The 1908 Spero Building -- Nos. 19-27 W. 21st Street

At the turn of the last century the block on 21^stStreet between 5^th and 6^th Avenues saw a burst of development.  The high-end brownstone homes of a generation earlier were quickly razed and tall manufacturing loft buildings were being erected.    Because many of the large retail stores along 23^rd Street had their shipping and receiving entrances in the rear, 22^nd Street was less desirable than 21st Street for light factory buildings because of the traffic.   In January 1908 The New York Times remarked that “This block on Twenty-first Street has shown unusually steady growth.”

Stern Brothers Department Store was one of the emporiums on 23^rd Street.  Several years before the Times article was written Benjamin Stern had acquired the string of properties from No. 19 to 27 West 21^stStreet.  His intention was to open an annex connected to the main store by a tunnel.  Although the tunnel was built and was being used for the transfer of stock; the plan to build the annex was abandoned as the block rapidly filled with mercantile buildings as opposed to retail establishments.

In 1907 Stern sold the 104-foot wide property to developer David Spero who planned a modern loft building for the site.  The New York Times reported that “One of the few large gaps remaining in the rows of tall loft buildings on Twenty-first Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, will soon be closed by the new twelve-story structure.”   Spero commissioned architect Robert D. Kohn to design the building.

In April of  that year Kohn’s magnificent headquarters for The Evening Post was completed.  It was exceptional among Manhattan buildings in that Kohn strayed from the safety of Beaux Arts and Renaissance-inspired architecture and looked across the ocean to the ground-breaking Art Nouveau style.  The Evening Post Building was a bold expression of the Vienna Secession offshoot of the avant garde style.  For David Spero’s new building Kohn would go back to the well.

Completed in 1908 at a cost of around $350,000, the muscular façade was clad in grey brick, limestone and granite.  Kohn ornamented the building with hefty two-story piers at the base that terminated in fountain-like art nouveau carvings.   In between, copper-roofed oriel windows added light to the interior and created an undulating movement to the façade.   The irregular roofline and the verticality of the uppermost floors which protruded slightly from the lower surface supported by metal brackets, reflected the Vienna Secessionist influence.

The Spero Building as it appeared one year after completion -- Architects' and Builders' Magazine, 1909 (copyright expired)

The neighborhood had already become the center of the apparel industry and quickly the building filled with garment firms.  N. Altman & Co. took 10,000 feet on the second floor in 1908.  Turkel & Felstiner was another early tenant in the apparel industry. 

Rosenberg & Co. was here in 1911 when one of its employees went missing.  Although the poorly-paid girls in the dressmaking shops were often nearly-illiterate immigrants, 22-year old Hannah Reiner was educated and a lover of books.  During the summer months on her time off the Bronx resident would often hire a rowboat, row far out onto a lake in a park, then drift lazily along lost in a book.

On Tuesday, June 13 she did just that.   A 3:45 she rented a boat from Grosse’s boathouse in Pelham Bay Park and left her valuables for safekeeping—a pocketbook containing letters and $1.35, her white silk parasol and some other articles--then rowed out onto the bay with a copy of Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar.”  

It was the last anyone time would see her alive.

When Hannah failed to return for dinner, her mother became alarmed and sent her brother to find her.  The rowboat was found, without its oars, with the girl’s book on the floor.   As days passed, the police dragged the bay to no avail.  “Relatives of the girl believe that as she sat in her rowboat reading a novel some men in a motor boat swooped down upon her and dragged her into their craft,” reportedThe Evening World on July 21.  “It is believed that some vicious character observed the girl’s habit and lay in wait for her.”

Hannah Reiner worked in the Spero Building as a dressmaker when she disappeared -- The Evening World, July 22, 1911 (copyright expired)

The following day the same newspaper reported “Hannah Reiner Slain by Motor Boat Thugs.”  The article said that her body “was found this afternoon cast upon the beach at Throgg’s Neck.  The police discovered marks of violence upon the arms and face that indicated that she had been the victim of a mysterious murder.”

The coroner’s physician reported finding “many cuts and bruises.  A deep cut appeared on the head.  The arms were bruised and there was a depression on one side of the head that seemed to have been made by a blow.”

Amazingly, however, one day later, on July 23, the police and the coroner made a 360 degree reversal.  The Sun reported that “The police and Coroner are convinced that the young woman fell out of the boat in which she was rowing and that her death was an accident.”  The marks of violence were suddenly forgotten.  “The clothing was not torn and the body showed no bruises or marks.”

Although the family vehemently argued that there was foul play involved, the case of Hannah Reiner was abruptly closed.

Earlier in that year, the tragic Triangle Shirtwaist fire resulted in the horrific deaths of 145 garment workers.  A year later, on March 21, the memory of that tragedy was fresh in the minds of girls making women’s waists, or fitted shirts, at the M. I. Nathan Company in the Spero Building.   40-year old Julia Gaillard went to the back room to brew a cup of tea over a small gas stove.  As she turned, her dress caught fire and the flames rapidly enveloped her clothing and seared her face.

“Screaming frantically, the girl began to race madly down the long aisle, the fire lapping out to threaten all the piles of cloth and paper patterns,” reported The Evening World.  Although a clerk, Isadore Nash, wrapped the woman in an overcoat and snuffed out the flames, it was too late to control the panic among the hundred other workers.  The World said “Remembering the Triangle fire, they began a mad scramble for the elevators.  Their panic was contagious and within five minutes several hundred more fear-mad women were clawing each other at every angle of the stairway from the second to the twelfth floor.”

The two elevator boys, Joe Lowrey and Joe Paul ran the cars up and down non-stop, attempting to take as many as possible at a time and trying to ensure the women that there was no fire.  “Meanwhile, all the building, from top to sidewalk, had caught the infection of panic,” said The Evening World.  “The stairs became jammed almost immediately, and those who heard the cry of ‘Fire!’ on the upper floors and rushed to the stairways found them clogged by those who were already fleeing in blind terror.  The fire escapes on the back of the building became black with girls.  Some threw open the windows on the Twenty-first street side of the building and screamed for rescue to those in the street.”

Although order was eventually restored, the burns to Julia Gaillard proved fatal.

In 1914 the prominent clothing manufacturer Joseph Jonasson & Co. contemplated leaving the Spero Building for “a new home in the uptown neighborhood.”  In its announcement, the firm seemed nearly apologetic.  “The Spero Building is not so very old and it is in the district close to Fifth Avenue, where the manufacturing houses flocked a number of years ago, and while its equipment and arrangement cannot be criticized, Joseph Jonasson & Co. have found that the increasing demands of their trade make it imperative that new and larger quarters be secured.”

American Cloak and Suit Review said that “There is no house in the entire industry that is more respected and esteemed than the Jonasson institution.”  The Spero management was no doubt nervous about losing one of its better-known tenants.   Yet the building continued to be filled with similar firms.

In 1916 Jacob Liss, “manufacturers of ladies’ waists,” moved in, followed by the W. & B. Dress Company on the 10^thFloor.   During the 1920s there were new tenants like the Champion Cloak Company and the S. J. Hartsfeld Co., Inc. which made “boys’ wash suits.”   Superior Stitching Company took the 6^th floor in 1927.

Hartsfeld took out the above ad in The Boys' Outfitter in September, 1920 (copyright expired)

As the garment district migrated northward to 7^thAvenue, the Spero Building saw a more varied tenant list.  In 1935 Orion Press, Inc. was here and in the 1940s was Berton Plastics, Inc.    Today an even great variety of renters can be found from Pangloss Films, the documentary film production company founded by filmmaker Peter Yost, to an acupuncturist office.  On the ground floor is a massive costume shop, Abracadabra.

Richard Kohn’s masculine art nouveau design, reflective of the manufacturing purpose of the building, is nearly unaltered a century after completion.  It is a remarkable example of a rarely-seen style of architecture in New York City.

non-credited photographs taken by the author

The 1903 Art Nouveau "New Amsterdam" Theatre

In the first days of the 20th Century New York architects were recreating Roman temples, Renaissance palazzos and Romanesque castles. At the same time Paris turned its back on the past and embraced the innovative Art Nouveau style introduced at the 1900 Paris Exposition. Sinuous Metro station entrances and floral apartment buildings and retail stores seemed to sprout from the pavement like vines.


New York architectural critic Charles De Kay described Art Nouveau design as “…the senseless curves which mar a good deal of the work embraced nowadays under that somewhat misleading title. Nine-tenths of the art nouveau we see in Europe emanates from men and women who mistake haphazard fantasticality for imagination. Their products have neither rhyme nor reason, confuse the mind, and add no real beauty to an object, while often they injure its usefulness. Spindling, swirling supports that do not support anything, grotesque decorations that have no meaning where they are applied, architecture treated like a piece of jewelry merely signify the artisan who seizes on a new movement without understanding it and tries to be in the fashion at any cost.”

Architects Henry B. Herts and Hugh Tallant thought differently.

When Abraham Erlanger and Marc Klaw chose 42nd Street for a new theatre in 1902 as the entertainment district moved uptown from 23rd Street, they commissioned Herts and Tallant to design it. What the architects produced was like nothing seen before in the country.



photo NYPL Collection


The deceptively narrow façade disguised the wide auditorium to the rear extending to 41st Street. The front elevation was a Beaux-Arts explosion splashed with Art Nouveau touches. The ornate sculpted arch over the entrance was a matter of legal bickering for months in 1903.  The arch would project four feet over the building line, a violation of code. The mayor chimed in saying “…if we are to have a beautiful city, we have got to allow ornamentation beyond the building line…Now, limit the style of ornamentation, and the extent to which it may project, and, instead of a beautiful city we will have a city as ugly as can be imagined.”

Eventually the mayor and the theatre owners got their way and the installation of the remarkable arch proceeded. Sculptor George Gray Barnard perched a grouping of Drama, Pierrot, Cupid, a Knight and a Lady, surrounded by wreathed flowers, scrolls and garlands. The arch was supported by columns of yellow marble with bronze capitals.

None of the lavish façade ornamentation, however, could prepare the visitor for visual impact of the interior. Designed by Richard Anderson it was the first example of Art Nouveau in the country. A floral motif in “silvery green,” mauve, lilac, pink, red and gold bombarded the theater goer with slinky ornamentation. Charles De Kay, who had held low esteem for Art Nouveau, praised the design. “To enter here is to get a horror of the red plush effects that still linger at the opera and in many a theatre,” he said. “The line of the proscenium arch is accompanied by a chain of conventionalized peacocks modeled in relief by St. John Issing, a decorative motif repeated in the ceiling and elsewhere.”

Herts and Tallant used an innovative cantilever construction that allowed the balconies to hang over the main floor with no visible means of support – giving unobstructed views from all seats in the house.

The pod-like boxes on either side of the stage, also designed by Issing, were each given a separate flower motif such as lily, buttercup, violet, and goldenrod. In the lobby, beneath an art glass dome, was a fireplace of Irish marble and Caen stone, two murals by George Peixotto of “Inspiration” and “Creation,” marble wall fountains with brilliant mosaics, and bronze busts of dramatists.

The men’s lounge, “The Amsterdam Room,” was decorated with a continuous mural by Edward Simmons, George Peixotto and R. W. Finn depicting the history of New York. Masculine oak and leather furniture rested on a terra-cotta tiled floor. The ladies’ lounge was outfitted in satinwood furniture under a ceiling fresco depicting classical figures.

De Kay admitted, “…one cannot refrain from praise to the firm, Messrs Klaw & Erlanger, that sought for our sculptors and painters, our terra cotta workers and carvers, our tapestry makers and embroiderers, mosaicists and modelers, in order to perfect a theatre by the hands of American artists. They have set an example which will be followed. And for having set it so well they deserve the thanks of the community.”

James Traub in his “The Devil’s Playground: A Century of Pleasure and Profit in Times Square” said “The sinuous line and stripped-down ornamentation of art nouveau was the very look of modernity for the forward-thinking aesthetes of the early years of the century, and the New Amsterdam was considered a building of the first importance—a building that might well 'mark an epoch in the history of art,' as one penetrating if breathless account put it. This was also, of course, an era of opulence and show, and the New Amsterdam was intended to dazzle even the most blasé theater-goer."

The architects stressed while designing the building that they wanted to elicit the magic quality of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Appropriately, the opening play on October 25, 1902 was, indeed, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

An architecture critic present on opening night called it “the most airy, fairy beautiful thing in the way of a playhouse that the New York public has ever seen.”  On the roof a second, enclosed theatre offered entertainment in the summer months.

The road ahead for the theater would not always be smooth.

A complaint by the Health Board nearly closed the theatre on March 21, 1907, when police stopped ticket sales. Curtains that had been hung over the exit doors as decoration were deemed a fire hazard by the Board. Joseph Brooks, one of the owners, called the action “uncalled for.” “They closed us up tight and turned away hundreds of persons…There’s not the slightest doubt that there’s something back of the whole thing, but I don’t know what it is.” Whatever “it” was, the theatre was back in operation a day later after removing the curtains.

In 1908 The New Amsterdam was enjoying a smash hit with The Merry Widow. To celebrate the 275th performance, the management announced it would give away “Merry Widow hats” as souvenirs to all the women in orchestra and balcony seats during the matinee. Between the second and third acts, however, the women rioted when a rumor broke out that hats were being given away early.


“There was a small stampede,” reported The New York Times, “a mere hint of what was to follow…One woman, jammed tight against the one table that still stood in place, tackled the woman next to her with a vim that would have done credit to the world’s champion female wrestler. Then the battle was on in earnest. The older women did themselves credit. The remarks which some of them exchanged and the ardor with which they threw themselves into the melee made their daughters look like the veriest molly-coddles.”

The skirmish lasted for about thirty minutes. “At 5:30 o’clock,” said The Times, “only the debris and the memory of the struggle remained.”

The worst problem came in 1930 when the play “Vanities” was raided by police and nine of the cast members were arrested for “giving an indecent performance.” The theatre was reopened when the scene that the police censors found objectionable was removed.

photo 3Dmovingpictures.com

Between the hat riot and the police raid, Florenz Ziegfeld moved his famous Follies from the Moulin Rouge. The Follies presented an annual review at The New Amsterdam until 1927 when Ziegfeld opened his own Ziegfeld Theatre. Through the Follies The New Amsterdam hosted stars like Bert Williams, Fanny Brice, Will Rogers, W. C. Fields, Eddie Cantor and Marion Davies.

The Great Depression hit the theatre district hard. At the beginning of 1931, Variety reported that 31 theatres had closed. The rooftop theatre became NBC Times Square Studio, a radio studio and feature film studio.

Despite its valiant struggles, the theatre was unable to keep afloat. On May 7, 1936 the Dry Dock Savings Institution foreclosed citing $1.6 million inpaid interest and taxes. Max Cohen purchased The New Amsterdam for $500,000 to convert the theatre to a movie house.  The elaborate Beaux Arts entrance arch was stripped off to accomodate a sleek Art Deco neon sign.  The movie theatre opened in 1937 ironically screening A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The rooftop theatre became the NBC Times Square Television Theatre in 1951; but as 42nd Street degraded, so did the New Amsterdam. In the early 1980s the once-magnificent theatre was boarded shut. Although the Nederlanders bought the building for $5 million in 1982, a string of problems prevented its renovation. The theatre sat abandoned for a decade while its lavish interiors deteriorated.

Finally New York City and State pushed for the resurrection of the 42nd Street Theatre District. The 42nd Street Development Project took over the building in 1992 for $247,000. The architectural firm of Hardy Holzman Pfeiffer, known for rejuvenating historic properties, was hired to stabilize the theatre. Water was pumped from the basement, the spread of mold and loss of decorative plasterwork was halted, and the building was ridded of vermin and vagrants.

In 1995 the Walt Disney Company formed the New Amsterdam Development Corporation to renovate the building as a live theatre venue once again, using partial financing from tax incentives offered by the National Park Service. The renovation, lasting a year and a half, cost $36 million.

The New Amsterdam officially reopened as a live theatre on April 2, 1997 with a concert staging of King David, followed later that year by the long-running stage version of The Lion King.

Today the sumptuous façade of The New Amsterdam is gone. However, to enter the theatre is to step back to 1903. The sinuous, entwining designs are fresh and renewed. One of the greatest Art Nouveau interiors in the country -- and a true rarity in New York City -- has been salvaged from nearly inevitable destruction.

Blumstein's Dept Store -- No. 230 West 125th Street

  photo by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

When Louis Blumstein arrived in New York in 1885, the mansion of Dr. John Ferdinand stood in the Harlem area that would become West 125^th Street.  Before the end of the century the neighborhood would become a high-end suburb and the doctor’s handsome home would be gone.

Blumstein established a dry goods store in 1886.  When he moved northward to West 125^th Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues two years later, the street already bustled with shoppers.  Blumstein’s Department Store was soon a fixture and was run as a family business.  According to Jonathan Gill in his book Harlem, “At a time when signs reading Keine Juden, und Keine Hunde (‘No Jews, and No Dogs’) could be seen in shop windows, Blumstein’s became a favorite of uptown’s German Jews.”

The management methods of the sometimes stern German Blumsteins, however, was not always appreciated.  Carolyn Stock worked in the store in March 1900 when Benjamin Blumstein asked her to show him a box of handkerchiefs.  By mistake she pulled down the wrong box.  Blumstein’s reaction was, perhaps, excessive.

Carolyn charged “he grasped the box and threw it at her, striking her on the side, and that later he threatened to kill her with a hammer, and struck her with his fist and threw her against a wall,” reported The New York Times.  She complained that the attacked resulted “in nervous prostration.”

Carolyn Stock sued Benjamin Blumstein personally for $2,000 damages.  The retailer’s lawyer insisted that “the handkerchief box fell on the floor, and that the proprietor walked away without doing anything.”  The jury deliberated for ten minutes and granted the salesgirl’s demands—about $54,000 today.

Blumstein’s was a rather upscale department store, offering Easter Dresses in 1911 for $18.50; more in the neighborhood of $450 today.  But Harlem was changing.  More and more black residents moved into Harlem hoping to escape the discriminatory practices of downtown landlords.  The Blumstein brothers resisted the change and it would later cause them problems.

On Sunday, January 25, 1920 Louis Blumstein died at the age of 56.  The family mourned, then got on with enlarging the business.  On July 3, 1921 The New York Times reported that Blumstein’s would begin tearing down five old buildings that week.  The old two-story department store would go, as would the buildings facing 124^thStreet.  “Plans were prepared several months ago by the architects, Robert D. Kohn and Charles Butler, for an eight-story building to cover the entire site,” said the newspaper.

Placing the cost at $1.25 million, The Times said “It will be the most ambitious structure erected in the Harlem area for many years.  In order to avoid disruption of business, the 124^th Street section was constructed first.  Then the store was moved to that area and the original store demolished and rebuilt.

“Among the features of the new store will be high ceilings and a maximum of show window space of the type known as ‘island windows,’ which are much more common in the Middle West and on the Pacific Coast than in New York,” said the newspaper.  “A complete fresh air supply and exhaust system is designed to include air washers and cooling apparatus.”

Costly automobiles park outside the newly-completed building -- photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWW4JGPO&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=631

Among the conveniences for shoppers were five passenger elevators and a cafeteria in the basement.  On the top floor were “rest and recreation rooms for employes.”  The building was completed in 1923—an unexpected combination of the arriving Art Deco movement and the quickly-receding Art Nouveau.  Copper was more important than limestone in the architects’ novel design.  Above the three sets of grouped openings were unusual and eye-catching copper awnings.

Exquisitely worked copper, unnoticed from street level, and innovative awnings distinguished the design --   photo by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Before the decade was up, black shoppers at Blumstein’s outnumbered whites.  But the employees were, with the exception of menial labor, all white.  It was a situation that did not go unnoticed by residents increasingly vocal about their civil rights.   

In 1934 The Citizens’ League For Fair Play plastered the streets with fliers that read “Refuse to Trade with L. M. Blumstein 230 West 125^th Street” and “This firm, acknowledging its large proportion of Negro business, has refused to employ Negro Clerks.  Stay out of Blumstein’s!  Refuse to buy there!”

The League’s economic boycott was supported by more than 50 churches and groups.  Among those churches was the Abyssinian Baptist Church pastored by both Adam Clayton Powell, Sr. and Jr.  The boycott—the theme of which was “Don’t Buy Where You Can’t Work”—was successful.  Not only did the Blumsteins change their hiring practices; their department store was the first to use black mannequins and—no doubt a shock to some white shoppers—a black Santa Claus at Christmas time.

In 1937 20-year old Irving Barr had been working in the store as a sign painter and handyman for several years.  Surrounded by jewelry and other expensive items, the low-paid Barr hatched a plan.  On May 11 he hid in the store at closing time, waiting until everyone was gone.  He then stole two suitcases from the store’s stock and filled them with fountain pens, watches and other easily transportable costly items.

Suddenly Barr was discovered by the watchman, Joseph Geiger, described by The New York Times as “a frail 61-year old man.”  Knowing that Geiger recognized him, Barr panicked.  He hit the old man repeatedly with a hammer.

Barr rushed to the roof of Blumstein’s and tossed the two suitcases to the roof of a nearby apartment building.  Police said that he then “descended to the engine room and hit Geiger again.”  After what The Times called “intensive detective work,” Barr was arrested and charged with homicide.

West 125th Street in 1943 bustled with taxicabs, streetcars and nicely-dressed shoppers.  Blumstein's can be seen at the far left -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

The store that had unintentionally been a flash point in the early civil rights movement welcomed Martin Luther King to the store for a book signing on September 20, 1958.  King sat behind a table autographing copies of his Stride Toward Freedom when Mrs. I. W. Curry approached.  The woman groped in her purse and pulled out a sharp stiletto-like letter opener which she plunged into the civil rights leader’s chest.

An elderly customer, Mrs. James Watson moved to remove the weapon; but another woman cautioned against it.  Dr. King lay on the floor assuring the gathering crowd “That’s all right! That’s all right.  Everything is going to be all right!”

When the ambulance arrived a few minutes later, the weapon was still protruding from King’s chest.  The customer’s prudent action, or lack of action, no doubt resulted in his survival.  King was rushed to Harlem Hospital where the wound was treated.  Mrs. Curry’s letter opener had grazed the aorta without piercing it.

By March 21, 1954 when Wurts Bros. took this photograph, Blumstein's had been given a first floor make-over -- from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWW4JGPO&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=631

The succession of Blumsteins at the helm of the department store would continue for years.  On August 29, 1960 William Blumstein died, and Jack Blumstein took over as President.  By now the store that had once refused to accept change was an active participant in the community.  In June 1965 the National Council of Negro Women sponsored a showing of paintings by black artists here.  Five years later when Abraham & Straus and Macy’s department stores announced with self-applauding fanfare that they would include black Santas on their Christmas floors, The New York Timespointed out that “Blumstein Department Store at 230 West 125^thStreet in Harlem, however, has had a black Santa Claus for more than 20 years.”

By now the Blumstein building was suffering from old age.  When The Times described the proposed structure in 1921 it made note of the basement.  “A staircase immediately adjoining the entrances will lead to the basement store, which it is planned to make the best ventilated basement in the city.” 

Now, in 1971 the pet shop was in the basement and New York Magazine’s description was less glowing, saying it was located “down two slightly dingy flights of steps.”  Nevertheless, the store offered an amazing selection of animals, many of which would be illegal today.

“The pet shop is a squawky display of exotic plumage of some 50 varieties of birds,” said the magazine.  “The shop also shelters a pair of Capuchin (organ grinder) monkeys, many tanks of exotic fish and an assortment of fresh aquarium plants.”

Five years after the article was printed, the Blumstein family sold the building.  Before long a variety of small businesses filled the now-divided floors where women had shopped for Easter dresses and, later, civil rights history played out. In 2002 the last president of Blumstein’s Department Store, Kyver Blumstein, died at the age of 95.

Today Touro College has taken over much of the building as its college of medicine and college of pharmacy.  Distracting plastic retail signs plaster the lower levels so that only by glancing upward can a passerby appreciate the surviving remnant of an important part in Harlem’s development and the Civil Rights movement in America.

A Colorful Blending of Styles -- No. 154 West 14th Street

photo by Alice Lum

Leslie R. Palmer was a busy man in the first decade of the 20^th century.  An attorney, he was also a banker and active real estate developer and sat on the Board of Directors of the New York Architectural Terra Cotta Company.   In 1911 Palmer eyed the five old buildings of the Adams Express Company at the southeast corner of 7^th avenue and 14^th Street.   And he saw opportunity.

On New Years Eve of that year The New York Times noted “The plot is one of the choicest in the lower Seventh Avenue district, which is likely, in the next few years, to witness a marked business transformation due to the extension of the avenue south of Eleventh Street to Varick Street and the prospect of a subway improvement under Seventh Avenue.”

Indeed, scores of buildings were being razed as 7^thAvenue was being cut through Greenwich Village as an additional thoroughfare to downtown.   And discussions were underway for the 7^th Avenue subway which would transport thousands of workers and shoppers daily.

Palmer formed a syndicate called the Fourteenth Street and Seventh Avenue Construction Company and purchased the large plot from Adams Express Company for about $260,000.  Included in the sale of was the old residence that still survived at No. 51 7^thAvenue.  The New York Times reported that Palmer intended “to tear down the present old structures and erect on the site a high-class twelve-story office and loft building.”

The developer would develop a close working relationship with architect Herman Lee Meader who received the commission.    Meader would go on to design four more buildings for Palmer who took advantage of this project to spotlight the work of the New York Architectural Terra Cotta Co.   And the architect did not disappoint.

In the last years of the 19^th century European designers and architects had revolted from traditional restraints.  By now the ground-breaking styles had reached the United States.  For No. 154 West 14^thStreet Meader created a taster’s menu of Arts & Crafts, Mission, Art Nouveau and Vienna Secessionist styles.

Completed in 1913 at a cost of approximately $350,000 the building was praised by The Times for its modern design as well as its bold use of color.  Meader used an aggressive palette of Arts & Crafts inspired earthy tones—mustard, beige, white, celadon, green and cobalt—most noticeably in the sinuous Art Nouveau three-story base and in the 11^th story Secessionist decoration.    The newspaper noted that expanses of glass and absence of the customary cornice.

Sinuous, colorful art nouveau decoration covers the base -- photo by Alice Lum

“The corner of the ground floor will be a store, and the floor above will be planned as a showroom.  Both will have fronts mainly of glass.  The façade has been designed to supply all the light possible, and besides, making the windows as large as is practicable, the upper part will not depend upon the inevitable cornice to ornament the top story and cast dark shadows over the windows below.”

The 154 West 14^th Street Building stood out in Manhattan.  While the modern architectural styles that Meader showcased here were embraced in American cities such as Chicago, New York’s staid tastes tended towards the accepted and safe.  Very few Art Nouveau or Mission buildings appeared as compared with other urban centers.

The 12th story with its intricate Mission-inspired motifs can be seen here in 1931 -- photo NYPL Collection

The nearby residential neighborhood had already been settled by Spanish-speaking immigrants, earning the designation of “Little Spain.”   In January 1918, just as the 7^thAvenue subway station opened at its front door, the retail space was leased to Jaime V. Lago.    Lago, whom The Sunreferred to as a “Spanish banker,” opened his private bank to serve the Spanish-speaking residents.   The enterprising young man had started his bank only a year earlier while working as a bell boy in a local hotel.  A year later the Campania Hispano-Americana, a Spanish-language bookstore opened here.

In 1921 Lago, who by now had Anglicized his first name to Joseph, enlarged his banking space and the following year renewed his lease for 14 years at $3600 a year.  Things were looking good for Joseph V. Lago.  That same year the Corn Exchange Bank took the corner street level space, signing a lease of 21 years with an annual rent of $22,000.  

Vibrant Vienna Secessionist ornamentation wraps the facade beneath the ruined top floor -- photo by Alice Lum

Along with the banks were various tenants.  The Postal Telegraph Cable Co. took the 8^thfloor and in 1927 S. Bruner, Inc., jewelers was here.  June 21 would be a day long remembered by Max Wolf, one of Bruner’s salesmen.

Around 9:00 that morning Wolf left the store with his sample case.  Inside were 192 gold wrist watches, 149 gold rings and 24 monogram button insets for the rings.  The goods were valued at around $4,000.  When he reached his car parked at the curb, he found it wedged in by a delivery truck.    Wolf sat the case on the sidewalk and worked his automobile little-by-little back and forth until he could finally pull out of the tight parking space.  And off he sped to New Rochelle to meet with buyers—leaving his case of gold watches and rings on the pavement.

Throughout the morning hundreds, if not thousands, of busy New Yorkers rushed past the case.   Finally at approximately 2:00 George Bovens stopped to investigate what today would be called “an unaccompanied package.”  He immediately rushed the case to the Charles Street police station.

In the meantime Max Wolf reached his first appointment.   Within minutes he was headed back to the city at a greater speed than he had left.  For his honesty Boven received a gold watch from the jeweler.

In July of 1928 Jaime V. Lago’s streak of good fortune came to an end.  The 35-year old banker was arrested and held on $5,000 bail for accepting deposits while knowing his bank was insolvent.   A shortage of $250,000 had been discovered by Superintendent of Banks Frank H. Warder.

Investigation found that Lago had skimmed the money to finance the maintenance of a “rooming house for fellow-countrymen at 317 West fourteenth Street and a bookstore,” said The Times; as well as stock transactions.

Other tenants came and went including the New York Globe Ticket Company who moved in in 1930.  The United States Treasury Department took three floors—about 33,000 square feet—in July 1937 for the WPA Cartographic and Map Making Project.  The project produced relief maps of New York City, models of tunnels, and maps of foreign countries.

In the mid-1950s, Hugo Gernsback moved his several companies into the building.  Called the “father of modern science fiction,” his businesses included the Popular Book Corp., Gernsback Publications, Inc. and Hudson Specialties, Company.  It was around this time that the top floor of the building was stripped of its wonderful Mission façade of curved gables, winged cobalt blue disks, brackets and floral bosses.

Other important tenants were the related Vanguard record companies.  From around 1959 through 1966 The Vanguard Recording Society, Vanguard Stereolab, Inc., Vanguard Record Sales Corp. and the Bach Guild were here; among the preeminent record labels representing folk, popular and classical music at the time.

photo by Alice Lum

Herman Lee Meader’s phenomenal and brashly colorful blending of early 20^th century architectural trends into The 154 West 14^thStreet Building is as striking today as it was in 1913.  Equally impressive is that little of the original design has been destroyed or seriously altered.  The building stands as a rare and wonderful example of cutting-edge building design in the years just prior to World War I.

Emery Roth's Art Nouveau No. 557 8th Avenue

The street level has been obliterated and the cornice has been shoddily repaired, however Emery Roth's stunning little building retains most of its decorative elements.

 On February 8, 1902 Matthew Hettrick sold the little one-story building at the southwest corner of 8th Avenue and 38th Street. Changes were happening in 1902 – motorcars were seen more frequently, more and more buildings were being illuminated by electric lights, and a new art form was taking hold: art nouveau.

While the sinuous, flowing lines of art nouveau--as reflected in Tiffany Studios lamps, silverware and stained glass-- challenged the staid, traditional Victorian styles; it was unable to get a foothold in Manhattan architecture.

Emery Roth’s refreshing confection that would replace Hettrick’s mundane building was an exception.

Roth was a member of the architectural firm Stein, Cohen and Roth. The first owner of the property for whom he designed the building is unclear; however Roth produced for him a dramatic and unconventional building that stood out among its drearier neighbors.

Plans were filed with the Department of Buildings for a three-story “dwelling and office” building. Completed in 1903, it was an modest structure with exuberant detailing. Cream-colored brick was trimmed in carved brownstone and pressed galvanized metal. To enhance its presence, Roth designed a bold and ambitious cornice that caught the eye of the passerby.

Surprisingly, Roth chose carved brownstone rather than opting for the versatile and relatively inexpensive terra cotta for the repeating elements.

 Two bay windows at the ends of the 38th Street facade, somewhat out of place by holding firmly to their Victorian roots, added dimension. The rest of the design gave in to the new age with abandon. The second story windows were framed in brownstone, capped with undulating, sensuous art nouveau swirls. Shallow brick pilasters rose between the windows to the third floor.

The decorative bays with pressed metal ornamentation added dimension to the long 38th Street facade.

Between the windows at the third floor were maidens’ heads in deep relief, each sheltered by a shell. Below the heads, brownstone garlands stretched from window to window in a continuous line.

A corner entrance would have served the shop; the hotel entrance was at the western-most end of the 38th Street side.

Roth beveled the corner, allowing for a more dramatic entrance way while providing extra sunlight to the rooms above. In all, it was a architecturally theatrical treatment of what normally would be a commonplace commercial building.

Inland Architect reflected “In a district of dry loft buildings, this little building calls out for attention like a scoop of ice cream on a hot summer sidewalk.”

Sadly abused, the hotel entrance still shows touches of both art nouveau and Victorian detailing.

The “dwelling” Roth’s plans called for was most likely a hotel from the onset; certainly it was run as one soon after completion. Managed as a residential hotel, its tenants were for the most part long-term. The commercial space at street level was originally a jewelry store, run by Emil Moescher who lived with his wife in the rear.

In 1906 the building was sold and would remain in the same hands for nearly half a century.

On August 15, 1908, the distraught Moescher, who was suffer from stomach cancer, struggled with his wife in their apartment. He managed to get control long enough to shoot himself in the mouth, ending his miseries.

Moescher’s jewelry store soon after was converted to a saloon.

Because of its proximity to the theatre district, the little hotel quickly became a favorite among actors. Among them was Charles Hendrix who was living here in 1908 when he got into a dispute over a glass of beer with Patrick McCafferty, the bartender at a Third Avenue saloon near 22nd Street. To settle the argument, McCafferty drew a knife and fatally stabbed the actor in the stomach and slashed the back of his head.

The carved brownstone beauties stare down from under their protecting seashells

Among the 14 residents in 1910 were shoe salesman Philip Blass, married acting couple Phyllis and John Ellis, and 49-year old London McCormack listed simply as “widower.” Among the thespians who often called No. 557 home were, reportedly, Buster Keaton and his family.

Until 1919 John J. Quigley held the liquor license at No. 557. That came to a halt on October 28 of that year when the Volstead Act ushered in the age of Prohibition. Apparently believing that if you can’t beat them, join them, Quigley became a Prohibition Agent.

While ownership did not change, the United Cigar Stores Co., leased the building for a period of ten years, from April 11, 1930 through December 30, 1940.  Understandably the commercial space during this time was a tobacco shop.

Three years after the end of World War II the little building changed ownership for the first time since 1906 when the Lenger Realty Corporation purchased it.

The flashy little building had a moment in the spotlight when in 1951 the exterior was used as the fictional Actors’ Hotel in the short-lived ABC series “Actors Hotel.”

Today Emery Roth’s marvelous, showy building at No. 557 8th Avenue has lost its sidewalk level. A modern brick renovation erased any traces of the architect’s original storefront. Above, the metal cornice is patched and dented. Yet, despite its unfortunate treatment, the ostentatious building still retains the bulk of its original design and still outshines its neighbors at it did in 1903.

Although Mary Beth Betts of the Landmarks Preservation Commission once said “it’s the kind of building we would take a serious look at,” it remains unprotected and under-appreciated.

 A pizza shop and a DVD store occupy the space where Emil Moescher's jewelry store was.  The elaborate metal cornice has lost much of its detail and suffered shoddy repairs.

One of only a handful of art nouveau structures in Manhattan, it is a rare and wonderful example in a desperately tenuous situation.

photographs taken by the author