The Hallenbeck-Hungerford Bldg - 80 Lafayette St

photo by Alice Lum

U. T. Hungerford was the guest of honor at a banquet on Wednesday night, December 14, 1922 at New York City’s Hotel Biltmore.  It was a celebration of the metal mogul’s 80^thbirthday.  Hardware Dealers’ Magazine summed up the industry’s estimation of the man saying “Because of his prominence and years of uninterrupted service in his chosen field, Mr. Hungerford is by many called the ‘Dean of the Brass and Copper Industry.’”

photo Hardware Dealers' Magazine, January 1922 (copyright expired)

By the time of the dinner, Hungerford was also president of the Hungerford Securities Corporation, founder of the Hallenbeck-Hungerford Realty Corporation, and was involved with several other firms related to the copper industry.

Hungerford was born into the copper business.  One of 12 children of John and Charlotte Austin Hungerford, his father had built the first brass mill in Torrington, Connecticut in 1834.  U. T. Hungerford arrived in New York in 1865 as the representative and manager of Wallace & Sons, a brass and copper rolling mills in Ansonia, Connecticut; then established the U. T. Hungerford Brass & Copper Co. in 1895.

The firm’s success was unparalleled and by 1909.  Its 10-story building at the southeast corner of Park and Pearl Streets bordered on the area condemned for the construction of the new Court House.  The City tossed around the possibility of including the U. T. Hungerford building as part of an extended site.

Frustrated, Hungerford and his partner in the real estate firm of Hallenbeck-Hungerford took matters in their own hands.  They purchased land on the southwest corner of Lafayette and White Streets, extending through to Franklin Street, and began plans for a new structure.  “Harry C. Hallenbeck stated last week that he has waited upon the city for about four years to formulate a decision as to what it intended doing, and had become so tired of the delay that he proposed to begin the reconstruction of the lower portion of the Park and Pearl Streets building,” reported The New York Times on July 20, 1913.

The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide published a sketch of the proposed building on May 23, 1914 (copyright expired)

The plans for the new building were well underway by the time of The Times article.  In January that year The Bridgemen’s Magazine had announced that W. E. Austin had filed plans for a 17-story printing house with an estimated cost of $1.2 million—a jaw-dropping $27.5 million today.

On May 23, 1914 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guidereported that the tenant list of the uncompleted building was already filling.  “U. T. Hungerford Brass & Copper Company will occupy the ground floor, basement and second floor.  The Wynkoop, Hallenbeck, Crawford Company will occupy about four floors.  Several leases will probably be signed with other tenants within the next few days, as the demand is heavy for space from lithographers, printers, publishers and the diamond trades.”

A real estate advertisement cautioned prospective tenants that space was almost gone -- New York American Real Estate Review and Forecast 1915 (copyright expired)

By now the cost of construction had risen to $2 million.  The Guide called William E. Austin’s design “the most modern building in all its appointments downtown, and is particularly adapted for tenants using heavy machinery, where strength is necessary.”

The New York Times anticipated on April 26, 1914 that the completed building “will be the finest manufacturing building down town.”  It mentioned modern conveniences like “fast contraction elevators, mail chutes, lowerators, ventilating system, etc.”

Architecture & Building published two views of the completed building in December 1915 (copyright expired

The new Hallenbeck-Hungerford building was completed before January 1915 when Architecture and Building reported on its structural integrity and mechanical operations.  It paused in its engineering report to notice that “The marble work, mosaic and tile work was done by D. H. McLaury Marble Company, the hallway on the Lafayette Street side being paneled in marble of rich appearance.”

The lobby was decidedly no-nonsense despite the gnome-shaped brackets and "marble of rich appearance" Architecture and Building December 1915 (copyright expired)

Austin had used granite for the three-story Gothic base.  Cast metal spandrels, two-story arches and carved stone details carried on the Gothic motif.  Above, nine stories of buff brick were barely ornamented; but were capped by three stories of exuberant terra cotta that picked up the Gothic theme.

High above the street whimsical gnomes and heraldic shields carry on the Gothic theme -- photo by Alice Lum

Like Architecture and Building, The Inland Printer, in March 1915, was most interested in the engineering aspects of the structure.  But it made special note of one innovative item.  “Rest-rooms have been provided for women employees.”

As intended, the building’s ability to support massive loads drew lithographers, printers and related firms.  Among the first tenants was Craske-Felt Company, Inc., electrotypers.  “Curved lead mould a specialty,” announced an advertisement in 1917.

In January 1918 the United States Marine Corps took over the Ford Instrument Company when a strike got out of hand.  The plant was manufacturing wartime articles necessary for national defense which were deemed “highly confidential.”  When 250 men walked out because a foreman had fired a fellow employee, manufacturing could not cease.

According to The Sun on January 12, Ford Instrument officials called the police for protection.  “The dilemma was then referred to the Department of Justice, which in turn communicated with the Navy Department at Washington.

“As a result, for the first time since the beginning of the war a company of United States marines marched into the city last night and took charge of the plant.”  The presence of the military changed the minds of the strikers.  “At a later hour in the night Jules Breuchaud, president of the concern, and John B. Goldsborough, treasurer, said that the trouble had been adjusted.”

photo by Alice Lum

A month after the marines left Lafayette Street, the Hallenbeck-Hungerford Building would have something even more serious to contend with.  As the structure was still rising Building Systems Design had reported on the innovative air cooling system that used cool water from a deep well in the building’s basement.  The water would also be used for “flushing purposes.”

But someone decided that the artesian well water could be used more generally.  The Sun, on February 20, 1918, wrote “the owners sank an artesian well on the premises in May, 1915.  Water was pumped to the roof and distributed to washrooms and drinking faucets.”

What seemed like an efficient use of free, clean water turned out to be disastrous.  Julia Healy was 24-years old in 1915.  She and her sister, May, were both employed by Lupton Press in the building.  In August that year the sisters and other girls employed in the firm began to notice a strange taste and color to the water.

Julia and May Healy died within 14 hours of each other on September 13, 1915.  A Board of Health inspector found colon bacilli in the water—the sisters had died of typhoid.  At least a dozen other girls working in the Hallenbeck-Hungerford Building contracted the disease.

On February 19, 1918 a jury ruled in favor of Dennis Healy, the girls’ father, in a lawsuit against Hallenbeck-Hungerford Realty.  He was awarded $5,000 for Julia’s death.  A similar suit for May’s death was still pending.

The publicity of the tragic deaths may have discouraged some applicants when their former employer ran an advertisement in the New-York Tribune on September 14, 1919.  “Good pay, congenial surroundings, permanent positions, opportunity for rapid advancement for intelligent young ladies over 16 years…F. M. Lupton, Publisher, 80 Lafayette st. N.Y.”

The year 1919 was one of intense labor disputes within the printing industry and tenants of the Hallenbeck-Hungerford Building had their hands full.  On October 1 The Evening World reported “Further walkouts of compositors were features of the day’s developments in the labor disturbances in New York’s printing industry.”  The workers demanded a 44-hour work week and $50 scale.

At some companies, workers walked out en masse; at others foremen were informed by workers one-by-one that they were “going on a vacation.”  Among the printing firms struck that day was that of Isaac Goldman in the Hallenbeck-Hungerford Building.  Four days later the compositors of Lipschitz Press walked out, to be followed on October 9 by the workers at Bradstreet’s “in a demand for shorter hours,” explained The Sun.

The Hallenbeck-Hungerford monogram appears in the arch spandrels -- photo by Alice Lum

In the meantime U. T. Hungerford Brass Co. continued to prosper.  The successful operation demanded skilled office help and on March 14, 1920 an advertisement was placed in the New-York Tribune for a Dictaphone operator.  “Experienced, accurate transcriber, able to turn out neat, well-written work; hours 8:30 to 5; half day Saturday; state age, experience and salary desired.”  Five months later the firm was looking for typists.  “Experienced operators on Underwood machine.”  The hours were the same; but salary was “depending upon ability to produce.”

The building continued to attract large printing firms.  In August 1922 the Klim, Lindner & Bauer lithographer firm took the entire 15^th floor, signing a 10-year lease at $200,000.  The same year McClure Publishing, producers of McClure’s Magazine, was in the building.

Gardiner Binding was also here in 1922--a long term tenant -- American Printer and Lithographer December 20, 1921 (copyright expired)

Around 1970 the tenant list changed from printers and publishers to governmental offices.  The Department of Consumer Affairs, the Union Dental Center and the Child Welfare Administration all had their offices in the building until 1998.

photo by Alice Lum

Then, in 1999, New York University converted the massive structure to Lafayette Hall, a residence building housing nearly 1,100 upperclass students.  It was the scene of a bizarre accident in November 2013 when student Asher Vongtau, 19 years old, went missing for two days.  He was found wedged at the bottom of a 2-foot wide shaft between the building and a parking garage.  Somehow Vongtau had fallen off the roof and become stuck between the buildings where he was trapped for 36 hours before being discovered.

The 1895 Ahrens Bldg - Nos. 70-74 Lafayette Street

photo by Alice Lum

In 1891 the History and Commerce of New York described architect George H. Griebel as “a gentleman of middle age—a native of Germany, where he acquired a thorough knowledge of his profession…Theorectically and practically Mr. Griebel is an accomplished representative of his important profession, and numerous evidences of his skill may be seen in various sections of the city and adjoining localities.”

Before long Griebel would be adding on more “evidence of his skill” to his resume.  Herman F. Ahrens had operated his downtown liquor store on Elm Street (later renamed Lafayette Street) for around three decades.  In 1879 he acquired two properties at the corner of Elm and Franklin Streets from the William Briggs estate.  He moved his liquor business into one of the two wooden structures, No. 40 Franklin Street.

Shortly after Ahrens acquired the properties discussions arose about the improvement and widening of Elm Street.  The widening would necessitate the demolition of the structures only on the opposite side of Elm Street; and could significantly raise the value of Ahrens’s property.  The City wrangled over the details of the project for over a decade.  But a year before the final hearings took place in July 1895, Ahrens forged ahead.

He commissioned George H. Griebel to design an office and store building for his corner lot.  It was an exciting time for architects as both steel frame construction and  elevators made multi-level structures possible.  For Ahrens, Griebel would produce a seven-story Romanesque Revival beauty.  He deftly contrasted two colors of brick as well as carved stone to create a colorful and visually-stimulating façade.  And while he garnished the structure with Medieval motifs, Griebel added ultra-modern 1890s metal windows that filled the three great Lafayette Street arches.

photo by Alice Lum

Not everything went smoothly in the construction of what would be known as the Ahrens Building.  In the last decade of the 19^th century the organized labor movement was well underway.  The builder had hired non-union steamfitters; a fact that did not go unnoticed by union workers.  On the morning of March 5, 1895 the union mechanics walked off the job and construction ground to a halt.

The Sprague Electric Elevator Company had already finished up in the building before the walk-out.  It had been chosen to provide the six elevators for the Ahrens Building.  These were successfully installed by February 16, 1895 when the firm announced it was now “putting in two of its elevators in the new residence of John Jacob Astor, 5^th avenue and 65^th street.”

Eventually labor problems were solved and the Ahrens Building was completed later in 1895.  The ground floor with its vast shop windows was intended as retail space; while the upper floors were rented as offices. 

Among the first tenants was lawyer Robert Racey.  He would take on a few highly unusual cases of fraud in June 1900.  The flood of Italian immigrants into New York Harbor at the time was overwhelming.  Newcomers, unfamiliar with the language and their new surroundings, were easy victims for unscrupulous con artists—including their own countrymen.

Italian merchant Luigi Corelli had recently landed in New York when he arrived at Racy’s office.  The Sun reported on June 11, “He told his story through an interpreter explaining that he had been buncoed out of $500.”  It was the origin of the famous “I have a bridge for sale” scam.

An Italian-speaking man approached Corelli and said he thought he remembered him from the old country.  Corelli told him his name and the man exclaimed that, of course, they had known one another.  Corelli, on the other hand, could not recall ever meeting him.

The man took Corelli for a drink then showed him around the city for two days.  On the second day he took the new-comer to the Brooklyn Bridge and told him in strictest confidence that he could sell him the New York half of the span.  The conman explained that Mayor Van Wyck owned the Brooklyn side. He convinced Corelli to buy the New York side for $500 and, after a week, if he liked it he would arrange to sell him the Brooklyn side for $10,000.

According to The Sun, the lawyer replied “Very cheap for the Brooklyn side of the bridge.  I’d give that much myself for it.”

But the gullible immigrant had more money than common sense and the swindler was not through with him.  The translator added “My friend buy-a Central park bear, too, an’ two stores.”

Robert Rayner told police “He was lucky in not buying the new zoological gardens.  I had a man in here the other day who told me that he bought the aquarium from an Italian who met him at the Battery.  He had been in New York but a few days and he signed a contract to buy a third interest in the zoo for $500, from another Italian.”  Rayner guessed that the same man was responsible.  “He took one of my clients down to the city hall, told him it was a hotel, sold him some of the furniture and then brought him over to the county court house where he got his money in return for appointing him chef of the Court House hotel.”

Police went looking for the Italian bunco man.  And Signor Corelli was irate.  As he left Rayner’s office the interpreter said that Corelli vowed that if “Mr. Bunco” did not buy the bridge back, he would kill him tomorrow.

The Amalgamated Society of Engineers established its headquarters in the building by 1902, and other attorneys moved in.  Among them was Colonel Robert J. Haire whose client Louise Vermeule died of strychnine poisoning in her Riverside Drive home in January 1908.  Twice tried for forgery and once for grand larceny, Haire declares that his now-dead client was innocent on the grounds of insanity.

“Why, the woman was crazy, utterly crazy,” he told reporters on January 5.  “That is the only explanation one can give for the amazing turnings and twisting to which she had recourse.  It would account, too, for the effrontery by means of which she has fooled so many men of recognized keenness.”

Bull-nose brick and intricately-carved stone are just two of the elements that distinguish the structure.  photo by Alice Lum

Lawyer Francis W. Stanton was also in the building at the time.  He found himself in trouble with the District Attorney Jerome in December 1908 when he was “accused of taking money and jewelry as a fee from Elizabeth Chalmers, a client, arrested for larceny, without returning any legal services,” reported The New York Times on December 19.

According to the D.A., “Stanton took $25 of her $30, and later obtained her bank book and drew $30 more from the Greenwich Savings Bank.”  But when her case was called she was discharged.   Shortly thereafter she was arrested again, this time for a theft in the Hotel Lafayette.  While she was awaiting trial in the Tombs, Stanton visited her again.  According to The Times he “took possession of her locket, chain, and diamond ring.” 

Chalmers told the court that her attorney promised that he would get the charges reduced to petit larceny; but when she was arraigned on October 14, 1908 he did not appear.  The woman was found guilty of grand larceny in the second degree.

District Attorney Jerome was scathing in his courtroom condemnation of Francis Stanton.  “I feel it my duty to express openly my contempt for such a disgraceful abuse of a client on the part of a lawyer.  I am free to say that such conduct is shameful and shameless, and that a lawyer indulging in it is a disgrace to the bar of New York.”

Also in the building at the time was W. G. Shea who ran the Government’s employment agency suppling workers for the Panama Canal.  Shea was tasked with finding “blacksmiths, rock drill runners, iron molders, car carpenters, angle iron workers, and cooks and stewards who can speak Spanish.”

The New York Times noted on July 23, 1907 that Shea “has been advertising daily the last week for skilled mechanics of all trade to go down to the Isthmus at good wages.”  But, said the newspaper, he was having trouble “filling the vacancies with the right class of men.”

Perhaps the reports of rampant yellow fever and malaria discouraged skilled workers; but for whatever reason, instead “Tattered crowds come down to the office daily looking for a soft job and an ocean trip to Panama, but they go away disappointed.”

The agent was not frustrated, however.  He told reporters he was not in a hurry and “can afford to wait until he gets his complement of the right sort of men.”

Herman F. Ahrens had died by now and the management of the Ahrens Building fell to his wife, Josephine.  On October 31, 1910 the minutes of the Sinking Fund Commissioners noted that Mrs. Josephine H. Ahrens had leased to the city the third, fourth and seventh floors of the structure “for the use of the Board of Coroners” for a period of two years beginning October 1, 1910.  For the three floors the City would pay Josephine $5,220 per year—a seemingly reasonable $125,000 in today’s dollars.

On March 15, 1911, one of New York City’s greatest catastrophes occurred when more than 140 women died in the Triangle Waist Company fire.  The tragedy would set the stage for improved and safer working conditions nationwide.  Less than a month after the disaster the inquest into the deaths was opened in the new Coroners’ Court in the Ahrens Building.

The upper floors of the structure continued to be leased to a wide variety of tenants.  The Web Pressmen’s Union established its headquarters here by 1912 and The Language Press would soon take a full floor.

Although altered, the original medieval-looking entrance survives.  photo by Alice Lum

In the meantime, as early as 1908, Ahrens Saloon was on the ground floor.  Nearby at 45 Franklin Street, Francis E. Hill was the junior partner of Henry C. Kelly & Co., dealers in twine and cordage.  On August 22 that year, soon after arriving at his office, Hill sent a messenger boy to Ahrens Saloon to purchase a bottle of Palm wine.  According to The New York Times the following day, “Ahrens refused to sell this, on the ground that he did not know Mr. Hill.”

Hill then went to the saloon himself and bought a bottle of champagne which he took back to the office.  The executive, who was apparently having domestic problems, sat at his desk and wrote a check to his wife in the amount of $625, and another to Ogden & Cadmus for $84.  He then wrote a letter to his wife and shot himself in the head.

The letter, which began “Precious Darling,” said in part “Try to think kindly of me sometimes, and to forgive me as I hope to be forgiven.  I loved you with all my heart, and did try faithfully to do my duty, but failure seems to have been my inevitable lot.”

In 1924 jewelry manufacturer Bernstein & Roskin operated from the second floor of the building.  There were twelve other jewelry firms in the building at the time.  In the early hours of November 9 detectives followed a known crook who went by the names of Hymie Boston, Hymie Roskin and Hymie Meyers.  When the safecracker and his accomplice, Morris Levine, entered the Ahrens Building, the cops slipped in behind them.

As the thieves were attempting to break into the safe of Bernstein & Roskin, they were apprehended by the detectives.  The New York Times said that all the jewelers in the building “had safes heavily stocked with jewelry in anticipation of the Christmas trade.  Had it not been for their intervention, the police said, the two burglars might have looted the whole building before it was opened for business this morning.”

By mid century the aging building was no longer being used as office space; but as storage and light manufacturing.  At ground level Ahrens Saloon, by the 1940s, was home to Peter’s Bar & Grill.  It continued the tradition two decades later as Doyle’s Corner Pub moved in.

photo by Alice Lum

The Ahrens family retained ownership of the structure until 1968 when it was sold to Morris and Herbert Moskowitz.  The men reconverted the aging upper floors to office space.  George H. Griebel’s stunning structure has received a facade restoration and its wonderful polychromy once again awes passersby.

Substation Turned Mansion -- No. 214 Lafayette Street

Artwork on the former bay doors mimics graffiti and coexists with the real thing.  photo by Alice Lum.

In 1884 New York City’s most modern buildings were illuminated by gas.   That year six gas providers joined to become the Consolidated Gas Company.  But technology would elbow gaslights out of the picture before long.  Thomas Edison’s Edison Illuminating Company was already supplying electricity to fifty-nine consumers in lower Manhattan.  By 1920 the Consolidated Gas Company had become the Consolidated Edison Company—the leading provider of electricity in New York City.

Con Ed erected enormous power plants along the rivers; great hulking brick edifices with towering smoke stacks that were undeniably industrial.  But within the city, nestled up against business buildings along busy streets, substations were built.   From these structures massive converters and other equipment provided electricity to the subway system, the thousands of buildings and the homes of New York City.

The utility company could easily have produced utilitarian, factory-looking buildings for its substations; but instead it built handsome structures that melded into the street environs.   Beaux Arts and neo-classic facades hid the colossal machinery inside while providing pleasant additions to the streets.

One such substation was constructed in 1922 at No. 214 Lafayette Street.   Six stories tall, the brick and stone building borrowed its rusticated base from the still-common carriage house or firehouse.  A central bay door was flanked by two openings—a door and a window.  The central section was defined by a dramatic three-story arch.  At the sixth floor, above a handsome bracketed cornice, sat a shallow Greek temple.  It was a dignified, lofty edifice built to house immense, thunderous machinery.

In 1932 No. 214 (right) sat on a still-gritty Lafayette Street -- photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

For half a century the converters at No. 214 provided power to the city.  Then in 1975, no longer needed by Con Edison, it was converted to warehouse space.    Within a few years the Soho neighborhood would be discovered by artists who moved into the old loft buildings and transformed former warehouse space to galleries.  And so it was with No. 214 Lafayette Street.

By 1983 it was home to the Protech McNeil Gallery.   Here exhibitions of modern artists were staged, like the 1983 show of Alice Aycock’s metaphorical “stratagems of metal” sculptures.  The Artificial Gallery was in the building in 1997 when it hosted a 27-year retrospective of Jamie Reid’s “bitingly satirical collages,” as described by New York Magazine that year.



In 1999 construction was going on behind the boarded windows of No. 214.  Layfayette Street remains gritty -- photo NYPL Collection

The Soho neighborhood continued to change.   As the 21^st century neared, celebrities and movie stars moved into buildings that were formerly home to struggling artists.   In 1996 film director Marcus Nispel purchased the old substation at No. 214 Lafayette and initiated a decade-long conversion to a one-family home.

photo http://www.citi-habitats.com/viewlisting.php?adID=843494

While the character of the industrial structure was preserved, there was nothing industrial in the amenities provided in the finished product.   Portholes provided underwater views into the 40-foot pool; the living and dining area, including a drop down cinema screen, featured 20-foot ceilings and an antique French fireplace.  A private terrace measured 925 square feet—larger than many Manhattan apartments.

photo http://www.citi-habitats.com/viewlisting.php?adID=843494

The jaw-dropping space appeared in a 2008 Beyonce video and today is a rental property—bringing in a tidy $10,000 per month.    Outside, the old substation looks much as it did in the middle of the last century; inside it is difficult to remember that giant turbine-like machinery once filled the space.