Where Mary Todd Lincoln Shopped for China -- No. 488 Broadway

Photo by Alice Lum

By 1856 merchant E. V. Haughwout had amassed a fortune and lived in an elegant house on Gramercy Park with a private stable on 19th Street. He had opened his business in 1832 selling imported porcelain, china and glass and became one of the nation’s most esteemed merchants.

Haughwout expanded his business to include his own staff of designers, artists, glass cutters and engravers. In addition to his imported goods, the company manufactured pearl- and ivory-handled silverware and silver-plated hardware such as gas jets and chandelier parts. Here customers could choose blank French tableware to be hand-decorated to their specifications.

Broadway in the fashionable Bond Street area was becoming less residential as high-class commercial buildings replaced brownstone mansions. Here Haughwout commissioned architect John P. Gaynor to design an elegant showroom and workplace for his business on the site of three former mansions – Nos. 488 to 492 Broadway.

Haughwout planned his new emporium during a time of revolutionary architectural innovations – one of the most striking being Daniel Badger’s cast iron facades. Badger’s concept of hanging pre-cast iron sections to masonry buildings allowed for rapid construction, fire-proof facades and relatively inexpensive but elaborate decorative structures.

This site posed a problem though. Haughwout’s new building sat on a corner, requiring two iron facades.  The structure would have to support significantly more weight than a midblock building with a single metal face. Together Gaynor and Badger convinced Haughwout that an iron framework would strengthen the masonry structure and keep the cast iron façade from pulling the building down—in effect laying the foundation for steel and iron framed skyscrapers to come.

At the Crystal Palace Exhibition a few years earlier Haughwout had seen Elisha Otis demonstrate his new elevator with safety brakes. Even though the proposed five-story building would not really need an elevator, Haughwout contracted Otis to build one—the first permanently installed passenger elevator in the world and, as the merchant knew, a superb marketing gimmick. Years before electricity, a steam generator in the basement powered the new contraption.

Completed in 1857, the building was remarkable. Gaynor borrowed the windows of the 1536 Venetian library of Jacopo Sansovino in designing his Ango-Italian palazzo. Dignified and impressive, it would induce Paul Goldberger, in his “New York, The City Observed,” more than a century later to say “It is one of those rare pieces of architecture in which everything fits together perfectly and yet with room for passion.”

Using Venetian inspiration, Gaynor produced a show-stopping commercial palace -- photo by Alice Lum

Haughwout opened the store “for inspection” on the evening of March 23, 1857. “No goods will be sold during that time, in order that our employees may devote their whole attention to those who may desire to visit our establishment,” said the announcement. Potential customers were invited to browse through three floors of showrooms. The manufacturing departments took up the fourth and fifth floors.

Beneath the glow of gasoliers, the store glittered with cut glass, silverware, Sevres dining services and china vases. Bronzes, parian statuary and clocks “of new and unique designs,” chandeliers from Cornelius & Baker of Philadelphia, French porcelains and silver-plated tea services filled the showcases.

Well-heeled patrons anticipated what Haughwout described as “The elegant and varied assortment of new goods with which we shall open has probably never been equaled in this country.”


In 1859, two years after the store opened, a sleek carriage awaits its owner outside E. V. Houghwout & Co.  A close look reveals gasoliers with milk glass shades inside illuminating the wares. -- print Library of Congress

At the time of the opening, E. V. Haughwout & Co. was also the sole importer of champagne from the French vineyards of De Venoge & Co.   Customers purchasing quality hand-cut champagne glasses could now enjoy one-stop shopping.

With his new store in place, Haughwout set out to improve its setting. As chairman of the Broadway Association he complained about the condition of the street. “While we justly pride ourselves upon the finest street in America, we are perpetually mortified at its dirty condition; while we welcome to its spacious promenade and splendid warehouses and hotels, representatives from all parts of the world, we are constantly in the humiliating position of apologists for the mud and dust which alternately bear testimony to the disgraceful neglect of the City Government,” he complained.

Under his leadership, the merchants of Broadway contributed to having the street cleaned three times a week by James Thompson for $150. Three years later Haughwout and C. F. Tiffany, Treasurer of the Association, would make headlines by suing the mayor over the expense.

In 1860 three ambassadors from Japan visited New York. Because, according to The New York Times, American glassware was of a type “almost unknown in Japan” E. V. Haughwout & Co. presented them with “three magnificent services of cut table glass as presents.”  Each service was fitted into polished rosewood cases, lined with velvet, and mounted with silver shields engraved with the name of each ambassador. They included “goblets, champagne and wine glasses, decanters, celery glasses, rice dishes, polished lapidary diamond saltcellars, ruby gilt finger bowls, liqueurs, clarets, and green hock glasses.”

A year later Abraham Lincoln moved into the White House along with the first lady and her notoriously extravagant tastes. Mary Todd Lincoln found the White House china to be mismatched and damaged and set out to replace it.  She climbed aboard a train for New York City, heading for E. V. Haughwout & Co.

The dinnerware she ordered would have a broad band of lilac, the color selected by Mrs. Lincoln because it came close to magenta, a highly popular color with ladies at the time. Beneath a rendering of the United States coat of arms was the motto E. Pluribus Unum. Along the border a two strands of gold cable intertwined.

Mary dropped off a deposit and returned home with the invoice to be processed by the government.  According to a Maryland journalist, Mrs. Lincoln “bought a lot of china for $1500 in cash and sent in a bill for $3000.”  The President refused to approve the invoice before sending it on to be paid by the government. The bill, he felt, was “exorbitant.”

Upon hearing that his $3000 invoice was being held up by the President, Haughwout wrote saying “You forget, sir,…that I gave Mrs. Lincoln $1500.”

Before E. V. Haughwout closed its doors for good, its distinguished patrons would include not merely the wealthiest and most celebrated names in the country, but foreign dignitaries and heads of state, such as the Czar of Russia.

The estate of Walter Langdon sold the building on March 5, 1895 for around $375,000. The stores catering to the carriage trade had begun moving northward and in the year just prior to World War I Haughwout’s once-elegant showrooms were home to various manufacturers. Among them were The Vulcanized Rubber Co. of New York; The Kursheedt Mfg. Company, makers of braids; Morris H. Pulaski, dealers in fancy goods and notions; and Cheney Brothers, a firm that made “silks and ribbons.”

On September 24, 1936 The Broadway Manufacturers Supply Co. signed a lease for the entire building. By now the glamorous history of E. V. Haughwout’s cast iron palace was long forgotten.

The middle of the 20th century was a dark time for the Cast Iron District. Ornate facades rusted under layers of grime and filth. Fergus M. Bordewich recalled in The New York Times in 1975 the character of Soho in the 1960s. “It seemed a strange, grim neighborhood then, characterlessly old, filled with buildings oddly ornate beneath their uniform layers of grime and dull paint.”  Structures that once housed high-end stores and expensive office space were now used as warehouses and small manufacturers. The E. V. Haughwout Building was neglected and deteriorating.

It was during this period, in 1966, that the Landmarks Preservation Commission held hearings to give the building landmark designation. Chairman of the Triborough Bridge and Tunnel Authority Robert Moses was not pleased. Moses had come up with a scheme to build a $110 million highway through the lower portion of Manhattan. His Lower Manhattan Expressway would wipe out countless buildings, including the magnificent Beaux Arts former Police Headquarters and the Haughwout Building.

For decades, the wonderful clock, running once more, was surrounded by grimy, rusting columns and arches -- photo by Alice Lum

His plan hit a wall when preservationists stood firm. He struggled to keep the building from obtaining historic protection. Writing to the city’s transportation administrator he insisted that the Haughwout Building was of “dubious historical and artistic value. Certainly this is no way to dispose of the Lower Manhattan project.”

Moses lost the fight and No. 488 Broadway gained protection. It would be years, however, before the majestic emporium was restored.  In 1995 the deteriorating cast iron was restored under the supervision of preservation architect Joseph Pell Lombardi, including re-painting it in its original “Turkish drab” color.

Completely restored, the magnificent cast iron emporium gleams again -- photo by Alice Lum

Today the store where Mary Todd Lincoln purchased the White House china before the Civil War gleams again.  Contesting Robert Moses’ opinion that the building is of “dubious historical and artistic value,” G. E. Kidder Smith, in his “Source Book of American Architecture,” called the E. V. Haughwout Building “The greatest remaining single monument to cast iron.”

The 1904 Engine Co. 30 (Fire Museum) No. 278 Spring St.

photo by Alice Lum

Until 1865 the homes and businesses of New York City were protected by a group of unrelated volunteer fire companies.  But by the time of the Civil War, the sheer amount of structures and residents in the rapidly-growing city demanded an organized, paid fire department.   The Metropolitan Fire Department was formed and the volunteer system abolished.

Among the new fire stations was that of Engine Company 30, located at No. 253 Spring Street.  The company remained here for nearly four decades, conveniently across the street from the headquarters of the Sailors and Firemen’s Union at No. 278.  But in 1902 the need to replace the old structure was evident.  The report of the Superintendent of Buildings Branch for that year noted “The Board of Estimate and Apportionment has been requested to acquiesce in the acquirement, at private sale for the sum of $50,000, of the site Nos. 278-284 Spring street, borough of Manhattan, upon which to erect a new house for Engine Company 30, located, since the inauguration of the paid Fire Department, at No. 253 Spring street, and it is believed that it will do so and that the transaction will soon be consummated.”

Indeed the transaction was consummated and on October 3, 1903 The American Architect and Building News announced that architect Edward P. Casey had filed plans for a “three story brick and stone engine-house” with a projected cost of $75,000.    The New York Times predicted it would “be one of the largest fire engine houses in the city,” covering a frontage of 72.5 feet.

The new house was completed in 1904.  Casey deeply incised the rusticated limestone base,  rounding the edges of the massive stones.  The two-toned brick of the upper two stories was laid in a diamond pattern, creating a tapestry effect inlaid behind the stone window framing.  Above the cornice, the brickwork continued in a handsome balustrade.

Firefighters from Engine Company 30 paid an unintentional visit to a saloon when responding to a false alarm on August 7, 1905.   As the horse-drawn steamer sped into the intersection of Bedford and Barrow Streets, a second engine from Engine Company No. 24 ran full speed into it.  “The impact carried the engines over to the southeast corner, and the horses became wedged in the doorway of a saloon kept by Albert Herdtfelder,” reported The New York Tribune.

Herdtfelder had the bad luck of standing in the doorway at the time and was knocked off his feet, suffering severe injuries.  Although the saloon owner was taken to St. Vincent’s Hospital, none of the fire fighters received any injuries and the horses were only slightly hurt.

Only four days later, however, one of the first tragedies for Engine Company 30 in its new location occurred.  On August 11 the soap factory of W. H. Daggitt’s Sons at Nos 383-385 West 12^th Street caught fire.   The building blazed for 10 hours while chemicals created deadly smoke.     By 1:00 in the afternoon when eight members of the company were working on the first floor, 20 firemen had already been injured, removed unconscious from the blaze.

Hours of pouring water on the building had resulted in seven feet of accumulated water in the cellar.   Fireman James Clancy was working with Captain Martin Mahoney feeding a line of hose into the building.  The men braced themselves against a large safe when, without warning, the floor collapsed.   The eight firemen were plunged into the deep water, “buried under a tangle of beams and flooring,” as described by The Evening World.

The firemen of Hook and Ladder No. 5 formed a human life line, pulling the men out of the cellar one-by-one, when it was realized that Clancy was pinned below the water by the heavy safe.  After repeated tries, a concerted effort of several men dislodged the safe and Clancy was pulled free.

The fireman did not survive.

In 1946 the announcement was made that the fire house would share space with a proposed out-patient clinic for NYFD members and their families, similar to one already in place in the New York Police Department.  On April 3, Fire Commissioner Frank J. Quayle announced that the third floor of the building “will be rearranged so that the equipment, including X-ray machines, a cardiograph, physiotherapy and diathermy devices and a dental office will be set up with soundproof walls and ceilings, casement windows and air conditioning.”

The Fire Department’s Honor Emergency Fund contributed $125,000 for the equipment and Quayle had requested an annual appropriation of $25,000 from the City to cover the salaries of clinic personnel.   The Commissioner anticipated that “in addition to the equipment installed, there will be established a blood-donor station, also oxygen equipment, not only for the relief of members of the Fire Department who suffer from smoke inhalation at fires, but likewise the members of their families who are in need of such treatment.”

The clinic was formally opened on February 3, 1948, replacing the departmental medical offices in the five boroughs.

After half a century of service, the end of the line for Engine Company 30 came on April 6, 1959 when Fire Commissioner Edward F. Cavanagh, Jr. announced steps being taken to save the Department $1.645 million, including the elimination of four companies.   The fire house at No. 278 Spring Street was on the list.

The outpatient clinic with the impressive title Oxygen Therapy Unit Headquarters remained in the building serving the medical needs of the firefighters and their families for decades.   In the meantime the FDNY’s small museum on Long Island was moved to Manhattan in 1959, taking space in a working firehouse at No. 100 Duane Street.

But when the Home Insurance Company donated its wide-ranging collection of firefighting memorabilia to the Department in 1981, a larger, permanent space became necessary.   The Friends of the New York City Fire Department Collection was established—a non-profit organization whose sole purpose was to raise funds to renovate Engine Company 30 as a state-of-the-art museum.

Six years later Edward P. Casey’s Beaux Arts beauty was reborn as the New York City Fire Museum opened its doors to the public.  The museum—which even includes a mock apartment with smoke machine and black-lighted fire hazards for the education of school children—receives 40,000 visitors annually.

A Soho Standout -- No. 169 Mercer Street

photo by Alice Lum

As large loft buildings rose in the neighborhood just south of Houston Street in the late 19^th century, the little two-story brick building at No. 169 Mercer Street held on.  In 1880 J. T. Kelley had purchased the old structure to manufacturer his “artificial flower fixtures.”  But 11 years later it was being used as a social club, The Old Homestead.

The Evening World reported on a card event here in 1891.  “A euchre tournament will be held at the ‘Old Homestead,’ 169 Mercer street, for the Weazel cups, which will represent the team euchre championship of New York City.  The first series will be played on Thursday evening, March 19.  Two men will constitute a team.”

Unfortunately for the euchre playing gentlemen, they would soon have to find a new clubhouse.  When wealthy publisher Thomas W. Strong died his real estate holdings were liquidated to settle the estate.  Among the properties sold at auction on March 9, 1893 was No. 169 Mercer Street. 

Auctioneer Richard V. Harnett & Co's March 1893 notice laid out the location and size of No. 169 Mercer Street, top right (copyright expired)

No doubt the buyer, the Japanese Fan Company, intended to return the building to manufacturing.  If so, the firm soon changed its mind.  Early in July 1894 it sold what The New York Times called “the property at 169 Mercer Street…with old building” to Francis Stiebel for $39,000.  As the newspaper intimated, it was the increasingly valuable real estate in what decades later would be deemed the Cast Iron District and not the old structure Striebel was buying.

A year later there was a new owner—Adam Tucker.  He promptly demolished the two-story structure and began work on a modern commercial building.  On August 6, 1895 builder P. J. Brennan began construction of a new warehouse building on the site.

In March 1896, a few months before the structure was completed, the Real Estate Record & Guide called Brennan “an experienced, reliable and successful mason and builder” and called No. 169 Mercer Street “the work of an expert.”

The seven-story store-and-loft building was completed on June 1, 1896.  A two-story cast iron front was framed in limestone.  Here a vast centered show window was flanked by two sets of double entrance doors—one for the retail space and the other for the upper floors.  Above an intricately-carved cornice, five stories of gray brick soared upward to medieval ornaments at the topmost floors.  Bearded faces, engaged columns and elaborate carvings set the building apart from its cast iron fronted neighbors.

Intricate floral decorations, bearded faces and basket-weave carving along the cornice distinguished the facade -- photo by Alice Lum

Tucker’s venture would not prove successful.  In 1903 the building was sold in foreclosure.  William H. Taubert made the winning bid at $69,250 on November 16, 1903. The Sun noted the purchase price was “about $1,700 less than the debt on it.”  Taubert quickly resold the property to Isaac Stiebel (possibly a relative of Francis Stiebel who had bought it a decade earlier), who sold it again in July 1905.

In the meantime, the building had filled with apparel firms.  The Novelty Hat Company, Jacob G. Asher, “importer of furs,” and B. J. Grossman operated their businesses here.  In 1904 Grossman and his partner dissolved their partnership, Grossman & Deutsch, and Grossman struck out on his own.

Cloaks and Furs announced that Grossman would “continue the business of manufacturing misses’ and children’s furs at the old stand, 169 Mercer street.”  The trade journal added “Mr. Grossman intends to satisfy the trade this season by making a line that will be hard to beat and goods that will come up to sample.”

In the years before World War I additional fur and apparel companies moved in.  In 1911 S. J. Manne & Brother, fur manufacturers, employed 10 men and four women in its shop.  At the same time H. Siegal & Brother and the Commercial Thread Co. were here.

In 1913 Bilenko Bros. & Rabinowitz leased the 7^thfloor.  A year later when the fire inspectors came through the building, Arnold Rabinowitz was among the tenants personally hit with fines for violations. 

Federal Headwear Co. was here in 1915, and in 1921 Irving M. Poons “importer of straw goods” leased space; but by now the apparel and millinery districts had moved northward above 34^th Street.  The complexion of tenants in No. 169 Mercer Street was about to change.

Mid-century saw the Soho area decline.  The Mercer Street building became home to small operations like the Southern Screw Co. and hardware dealer Leo Zelinger.  In the 1950s the street level retail space was the restaurant equipment store of Regan Purchase and Sales Corporation.

But if anything is certain in Manhattan, it is that neighborhoods continually change.  By the last decades of the century Soho lured artists who took over the vast, sunlight-flooded loft spaces for studios.  Art galleries abounded at street level and one-by-one the old factory and warehouse buildings saw new life.

Unlike many of its neighbors, No. 169 Mercer Street had suffered little architectural abuse.  In the early 1980s it became home to the Metro Pictures gallery; and by 1987 the TERN gallery was here.  Then in 1993 floors above the gallery/store space were converted to “joint living-work quarters for artists,” as described by the Department of Buildings--one gargantuan residential space per floor.   The Department of Buildings specified that “at least one occupant of each unit to be certified as an ‘artist’ by the Department of Cultural Affairs.”

Reflective of the avant guard tone of the neighborhood, in 1999 the store space was home to Radio Hula.  The Hawaiian-themed store not only sold tropical apparel and items; but organized hula dancing for both men and women.

 

photo by Alice Lum

As it did in 1896 No. 169 Mercer Street, with its light-colored brick and creative ornamentation, stands out among its more utilitarian-looking neighbors.  

The 1897 Astor Building -- No. 583 Broadway

photo by Alice Lum

Broadway between Prince and West Houston Streets in 1848 was still lined with stately Federal-style homes of New York’s gentry.    At least four of them were owned by the wealthiest man in the United States—John Jacob Astor, who lived in No. 583.

The 84-year old Astor died in the house that year, leaving an estate of  around $20 million—approximately $110 billion today.   To his granddaughters Sarah Astor, Liza Astor, Louisa and Cecelia he bequeathed “the four houses and lots fronting on the westerly side of Broadway, between Prince street and Houston street, now known as numbers 579, 581 583, and 587, extending in the rear to Mercer street.” 

The elegant residential neighborhood would not last for long, however.   In 1852 the magnificent Metropolitan Hotel replaced a row of homes across the street as the neighborhood quickly became one of exclusive retail emporiums and even restaurants.   But the high-tone status of the area remained and the commercial buildings were often constructed of gleaming white marble.

Astor’s houses were long gone by 1896 and the business structures at Nos. 583 through 587 were now owned by the real estate firm of Weil & Mayer.   The millinery and dry goods district was entrenching itself in the area.

Taking advantage of the potential, that year the company demolished the buildings and commissioned architects Cleverdon & Putzel to design a retail store and loft building on the site.   The prolific team was responsible for loft buildings, apartment buildings and rowhouses throughout the city.

Completed a year later in 1897, the building was named with a nod to the property’s original owner:  The Astor Building.   Twelve stories high, it was a lush mixture of buff-colored brick, terra cotta, cast iron and stone.   Double-height fluted Corinthian columns above the ground floor separated expansive bays.   Reflecting the relatively-new Beaux Arts movement, the upper floors gushed forth in elaborate ornamentation.

The second and third floors prompted the AIA Guide to New York City call the design "magnificent."  -- photo by Alice Lum

The new building filled with apparel and hat manufacturers.  C. E. Bentley Company, called by the New York Times a “pioneer in the art needle industry” manufactured lace and embroidery here, and sold related products such as floss and thread.  The owners, brothers Charles and Chester Bentley, were nearly wiped out by a fire in 1901.   Damage to the structure was quickly repaired and the firm remained here for years.

Also in the building at the time were Julius Franklin’s “wrapper and dress skirt factory;” H. Goldfarb who made “fancy hats, ready-to-wear hats, and tailored and ready-to-trim hats;” and Nathanson & Brownstone, makers of “Brownstone Clothes.”  

Polished granite pilasters separate the complex arched shop windows and entrances -- photo by Alice Lum

By 1909 C. E. Bentley had a competitor here--Stein, Doblin & Co. was manufacturing and importing embroideries “and novelties.”  In the ground floor retail space that year was Hanauer, Arnstein & Siegel which advertised that “We are showing a beautiful line of Children’s Broadcloth Coats with felt bonnets to match.”

The clothing store would be replaced around 1917 by the Eclipse Light Company’s electric light showrooms.  The firm would stay here at least throughout the war years, offering modern wall sconces and hanging fixtures and one amazing new gadget:  the electric vacuum cleaner.   Although it drifted away from Eclipse’s main product line, The Apex Electric Suction Cleaner was marketed as a must-have for the modern housewife.

In the 1920s women’s hat makers Oettinger & Goldstein, Inc. and Waldorf Hat Works were both here, as was the Rainbow Shirt Corporation.  Spinnerin Yarn Co., Inc. occupied space in the 1940s as did My Girlie Hat Company.

Although in 1942 the ground floor store became home to an office furniture and equipment store, the upper floors continued to house garment and hat factories through the 1950s.  1958 was an especially nerve wracking year for the garment workers here.

On March 19 a fire had roared through the nearby 623 Broadway, killing 24 textile workers.  That tragedy was still on the minds of garment workers a month later.

The Ginsburg Manufacturing Company operated a lingerie factory in the basement of No. 583.  Most of the firm’s workers were Hispanic women who worked in less-than-ideal conditions below street level.  On April 21 around 11:37 in the morning, one worker sitting at her sewing machine complained of headache and dizziness.   Another woman nearby said she, too, felt ill.

Before long foreman Steve Karcinski had his hands full.  He took the two women to the rear of the basement and gave them smelling salts.  But then, according to The New York Times, “women began collapsing all over the basement.”

“It was like a chain reaction,” the foreman told reporters.  “After one went, another went, and they all started to go.”

Dr. Emmanuel Shiffman was called, who initially thought it was a case of mass hysteria.  When the firemen of Engine Company 13 arrived, they began removing the women on stretchers.  Some were taken across the street to the firehouse while others were removed to the Ginsburg offices upstairs on the 9^th floor.

It only got worse.

When Dr. Shiffman arrived there were only two women left in the basement.  “One was sitting in a chair screaming and throwing her hands about,” he reported, “The second seemed a quiet girl, in a kind of stupor.”

When he reached the 9^th floor he found several girls “screaming hysterically.”  The scene was one of mayhem.  “One was sitting on a couch screaming,” the doctor said, “her eyes tightly shut, throwing her arms around in an offhand manner.  I shook her rather violently and then pressed the supra-orbital nerve.”

When the girl did not respond, the doctor got tough.  “I tried again and screamed at her in Spanish: ‘Now listen to me: stop it!’”

“Usually I get them out in five or ten minutes, but this was different.  As soon as I got one quiet, another would start yelling and then they would all scream.”

Eventually 14 women and 1 man were taken to hospitals.  The initial cause was found to be carbon monoxide escaping from a defective boiler.  Yet the poisonous gas did not explain the unbridled frenzy the women displayed.  Dr. Shiffman maintained that most of the women were “simple victims of autosuggestion,” since carbon monoxide induces stupor rather than hysteria.

Only a month later, on March 24, about 400 garment workers, most of them women, arrived to work to find they were barred from entering the building.  The Fire Department deemed ten of the twelve floors “fire hazardous” and the women milled about along the sidewalk for hours in the chilly air.

The building was filled mostly with manufacturers of women’s underwear, sweaters and that essential for 1950s teenagers, crinoline petticoats.  In the sewing rooms the Fire Department had found blocked exits and aisles, oily waste in paper barrels, iron bars at windows and “generally poor fire housekeeping.”

After fines were issued and the violations corrected, the women were admitted back into the building to continue sewing petticoats.

By now the Garment District was moving north to 7^thAvenue in the 30s and the Soho neighborhood was becoming seedy at best.   In the 1970s The Astor Building sat vacant and neglected. 

The area slowly experienced a renaissance as artists rediscovered the vast and affordable sunlit loft spaces.  Galleries opened and one-by-one structures were reclaimed.  In 1993 The New Museum opened in the street level of The Astor Building.   The only museum in the city dedicated to exhibiting contemporary art from around the world, the edgy space was a destination for art lovers.   But the upper floors remained empty.

photo by Alice Lum

When the building’s owners decided to convert the space above ground level to a luxury hotel they began by knocking out most of the windows.  And then they defaulted on the mortgage and work stopped.   Rain, snow and pigeons entered the openings.   Sections of the detailed molded-zinc cornice broke loose and dangled precariously over the pavement, inducing city officials to remove parts of it.  The one-elegant building became an eyesore.

Then, finally, in 1995 The Astor Building was rescued.  Platt Byard Dovell Architects was commissioned to renovate the upper floors into 19 loft condominiums.  After sitting essentially abandoned for two decades, there would be only two apartments per floor on most levels—each over 4,000 square feet.   Architect Jim Colgate, a member of the community board’s landmarks and zoning committee, told The New York Times “Everyone wins when an eyesore of a building is transformed into a jewel again.”

As it did in 1897, The Astor Building soars above its neighbors -- photo by Alice Lum

And a jewel it is.   The rich façade, along with its elaborate cornice, shines once again.   The New Museum moved on in 2004, yet the building is once again an important element in the fabric of an architecturally rich block.

A Victorian with a Make-Over -- No.. 591 Broadway

No. 591 once perfectly matched its neighbor to the right.  The storefronts remain idential.

Just prior to the Civil War commercial buildings began replacing the staid old homes of Broadway below Houston Street.  In 1860 the two matching white marble structures at Nos. 591 and 593 Broadway were completed.   With modified Italian Renaissance touches like robust arched pediments over the central windows of the second and third floors they rose five stories to a shared, bracketed cornice.  Stone quoins ran down the sides of the buildings.

Merchant tailors Alonzo R. and William H. Peck established their business in No. 591.  While the brothers sold apparel to its well-heeled clients, two other brothers, Henry and Edward Anthony, were establishing themselves elsewhere as leaders in a new technology:  photography.

Although both of the Anthony brothers had been educated at Columbia College as engineers, neither was satisfied with his profession.   Both men worked on the Croton Aqueduct—the engineering marvel that brought fresh drinking water to Manhattan.  Before the completion of the project James Renwick called upon Edward to assist him in a survey of the northeastern boundary of the United States.  There was, at the time, a dispute between Great Britain and the U.S. regarding the Canadian border.

Edward Anthony had been for sometime fascinated with the “new art of making pictures with the aid of sunlight, just introduced by Daguerre,” as explained in “America’s Successful Men of Affairs” later, in 1895. During the survey Anthony took photographs of the terrain, documenting hills along the boundary line that England denied existed.   The resulting proof ended the controversy and was the first example of photography being used to settle diplomatic disputes.

Upon his return to New York, Edward Anthony went into the business of supplying photographic materials to the trade in 1842.   Henry, all the while, bounced around trying to find himself.    After the Croton project he entered banking, working in the Bank of the State of New York.  He left that position to return to engineering, working on the New York section of the Hudson River Railroad.  The American Bookseller recalled “Tiring of that, he again entered the business of banking, and remained in it until 1852, when he joined his brother in dealing in photographic materials.”

Edward’s firm, which now became E. & H. T. Anthony & Co., had already become the largest manufacturer of photographic materials in the world.    By 1870 the company took over the entire building at No. 591 Broadway and operated a chemical works in Jersey City, and had three factories for the manufacture of cameras and other apparatus in Brooklyn, Hoboken and New York.  In addition, the firm published periodicals such as Anthony’s Photographic Bulletin.

The two buildings at Nos. 591 and 593 were mirror-images in 1895 -- King's Handbook of the United States (copyright expired)

The Bulletin was aimed at photographers.  The Inland Printer said of it, “Every issue copiously illustrated.  Practical articles on process work and on photography by practical men.”

On a Wednesday afternoon in October 1884, Henry T. Anthony left No. 591 Broadway heading to his home at No. 108 Lexington Avenue.   He decided to make a quick stop at 17^thStreet and 4^th Avenue and, while crossing the street, had to bolt out of the way of an oncoming horse car.  The 70-year old bachelor took a hard fall onto the pavement and was seriously injured.

The doctors at New York Hospital had him taken to his residence as “it was known that his injuries were fatal,” said The American Bookseller the next week.  With his death, Edward was once again the sole principal.

It was a time when photography was for professionals only.  Not only were the supplies expensive, but the equipment was ungainly and the process complicated.  That was soon to change.

On August 18, 1885 The New York Times reported on revolutionary developments.

“The progress which has been made of late years in the science of photography has been something remarkable—the modes of posing are as different as can possibly, while the apparatus employed have been changed and improved in a high degree.  The photographer of the old school fixed the person to be taken in front of a sort of ‘bull’s-eye’ and requested him or her to ‘look natural.’  Then, after a half hour of fixing and twisting, the cap was taken off the bull’s-eye, and a minute or more of torture followed, in which the sitter gazed fixedly at nothing.  The result is well known to all.”

But now, said the article, E. & H. T. Anthony’s “Detective” camera changed all that.  The comparatively lightweight camera operated by means of a modern shutter, allowing photographs to be “literally taken ‘on the wing.’”    The Times called it “the lightest, neatest, and most compact camera ever made.”  The process of taking a picture was like nothing before.  “When needed for use it is only necessary to insert a ‘plate,’ a little catch is raised, a ‘click’ is heard, and quick as the twinkling of an eye the view is secured.  There is no trouble, and scarcely any mechanical skill is exercised.”

With the new device E. & H. T. Anthony had made amateur photography possible.   Tourists found the new plaything indispensable--to the point that the firm was unable to keep up with the demand.   In 1891 The Illustrated American urged tourists to contact the company in preparation for their vacation.  “For twenty-five dollars, Anthony, of 591 Broadway, can give you an excellent photographic equipment for your trip  With the camera, tripod, and box of plates they sell the chemicals prepared for use, so that, by the aid of an instruction-book, you can gather enough information to teach you the camera’s use.”

Along with its cameras, the firm sold everything related to the field:  portable dark rooms, photographic films, sensitized papers and “amateur photographic outfits,” among them. 

Professional photographers could purchase the above stereopticon camera, for making three-dimensional slides --The School Journal 1897 (copyright expired)

On December 14, 1888 Edward Anthony died.  His son, Richard A became secretary of the firm which continued under the presidency of Vincent M. Wilcox.

In 1895 “King’s Handbook of the United States” noted that “The universally popular interest in photographic art, which is so marked a feature of the present day, depends largely on apparatus and supplies devised or introduced by E. & H. T. Anthony & Co., preeminent in all the world as manufacturers and sellers of all photographic materials.”

While easier to transport, the cameras were still expensive in 1896.  The $60 spent on a Marlborough would equal over $1,000 today--McClure's Magazine (copyright expired)

After three decades in the building, on December 15, 1899 E. & H. T. Anthony advertised its “removal sale” in the New York Tribune.   Although the firm would continue to do limited business here until around 1904, the bulk of the building was taken over by The Strobel & Wilken Co., importers and dealers in toys.

In March 1900 No. 591 Broadway was sold at auction to William Cohen, of Cohen, Endel & Co., for a bid of $157,500.  Three months later the new owners announced their intentions to “make elaborate alterations to the building, including an additional story,” as reported in The New York Times.

The 1900 renovation would result in a remarkable transformation -- photo by Alice Lum

The report was not exaggerated.   All traces of the old marble building above the ground floor—which had been modernized along with its neighbor around 1895—were wiped away and a fantastical, updated façade installed.   Slender cast iron piers rose through the four central floors affording extensive expanses of glass.

The new sixth floor which sat above a decorated cast iron entablature was frosted with terra cotta ornamentation.  Above the rows of arched windows rose a brick pediment covered in terra cotta.

photo by Alice Lum

The toy dealer would remain here for fifteen years, followed by apparel firms as the dry goods and millinery industry firmly implanted itself in the neighborhood.

In 1916 Nelson, Siegel and Company was here manufacturing ladies’ hats.  By 1920 shirt manufacturers Nibenberg & Saltzman had its offices here.  The sizable firm turned out about 1,500 dozen shirts every week from its factory in Johnston, New York.  At the same time Kalter-Cerf Mercantile Company operated from the building.  The diverse company dealt in shoes as well as operating as jobbers and wholesale auctioneers.

Today the handsome building is little changed.  As is the case with its former twin next door, the late Victorian storefront at street level is miraculously intact.  Art galleries replace shirt manufacturers and a Victoria’s Secret retail store occupies the ground floor where cameras and toys were sold.   And passersby would never guess that the building once matched its more pious neighbor before a unique, near-whimsical remodeling of 1900.

A projecting rosette and overflowing cornucopias decorate the elaborate pediment --photo by Alice Lum

The 1882 Rogers, Peet & Co. Building -- Nos. 569-575 Broadway

When William Backhouse Astor died in 1875 his more than $100 million estate was passed on to his two sons, William and John Jacob III.   They continued to run the family’s real estate empire from the 1835 Greek Revival building at No. 81 Prince Street, just around the corner from Broadway.

But five years later the brothers decided on a move uptown.  They commissioned Astor architect of choice, Thomas Stent, to design a new Astor headquarters on West 26^thStreet, and an imposing commercial building to replace the old one.

Where the Prince Street building had stood would rise a brick-and-stone structure that stretched along Broadway from No. 569 to 575 and filled the Prince Street block.  Early in 1881 Sanitary and Heating Age announced that John Jacob Astor would build a six-story building with “tin roofs and iron cornices” and would have “steam heaters.”  The projected cost was $350,000.

Construction began on March 28, 1881 and was completed a year later, almost to the day, on March 29. 

The Broadway neighborhood had become one of expensive hotels (the Metropolitan Hotel was directly across the street and the white marble St. Nicholas Hotel was just two blocks to the south) and refined shopping.  Stent’s handsome new building was just the ticket for a large retailer.  

Constructed of red brick with contrasting stone, it blended what has been called the Commercial Palace Style with Ruskinian touches like the splayed stone treatment above the second floor windows.   While creating a harmonious whole, each story was treated differently in its shape and size of window openings, carved ornamentation and details—such as the polished granite colunettes at the fourth and fifth floors.  A wonderful cast iron storefront with handsome Corinthian columns offered broad expanses of glass.

Six years earlier M. N. Rogers and Charles B. Peet had joined forces to open a men’s and boys’ clothing store on Broome Street, called Rogers, Peet & Co.   At a time when ready-made clothing was considered lower class, the firm offered well-made goods at affordable, if not inexpensive, prices.  But the store’s success depended as much on marketing as it did on its apparel.   Rogers, Peet instructed its sales team on courtesy and service.  By treating its customers as though they were wealthy patrons of a more exclusive store, the company guaranteed return business.

By the time No. 575 Broadway was ready for occupancy, Rogers, Peet & Co. was ready to move uptown.  On March 1, 1882 a folksy advertisement in the New York Tribune mentioned “Does everybody know that we have moved since last Fall to a much larger store!  We refrain from saying how large the new store is—come and see for yourself.  You will find an ample stock of men’s and boys’ clothing, men’s and boys’ furnishing goods, boy’s hats and caps, and withal, the same obliging disposition toward visitors that characterized the old store—glad to have you drop in.”

Charles Austin Bates wrote a rather self-indulgent periodical entitled Charles Austin Bates Criticisms.  Regarding Rogers, Peet, however, he had only praise.  Of a particular sales clerk he said “He always remembers my name.  He generally remembers the size I wear of different things.  He always suggests that I have the bundle sent up, no matter how small it is.  When I want a particular tie fished out of the front window he always gets it as if he had rather sell from the window than from the counter.”

Bates insisted “If I were running a store I believe I would send my clerks around to buy things of this salesman as the quickest way of teaching them to sell goods.”  He was also impressed by the Rogers, Peets’ ticket that was included in each purchase.   The check promised money back on an item that either did not wear well or was not satisfactory.   Every purchase was delivered the same day, packaged in what Bates called “a good, clean, strong-looking box.”

More important than the quality of the box, was its small label.  “The name of the firm is so small that you have to look closely to see it,” noted Bates.   The reason for the discreet label was simple:  “The package does not advertise to every passerby that you have been buying clothes of a ready-made clothing store.”

 A Rogers, Peet & Co. advertisement in the New York Tribune in 1883 touted the store’s above-board practices.  “We have ready for your inspection a stock of Winter clothes for men and boys peerless in variety and honest in make up; every lot labeled with a truthful description of its kind and quality, and every price warranted by our legal guarantee, which insures you complete satisfaction or your money bank.  These are the unassailable ramparts behind which we invite you to deal.”

Rogers, Peet’s marketing philosophy was inspired.  Window shoppers were well-treated in the store.  The Rogers, Peet & Co. philosophy was “Sightseers are welcome.  A looker to-day may mean a buyer to-morrow.”   Salesmen were sent off to golf clubs with samples to stir the interest of men who had no intention of shopping.   And realizing that its customers were not Vanderbilts or Belmonts, the store worded its ads in the vernacular of the more common shopper:  “Our straw hat business is described in a jiffy:  Same grade and same kinds of straw as kept by the very best hatter.  In variety, you get no advantage buying here; but you get the same hats for less money, and our assurance that if anything goes wrong during the ‘life’ of the hat—you get your money back.”

An advertisement in 1882 cautioned shoppers not to overlook the "fixings" department -- (copyright expired)

While the clothing store took up the retail space, the upper floors of No. 575 Broadway filled with hat dealers as the dry goods and millinery district centered itself in the neighborhood.

Frank F. Hodges & Co. and Thomas H. Wood & Co. were among the early tenants.   An article in Millinery Trade Review in August 1889 gives an idea why Victorian hats nearly wiped out entire bird species.  It noted that Thomas H. Wood was “showing all the rich novelties of the season in birds and fancy feather patterns, including new wing effects, single and double, full bonnet and turban trimmings, with top of front mountings, novel arrangements of birds, bird and foliage branches, and a very large assortment of medium grades of fancies, both imported and of their own make.  Their lines of ostrich goods are exceptionally large to meet the increased demand.  Black plumes and tips are prominent, while the latest ideas in novel shaded effects and novelty combinations of ostrich are also shown.”

At the same time Frank f. Hodges was showing the latest in bonnets and hats “in the fur-felts,” and L. Duhain Jr. & Co. offered “an attractive line of fancy feathers, birds and wing effects” and “an assortment of velvet flowers with black and shaded foliage.”

Other millinery concerns in the building were Hirsch & Park, makers of straw hats for ladies, misses and children; and H. O. Bernard Manufacturing Co.

H. O. Bernard offered a wide selection of straw headwear in 1895 (copyright expired)

In 1902 Rogers, Peet & Co. moved to a new store further north on Broadway, ending two decades at the Prince Street and Broadway location.

The building was sold by the estates of William Astor and John Jacob Astor on May 17, 1925.  The vast spaces once filled with men’s shirts and boys’ knickers became home to the Lightolier Company, dealers in electric light fixtures.

Through the middle of the 20^th century the Broadway neighborhood suffered neglect, but resurged when the SoHo artist area took shape and the cast iron historic district was rediscovered.   In 1996 No. 575 Broadway was remodeled by Arata Isozaki as the Guggenheim Soho museum.    Perfido Weiskopf Wagstaff & Goettel executed the rehabilitation of the building, not only bringing it into the 20^th century with new electrical and plumbing, but analyzing the layers of paint to discern the original 1882 colors.

Wanderers of SoHo’s art galleries, boutiques and museums were stunned when only three years later the Guggenheim SoHo closed.  On March 26, 1999 The New York Times reported that “The Solomon R. Guggenheim’s SoHo branch, whose closing in January was rumored to be permanent, will reopen—7,000 square feet smaller—on May 12.  Most of the ground floor occupied by the museum at 575 Broadway, at the corner of Prince Street, will soon become a Prada store, the Italian retailer’s third in SoHo.”

Prada commissioned Dutch architect Remment Lucal Koolhaas to renovate the space into what the AIA Guide to New York City calls “a whimsical wonderland.”  The upper floors filled with the upscale magazine publishers of Art in America, Interview, and Antiques; and offices like those of Bobbi Brown Cosmetics.

In January 2006 a devastating fire raged throughout five of the six floors.  200 firefighters fought the blaze for three hours before extinguishing it.  Deputy Assistant Fire Chief Ronald R. Spadafora announced that most of the interior would have to be rebuilt; “but its brick façade escaped virtually unscathed,” said New York Times reporter Fernanda Santos.  Today there is no hint of the fire.  The striking brick-and-stone building is as handsome today as when Rogers, Peet & Co. sold its first shirt in 1882.

photographs taken by the author

The 1860 T. S. Berry & Co. Bldg. -- No. 593 Broadway

Broadway between Prince Street and West Houston Street in 1860 was not the neighborhood it was a generation earlier.  Commercial buildings replaced the fashionable residences that had lined the thoroughfare for two decades.  But Broadway retained its high-end reputation, as reflected in the upscale businesses.

In 1860 two striking five-story marble buildings were erected at Nos. 591 and 593 Broadway.   Reflecting the taste in residential architecture at the time, they featured arched windows with handsome foliate keystones at the second and third floors.     The center windows were capped by robust arched pediments supported by scrolled brackets.  At the fourth and fifth floors the center windows were replaced by smaller, paired windows.  Above it all was a restrained, bracketed cornice.

It was a time when a piano was expected in the parlor of any well-cultivated and respectable family.  Keyboard lessons for young girls were often considered as important as needlework instruction.

The area became home to several piano and organ merchants.  At No. 596 was the showroom of Mason & Hamlin Organ Co. where handsome ”cabinet organs” graced the show windows.    Hall & Son’s Music Store at No. 543 sold piano fortes, cabinet organs and melodeons manufactured by Sherwin & Herbert ; and Chickering & Sons piano fortes were shown at No. 694.

T. S. Berry moved into No. 593.  The firm’s high-end showrooms boasted a variety of instruments: piano fortes, grand pianos, parlor grands and square grands, parlor organs and melodeons.  The company would be here for years, selling instruments made by other firms, like Hallet, Davis Company, as well as its own “choral organs,” manufactured under the names Berry & Thompson and A. E. Thompson.

T. S. Berry & Co. were the agents for Hallet, Davis & Co. pianos -- Atlantic Monthly, July 1864 (copyright expired)

Competition was keen among the musical instrument sellers and Berry promised, in an 1865 advertisement, “great bargains…sold on monthly payments.”   Customers could also find deals on second-hand pianos “at $60, $150 to $300” or they could lease the instruments.

Berry promised “A liberal discount made to Clergymen or Sabbath Schools” who purchased a reed organ.

The firm advertised this organ in The American Farmer in 1865 for $160. -- (copyright expired)

In the meantime, further downtown, D. Morley decided to give up his long-established antique furniture business.  He sold the business in 1865 to an employee, Obadiah L. Sypher and a partner, H. R. Treadwell, who renamed it Sypher & Co.  The new owners moved the highly-respected store to No. 593 that year.

While T. S. Berry sold parlor instruments from the ground floor showrooms, Sypher & Co. served the carriage trade from upper floors.   The New York Times said of Syphyer, “He has been a large importer of [antiques] for some of the wealthiest and most fashionable families of New York, and some of his importations of reproductions of famous works in the palaces of Europe brought large prices.”

The time-stained stone could easily be mistaken for brownstone today.

As the Civil War ended and the city’s wealthy moved further uptown, the upscale businesses followed.  Broadway slowly became the center of the dry goods and millinery trades.   In 1878 Sypher & Co. relocated to No. 739 Broadway, the same year that T. S. Berry left No. 593.

By now the Metropolitan Hotel had replaced the smaller buildings on the opposite side of the block.   As early as 1872 the high-end men’s furnishings importers and manufacturers, Topham, Weld & Co. was doing business from No. 593.  The firm dealt in “tie silks,” and were the sole agents for “Puchene Kid Gloves and Reveil Dogskin Gloves.”

Similarly, George Sloane ran his silk and satin importing company here until building his own building at 32^nd Street and Broadway in 1879.  The fourth floor housed Meltsner Brothers, dealers in feathers for the millinery manufacturers, and Weld, Coburn & Wilckens made scarves and suspenders here.  “They are the best made,” guaranteed the firm’s advertisements.

Around 10:00 pm on the night of June 1, 1891 fire broke out in Meltsner Brother’s loft.  Before it was extinguished $2,750 worth of damage was inflicted on Meltsner’s business as well as S. Schlesinger downstairs and Weld, Colburn & Wilckens.

No. 591, to the left, perfectly matched No. 593 before a 1900 makeover.

Weld, Colburn & Wilckens had moved into the building in the mid-1880s and would stay well into the 1890s.  Among the employees here was John A. Bradley.  The head of the manufacturing department, he had been with the company for ten years when he and his wife Caroline left for vacation in June 1891.  (Mrs. Bradley had been an employee of the company when John was first hired.)

While the couple was enjoying their vacation, management was looking closely at Bradley’s expenses.  $2000 worth of vouchers were discovered for purchases that had apparently never been made.  When the Bradleys returned on June 27 they discovered that their bank accounts had been attached.  John Bradley, according to The Sun, “expressed great surprise at the news.”

Around this time the ground floor of No. 593 was updated.   A cast iron façade supported by fluted pilasters at the sides framed a slightly-projecting show window.  A door to the retail space at the southern end was balanced by an entrance to the upper floors on the opposite side.

The tenants at No. 593 tended to stay on for a decade or more.  In 1893 Hodgman Rubber Company established its showroom here and five years later moved its headquarters into the building.  The firm manufactured an exhausting list of rubber merchandise that included “bed pans, water bottles, bicycle tires, bathing apparatus, sponge bags, ice bags, gas bags, face bags, confectioners’ bags, air cushions, air pillows, air beds, furniture fenders, life preservers, teething pads” and more.  The company remained in the building for exactly ten years, moving on to Nos. 806-808 Broadway in 1903.

That year Joseph Schultz & Co., makers of hats, moved in.   Joseph Schultz’s business was successful enough for him to afford a home at 77 West 85^thStreet.  It was there in 1913 that the 66-year old committed suicide in the bathroom by opening the gas jets.

Apparel and millinery firms continued to fill the building.  In 1907 Leumann, Boesch & Weingart, a Switzerland-based embroidery company marketed its “Lily-White Semi-Finished Embroidered Corset-Covers” here.  The New York Tribune assured that it was “an article which is admired by women.”

Ideal Supply Co. sold its “high grade hosiery, underwear and knitted neckwear” directly to consumers through traveling salesmen, while Hirsch & Park manufactured hats.

The ground floor and basement were taken by J. Sinsheimer & Sons, manufacturers of hosiery and underwear, on February 1, 1907.   Joseph Sinsheimer not only established his sewing rooms here, but ran a wholesale business from the store level.  The maker paid an annual rent of $7,500 for the expansive space.  But trouble was on the horizon.

After Sinsheimer had been doing business here for five years, the Public Service Commission began construction of the subway, a portion of which would run directly in front of No. 593 Broadway.  In March 1912, as part of the street excavation, a sidewalk bridge was erected which blocked the sunlight from the store windows.  The structure remained in place from March 1912 until December 1913.

An irate Joseph Sinsheimer sued the contractor, the Underpinning & Foundation Company. 

“Before the operations in question,” read the court documents, “the light entering plaintiff’s premises was sufficient to enable business to be done therein during the spring and summer months until 4 o’clock in the afternoon, without artificial light.”

Now, Sinsheimer complained, he had to keep lamps lit in the store all day long and “the light was insufficient to properly show goods to customers within the store.”  In order for “the color and texture of the goods to be discerned,” he had to take them onto the sidewalk.

Proving that you actually can fight City Hall, Joseph Sinsheimer, the small underwear and sock maker, won his court battle against the New York City subway contractor.

Apparel firms, like Simon Goodman’s men’s tailoring establishment, continued on in No. 593 throughout the first half of the 20^thcentury.    After a period of neglect, the SoHo district was rediscovered and in 1993 No. 593 became home to the Museum for African American Art. 

Established in 1976 by the artist and art historian Dr. Samella Lewis and others, the museum’s goal was to “to increase public awareness of and support for the artistic expression of African Americans and other African descendant people.”   The museum stayed on here until 2002.

Today—in what would be a shock to the Victorian customers—posters of scantily clad models grace the windows of a Victoria’s Secret store in the space where T. S. Berry sold parlor organs.  

non-credited photographs taken by the author