed the basement door open and a detective was put on the case.  The four boys were arrested, charged with burglary and locked up.

When the Appleton family returned to the city, they would have to start looking for a new home.  And they did not look far--moving into the house next door at No. 307.  Surprisingly, James O'Brien demolished the eight-year-old house they had called home and began construction of a replacement in January 1904.

The structure was completed before the summer's end.  Designed by George Keister,  it was a blend of Renaissance Revival and Beaux Arts styles, arguably no more attractive or upscale than the house it replaced.  Designed on the American basement plan, the entrance was a few steps above the sidewalk within a limestone-faced base.  Three charming Juliette balconies which perched above a stone cornice fronted French windows.  Ambitious stone pediments above the third story openings were decorated with palm-flanked cartouches and lions' heads.  The Flemish-bond brickwork of the second and third floors gave way to a rusticated pattern at the fourth.  A deeply-overhanging metal cornice finished the design.


Early in August O'Brien sold the 25-foot wide house to Fredrick R. Hamlin, who was better known as Fred.  It had already been a momentous year for the theatrical producer.  Hamlin was born into the industry, the son of John A. Hamlin, manager of Chicago's Grand Opera House.   Only five years before buying the new house, he began his own theatrical career.

His first production, Arizona, was a success.  But nothing could prepare him for the sensation caused by his 1902 staging of The Wizard of Oz.   It was followed by another blockbuster, Babes in Toyland (which was still in production in 1904).  The two triumphs resulted in his partnering with Lew Fields and Julian Mitchell to form Hamlin, Mitchell & Fields.

The Wizard of Oz was a monumental success for Hamlin.  from the collection of the Library of Congress
By the spring of 1904 it must have seemed to Hamlin that his life could not get better.  On April 16 he purchased a summer home in Bellport, Long Island, and two days later he married Mary Burton Cadow, of Chicago.  Now the newlyweds had a fashionable townhouse as well.

Tragically, Hamlin's seemingly perfect life was about to end.  He came down with the grip (influenza) in October.  Although he seemed to have essentially recovered, he was left with a nagging cough.  On the advice of his doctor he and Mary traveled to Virginia Hot Springs at the beginning of November, where he appeared to have improved.  They came back to New York on November 23.

Suddenly Hamlin was attacked with severe stomach pains.  Doctors could find nothing wrong and told Mary he was simply run down.  Then, on Saturday night, November 26 his nose began bleeding, and was not stopped until the following day.  The New York Times reported on Monday, "Physicians were in constant attendance, and had assembled for a consultation in the evening, when Mr. Hamlin became suddenly delirious, and twenty minutes later died."

Hamlin's estate was appraised at more than $4 million by today's standards.  The whirlwind schedule of a marriage and purchase of two properties had not distracted him from making his will.  Mary received one-third of his estate, which was managed by his attorney brother, Herbert W. Hamlin.

Mary was not satisfied and sued the estate for the ownership of the two houses.  In court papers her lawyers claimed "Before the purchase, and during the progress of his negotiations for the purchase, he frequently declared to various persons that he intended to give the properties to his wife, and that he so intended to give them as a wedding present."  The battle dragged on into 1911; but Mary (by then remarried) was unsuccessful.

In the meantime Herbert Hamlin leased No. 305 to moneyed families.  John Stoddard lived here in 1912 when he and two partners incorporated the Eastern Coal & Coke Company.  In 1916 Sophie Louise Stebbins signed a lease; and in 1918 P. V. Giroux, a partner in the Gerrard Wire Typing Machines Co. lived here.

Still owned by the Hamlin estate, No. 305 was being operated as a rooming house in the Depression years.  Among the roomers was 26-year old Richard Nicolai Belling.  One of eight generations of acrobats, the family's long tradition of world-wide travel caused him frustrating troubles in 1932.

Belling's grandfather was born and lived in Philadelphia; but the family was in Paris when Belling's father was born.  Belling's siblings were born in various locations.  He explained to a reporter "Bob was born in Chia, Siberia; Tom was born in Manila; I was born in Hungary; Maude was born in Copenhagen."

Immediately upon Belling's birth his father went to the United States Consul and registered him as a U.S. citizen.  When he was 14-years old, according to Belling, "I came to the United States in 1920 with father and was admitted as an American."  But in 1929 he applied for a passport and was now told he was a Chinese citizen.  Customs officials contended that while his grandfather had the right to "hand down" his citizenship, because he lived in the U.S., his father could not do so.  Despite being an American citizen by birth, he had been born outside of the country.  A 1926 Customs decision held that "children of American citizens who have never resided in the United States are not American citizens.

So Belling went to the Chinese Consulate.  He was denied a passport because he had been registered as an American citizen in 1906, so he was therefore not a Chinese subject.  He thought he had the solution when he made out an application for U.S. citizenship, noting "I renounce my allegiance to the Republic of China."  It was rejected.  The clerk told him, "You can't do that because Chinese are not admitted to citizenship in the United States."  

So Richard Nicolai Belling was left without a country, and unable to travel.  The New York Times quoted him on February 4, 1932:  "I'm not an American, they tell me.  Well, then, I'm a Chinese and have no legal right to be here.  I can't become an American.  I can't get the money to fight this out in Supreme Court and, besides, there's a decision as precedent against me.  What can I do.?"  (Happily, The Chinese Exclusion Act was repealed in 1943 and Belling later received his citizenship and social security card.)

Another roomer, William T. Jobe, had other problems.  The 29-year old was arrested on November 8, 1934 for burglary and suspicion of a separate armed robbery.  The Times reported he was charged with "burglary in the theft Wednesday night of $900 worth of jewelry and clothing from the apartment of Jene Carroll in the Hotel New Weston, Forty-ninth Street and Madison Avenue."  On the same night a Los Angeles manufacturer and his wife were held up in the same hotel and robbed of jewelry valued at $2,500.

On November 26, 1936 Herbert Hamlin announced that he had leased the house for five years.  "The lessee intends to remodel the house into one and two-room apartments," reported The Times.  The renovations, however, appear to have fallen short.  In 1937 the building received a "multiple dwelling violation" from the Department of Buildings.  It may have resulted in the lease being cancelled.  On October 17, 1938 Herbert Hamlin leased the house, "containing eighteen small apartments," to Carroll Woolf.

Woolf made further renovations, which resulted in 1940 in a caretaker's room and two furnished rooms on the first floor, two apartments on the second, three furnished rooms on the third, and six more on the fourth.  It was possibly at this time that the entrance was moved from the right to the left of the ground floor and given an unconvincing neo-Georgian doorway.  

According to the current owner, John Birge, the house was purchased "in the early 1960s by a preservationist named Freedom Ainsworth.  There is little information on the ‘net about him except that he was an engineer and is credited with some industrial inventions."  His conversion, completed in 1966, resulted in one apartment on the ground floor and two each above.  Birge added "Mr. Ainsworth replaced the interior staircase with a steel set and installed new beams so that the house has no interior load bearing walls…unusual for a house of this width."

Much of the 1904 detailing survives in the dining room.  photo via blocksy.com
In 1996, following Miriam and Jon Birge's purchase of the house, a ten-year renovation was begun.  An owner's duplex was created on the second and third floors.   Among their renovations was the replacement of windows, some of which were original to the structure, but, as Birge explains, "could not be restored."

The Birges plan addition work in 2019 which will include "restoring the cornice, [and] rebuilding the irreplaceable windows on the second floor."

photographs by the author

Monday, January 21, 2019

The Lost Tammany Hall - 137-149 East 14th St

The sign for Tony Pastor's Theatre is above the eastern entrance (left)  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society
The Tammany Society was one of several social clubs by that name which arose in Philadelphia and other cities   The New York society elected its first officers in 1789, its members being mostly craftsmen and mechanics along with a few professionals like attorneys and merchants.  They dressed in Native American costumes, were known as braves, and were divided into tribes.  The group first met in a room in Martling's Tavern on Chatham Street.  Originally non-partisan, by 1795 it was solely allied with the Democratic Party.  

Tammany Hall built a new clubhouse at 170 Nassau Street in 1812.  But by the end of the Civil War, the neighborhood was filled with business buildings and on March 20, 1867 the members decided to sell.  The New York Times deemed it a good idea.  "The old house has a famous history and at one time was the seat of the political power of the country," it noted.  But the decision to relocate was "a very proper move."

A year earlier the Academy of Music at the corner of 14th Street and Irving Place had burned.  Architect Thomas R. Jackson had been selected to design the replacement building.  Now he was commissioned by the Tammany Society to design its new clubhouse directly next door, at Nos. 137-149 East 14th Street where the New York College of Physicians and Surgeons stood.

The cornerstone was laid on Independence day, 1867.  Place next to the metal box was the original "casket" from the 1811 cornerstone.  Among the items within the new version were gold and silver coins minted in 1867, a bill for the construction, a History of Tammany Society, and the program and an invitation to the day's ceremonies.

T'he souvenir pamphlet handed out that day included a description of the building.  The 116-foot wide structure would be three stories tall "and to be built of marble and red brick, the marble extending thirty feet high in the front."  There would be "a fine triple window in the centre twenty-five feet wide, surmounted by a straight pediment."  The the arrangement of the openings of the flanking pavilions created a Palladium effect.  Above the cornice would be "a massive pediment, bearing in large letters the words 'Tammany Society.'"  On either side were the dates 1763 and 1867 and an enormous arched niche held at 12-foot statue of a Native American (presumably Tamanend, leader of the Lenape tribe from whom the society took its name).

Inside were impressive spaces--a capacious library, the "grand hall," and a concert room; as well as the expected clubrooms and committee rooms.  The pamphlet described the concert room as "one of the most beautiful ever constructed in this city."  With seating for 1,000, its frescoed ceiling rose 30 feet above the floor and its stage was 52-feet wide.  The main committee room, 35 x 75 feet, had a "ceiling as heavenly as the concert room."

Females, who would appear only on evenings of concerts and entertainments, were provided for.  "On the second floor the rights of women are to be recognized by a dressing-room thirty-two by forty feet."  Nearby was the gentlemen's dressing room.  The third floor contained the grand hall, reportedly the most spacious in the nation.  It could accommodate 4,000 persons.


Proceedings of the Tammany Society, July 1867 (copyright expired)

There were three entrances on 14th Street.  They not only provided balance, but led to rental spaces.  The entrance to the east, next to the Academy of Music, accessed the concert hall and also led to the public hall.  The basement was set aside for a restaurant which "will answer to all the increased and cultured epicureanism of that section of the city."  

Jackson placed the cost of construction at $300,000--just over $5 million today.

The building would be dedicated exactly one year later, July 4, 1868.  As it neared, the Tammany-loathing New York Herald used a derogatory, roundabout way to announce the date.  "The big Indians of the Tammany ring--men who have grown fat and are growing fatter on the spoils of this Corporation--the grand sachems, little sachems, pappooses [sic], sagamores and whiskeyskinskis, assisted by the representatives of the national democracy from all the States and Territories of the Union, reconstructed and unreconstructed, and aided by the women's rights women, too, will meet on 'the glorious Fourth' to inaugurate this new temple of the 'Tammany Society of the Columbian Order.'"

The article recalled the group's sometimes pugilistic meetings saying, "The history of the old Tammany Hall is a starling record of democratic lovefeasts of the Donnybrook order, fruitful of faction fight, cracked crowns, bloody noses and used up locofocos, and it will be almost a miracle if the new Tammany Hall escapes a similar baptism."

On the day before the ceremony the building was draped in red-white-and-blue bunting and an enormous canopy composed of evergreens called "The Archway of Triumph,"stretched from curb to curb. The New York Herald deemed it "a cheerful and festal piece of ornamentation, odorous as well of the forest atmosphere, so dear and inspiring to the old braves."  The decorations, inside and out, cost Tammany $20,000, according to The New York Times.


The scene during the building's dedication.  Tammany Hall Souvenir of the Inauguration of Cleveland and Stevenson, 1893 ( copyright expired)
The next day was oppressively hot, with temperatures reaching into the 90's.  The New York Herald said the heat played "sad havoc with shirt collars" and described people using any manner of article with which to fan themselves--straw hats, pocket handkerchiefs, newspapers and "old battered wideawakes."  (Wideawakes are the broad-rimmed hats still worn by Quakers.)

"That great big arc de triomphe in front of Tammany, with its huge integument of evergreens, riveted many an eye.  Though not artistic it looked cool, and who cares for art with the thermometer going higher than a kite and his shirt collar wilting like the tender petal of an uprooted flower."

The New York Times was less openly critical, at least about the structure. The dedication coincided with the Democratic National Convention.  The newspaper said the delegates were welcomed "to one of the most splendid halls in the country.  New-York City is not deeply indebted to Tammany Society for blessings conferred, but it does owe the organization for one of the finest and most imposing building fronts the City can boast."

Turning to the great hall, the article said "This great space has been finished with the most perfect taste, and exhibits none of that glaring obtrusive art found in to many public buildings.  The frescoing and gilding done by Philip Donnoruma, is especially noticeable for the perfect taste that has dictated every touch of the artist's brush."  Flanking the stage were two enormous bronze figures holding candelabras, each supporting 60 gas jets.

The great hall, decorated for the National Democratic Convention upon the building's dedication.  from the collection of the New York Public Library
As political meetings began within the committee rooms and great hall, Dan Bryant signed a lease for the concert hall.  Bryan was, actually, Dan O'Neill.  He and his brother, Jerry, took the stage name Bryan after they formed Bryant's Minstrels in 1857.  The Civil War had not dampened the group's offerings of plantation-themed comedy, Southern banjo music by Stephen Foster and similar composers, and blatantly racist black-faced comedians.

On March 1, 1868 The New York Times had announced "Dan Bryant is now in Mobile...In the Fall, when his new theatre over Tammany Hall is opened, Mr. Bryant will reappear in his Congo dress, and play the bones."  Bryant's Minstrels drew crowds in it new space.  It reported gross receipts in May 1870 of $142,000 by today's standards.

Because city government and the Tammany Society were essentially the same; graft and corruption were nearly effortless.  The New York Times exposed a scheme on July 8, 1871.  In the spring of 1870 the city rented space in the building for use as the armory of the Sixth Regiment--the top floor and five or six small rooms on the floor below.  Rent was paid for the empty space for a year before the regiment moved in.  The Times scoffed at the functionality of the space, saying the practical size of the drill room was 100 x 40 feet.

But worse yet, "The entire portion of the building that is used for military purposes could not be let for any legitimate business for $3,000 a year," said the newspaper, "but the municipal Ring pays...the snug little sum of $36,000 per year."

Bryant's Minstrels was replaced by The Germania Theatre by 1876; and then in 1881 actor and manager Antonio "Tony" Pastor moved his troupe in.   A year earlier the brilliant impresario had been approached by a woman who "said she knew a little girl with a lovely voice," as he later recalled.  He met the Helen (Nellie) Louise Leonard in the parlor of the rooming house where she lived and she sang "The Clang of the Wooden Shoes" for him.

He was so struck by her voice that he sat numb.  Helen said "Oh, Mr Pastor, don't you like my singing?"  Once he recovered he hired her on the spot and she appeared at the Tony Pastor Theatre on Broadway under the new stage name he gave her, Lillian Russell.  She was the most famous of the several stage stars discovered by Pastor who would now appear in the new location.

To the left a section of the Academy of Music can be glimpsed.  from the collection of the New York Public Library
An arsonist used the theater to access the building on October 23, 1884, thereby avoiding the doorman at the main entrance.   Between the "green room" of Pastor's and the barroom of the clubhouse was a small closet where the man soaked newspapers and a bundle of rags in kerosene and ignited them.

Just after the performance had ended, patrons of the barroom noticed smoke.  The bartender and a porter searched, and "found a fire burning fiercely upon the floor," according to The New York Times.  The flooring was ripped up and the fire extinguished before substantial damaged could be done.  The following day Chief Shay of the Fire Department "was on hand to look after the safety of the wigwam."

Tammany Hall was essentially omnipotent in New York City operations.  The February 1894 issue of The Atlantic Monthly said "No one who has not lived in New York can imagine the despotic power which Tammany Hall exercises there.  No citizen is too humble to be beneath its notice; no citizen is too rich or too powerful to be safe from its interference.  Thee is not a man living in New York, however independent his character, who would not think twice before doing an act likely to offend Tammany, or the city government, for they are one and the same thing."

from the collection of the New York Public Library
Nevertheless, as was the case with that article, newspapers and magazines spoke out.   The following month the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide railed "While the leaders of Tammany Hall are...opposing any increase of salaries to the policemen, they are pushing increases of salaries to some of the highly paid Tammany Halls heads."  One example cited was the salary of the Superintendent of the Department of Buildings, proposed to be raised to more than $200,000 a year in today's dollars.

And when Charles F. Murphy was elected head of Tammany Hall in December 1903, the New-York Tribune ran a full-page photo of him, captioned "PHOTOGRAPH OF THE REAL MAYOR OF NEW-YORK FOR THE NEXT TWO YEARS."

The "Real Mayor."  New-York Tribune December 27, 1903 (copyright expired)
In March 1906 Tony Pastor celebrated the 25th anniversary of his theater within the Tammany building and the 50th anniversary of his "grown-up" career in the theater (he started out as a child actor).  But two years after that stellar performance, Tony Pastor's occupation of the space came to an end.

On August 30, 1908 the New-York Tribune reported "The Olympic Theatre, formerly Tony Pastor's was opened last night.  The attraction this week will be the Bowery Burlesquers, and they will give two performances daily."

A major fire erupted in Tammany Hall on December 12, 1910.  The New-York Tribune reported "For two hours yesterday morning the fate of Tammany Hall hung in the balance while several fire companies...fought to save the grim old tiger's historic lair on East 14th Street."  Investigators blamed the blaze on "the cigar of some careless merry maker who had attended the dance there the night before."

The great hall, which had been converted to a ballroom for the previous night's event, was flooded as was the floor below.  The Olympic Theatre was "badly damaged by the deluge," said the newspaper.   The total damage was initially estimated at $25,000.  Happily, none of the historic paintings nor the Society's records were destroyed or seriously damaged.

The New-York Tribune remarked "The fire revives the talk, prevalent no long ago, of the society deserting this building, erected in 1867, and moving up town to a new wigwam."

An electric blade sign announces the Olympic in this turn of the century photo. The staircases at street level have been removed.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society
Only three weeks later the building was on fire again.  On January 6, 1911 The Sun reported "Tammany Hall made another effort to burn up last night."  The fire started, this time, in the theater during a performance, most likely among painters' supplies under the stage.  The patrons were herded out, but they were addressed by Police Captain Burfiend on the street who informed them that the small fire had been put out and they could return to their seats.

The show went on, but not without some difficulties.  "Water poured through the hole over the stage, however.  While the Ginger Girls did their Amazon march in broken ranks, dodging splashes of dirty water and buckets of sawdust placed on the floor to receive it, the firemen were busy just over them pouring on more water, 'washing down' after the fire."

In December 1915 the vaudeville troupe the Broadway Belles opened for a week at the Olympic Theatre.  The Evening World remarked that comedian Joe Marks "long identified with the best known burlesque attractions...kept the large crowd in roars of laughter."  At the time the theater's landlords were considering a move.  Eight months earlier the Tammany Society met to discuss "the project of moving from its historic clubhouse...to large and more modern quarters uptown," according to the Record & Guide on April 24.  "Action was deferred, however, till a later date."

That date would not come until 1927.  On December 6 The New York Times reported "Tammany Hall has been sold."  The price for the property was "believed to be in the neighborhood of $750,000."

Tammany did not move far.  In 1929 its new clubhouse was completed just three blocks north, at No. 100 East 17th Street.  Today the old site is covered by the block-engulfing Con Edison Building.

The Con Edison tower sit upon the old Academy of Music site; Tammany Hall's site is directly behind.