LeBrun's 1892 Engine Company 18 -- No. 132 West 10th Street

By the last decade of the 19^th century, the booming population of Greenwich Village required increased fire protection.  In 1891 the city purchased the old rooming house at No. 132 West 10^th Street as the site of a new firehouse for Engine Company 18.

N. LeBrun & Sons was responsible for the design.   Since 1879 Napoleon LeBrun had been designing all of New York City’s fire houses—around 40 of them so far.   For this narrow firehouse he turned, mostly, to understated Romanesque Revival.  The first floor was composed of rough-cut stone blocks surrounding a cast iron frame for the double wooden truck doors. 

Above, orange brick was highlighted by terra cotta, with stone trim at the window openings.   LeBrun creatively used brown-orange terra cotta tiles, looking much like Lego blocks laid on end, to create handsome pseudo quoins along the sides and an outline above the arched windows of the third floor.

Two large foliate terra cotta disks, like sunbursts, embellished the top floor and an elaborately-decorated cornice announced the influence of the new Classicist movement.

Engine Company 18 moved into the completed building in 1892.   Its horse-drawn engines would be seen speeding through Village streets for decades; often narrowly avoiding street cars, pedestrians and other vehicles.

A tender, like the one above, carried John J. Harvey on the outside step in 1907.  In the center of West 10th Street can be seen the tracks of the street car that caused so much trouble.  (Note that the left bay door seems to slide open, rather than swing.)  photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

On September 29, 1907 one such run nearly cost fireman John J. Harvey his life.   Harvey was riding on the step of the tender, or hose wagon, on way to an alarm at Washington and Christopher Streets.  The tender was just behind the speeding engine and both trucks were clanging their bells.

In the meantime, motorman Frederick W. Unkelman was running his streetcar along 10^th Street without slowing or stopping for the emergency vehicles.  Finally, at Washington Street, he paused long enough avoid a collision with the engine; but as it passed he started up again. 

“When the tender came tearing along in the wake of the engine the driver had great difficulty in steering through the narrow space between the curb and the car.  His horses barely got through, but the car, keeping on, swung still more out over the roadway and struck the wagon broadside,” reported the New-York Tribune.

The collision knocked Harvey off his feet and his legs and feet smashed through the streetcar windows.  “He pluckily held on until the tender cleared the car,” said the newspaper.  “With the worst of the danger over, he dropped to the street and stooped to pick up his hat, but then his strength gave way and he toppled over unconscious.”

The motorman was arrested and, ironically, the call turned out to be a false alarm.

In a training exercise, a trusting fireman prepares to jump from the second story into a net held by his fellow firefighters. -- photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Earlier that year, in February, Engine Company 18 had responded to a call that was most definitely not a false alarm.  Nearby the old Tracy & Russell Brewery building at 11^th Street and Greenwich Avenue caught fire.  It was now being occupied by the Manhattan Screw and Stamping Company and the lunchtime blaze spread rapidly.  Most of the 300 employees were out at lunch, and those left in the building were able to escape.  But the growing inferno was dangerously close to Grammar School 41 with its 1,400 little girl pupils, and the House of Calvary on Perry Street near Greenwich Avenue, a cancer hospital.

Engine Company 18 worked feverishly to keep the flames from spreading, as the crowds of terrified little girls were led from their school building.  “The fight to keep the flames from reaching the cancer hospital was long and hard,” reported The New York Times.  “Three  firemen, under the direction of Capt. Roach…were overcome while clinging to the fire escapes and training streams of water on the flames that constantly menaced the walls of the House of Calvary.  They quickly revived and returned to the fight.”

The one hundred horses in the stables on the first floor of the burning building were rescued; but in the end the building was in ruins—a loss of about $100,000.

The company’s sterling reputation came into play during the visit of Raoul Frere, the head of the Paris Fire Department in August 1910.  He spent a week studying the operations of the New York City Fire Department and told reporters that “the New York firemen were ahead of those in London and the big European cities.”

On August 19, after being escorted by Engine Company 18’s Captain Howard Rusch to observe night court, the French fire chief came back to West 10^thStreet.  Here he “and remained there all night in order to answer all alarms with the apparatus,” said the New-York Tribune.

The unit responded not only to nearby emergencies, but traveled across town when necessary.  Such was the case on Saturday March 25, 1911 when the Asch Building caught fire.   Home to the Triangle Shirt Waist factory, the fire would result in one of America’s worst industrial tragedies with 146 fatalities.

The female workers trapped in the burning 10-story building panicked and scores threw themselves to their deaths.   One young fireman from Engine Company 18 later told reporters that his first image “was a man’s body come crashing down…We turned into Greene Street and began to stretch in our hoses.  The bodies were hitting all around us.”

The first two decades of the 20^th century were plagued with terrorist attacks by anarchist groups like the Black Hand.   Business buildings and even apartment houses were targeted for bombings; one of which was thwarted by a quick-thinking Engine Company 18 fireman in 1910.

Joseph Halpin, on leave of absence, was passing a building when he noticed a small fire.  He entered only to find the structure was filling with gas from open lighting jets.   He blew out a lighted candle that was connected to a blasting fuse which led to a bomb filled with gunpowder.

The terrorist, Andrea Galasso, had attempted to level the structure.  He was sentenced to Sing Sing Prison for four and a half years.  Fireman Halpin received a medal from Mayor Gaynor.

By the roaring 1920s Greenwich Village was not just the center of bohemian cafes and tea houses; it was still a close-knit neighborhood of families and children.  The firehouse on West 10^th Street was a familiar summer haunt of the youngsters who “come to the engine house in their bathing suits to prance under the street showers,” said the New-York Tribune in 1921.

That was the year that the firemen had an idea.  The members pooled $50 of their own money to purchase materials and five firemen—Engineer Patrick Vak and Firemen Peter Brennan, Patrick Foley, Dennis Collins and Joseph Lally—designed and built a “portable swimming tank” for the children.

The Tribune said “The tank is an elaborate affair made of wood, with steps leading to the top of it and slides to carry the kids into the water.  It is set on wheels and it is planned to be rolled under the shower.”

The “perambulating running water swimming tank” was a hit and by the end of July the Tribune reported that “many hundreds of children daily” used the pool.   And so the adults wanted to get into the act.

Engineer Frank Patzak told reporters on July 24 “We already have a good many women and girl bathers.  They appear for their shower baths after the kiddies have all been tucked into bed…We have had a heavy demand from adults for use of the big tank between 10 and 12 at night.”

So the firehouse hosted “grown-ups’ evening” on July 26, 1921 and “the whole of Greenwich Village was expected to take a splash,” said the Tribune.  “Most of the inhabitants did turn out, but they came as spectators.”

Crowds jammed West 10^th Street hoping to glimpse flappers in their bathing attire.  “Four young women appeared in bathing suits and splashed in the water for a while, but before their frolic was over the spectators had found the well-advertised spectacle rather tame, and flocked back to the underground tearooms.”

All the publicity caused Fire Captain James Simms to shut down the swimming tank, even for children.   When 400 neighborhood children showed up, they were told there would be no more swimming.  A meeting of parents was called, appealing to Fire Commissioner Drennan “asking for immediate restoration of the tank,” and "hundreds of children staged protests.”

“The shouting of the children’s chantey, ‘We want our tank’ to the tune of a hymn with which all the little Italians and other children of foreign born in the districted appeared to be familiar, drew hundreds of persons to the locality,” reported the New-York Tribune on August 1.  “When the youngsters were ordered to move on by patrolmen they formed a line and paraded in bathing suits timing their steps to the monotonous repetition of 'We want our tank.’  The manifestation of juvenile displeasure lasted until late in the evening.”

As it turned out, the children did not get their tank back and things returned to normal at Engine Company 18.

On October 18, 1966 the Engine Company responded to a particularly lethal blaze on West 22^nd Street and Broadway.  It would be the darkest day for the company to date.  The old converted brownstone buildings were engulfed, necessitating a response from not only Company 18, but Engine Company 5, Ladder Company 7 and Ladder Company 2.

While the fire fighters struggled with the blaze, the cellar was becoming an inferno, unbeknownst to the crews inside.  At the last minute a cry of “get out, get out” was raised, but it was too late.  “All at once, with a thunderous crash, a 20-by-5-foot section of floor gave way.  There was a burst of flame that rolled along the ceiling of the drugstore and flared out into the street,” said The New York Times.

In the worst disaster in the Fire Department’s history, twelve firefighters were killed that night.  Of the seven members of Engine Company 18 to respond to the blaze, only two returned; Fireman John Donovan who arrive d late, and Fireman Manuel Fernandez who was connecting hoses in the street.

In 1976 the country was taken with renewed patriotism as the nation’s bicentennial was celebrated.  For its part Engine Company 18 painted its baydoor—now a single garage-type door that replaced the originals—with a remarkable mural depicting a fire engine heading forward along a red, white and blue path. 

The vibrant, colorful mural became a Village landmark and the City of New York budgets funds each year for the restoration and preservation of the urban artwork.

As terrorism and the threat of hazardous materials attacks grew, the City responded by increasing its specialized units trained in handling hazardous materials and weapons of mass destruction.  On July 1, 1998 Engine Company 18 was designated Squad Company 18.  It would not be long before the new squad’s training and expertise would be called upon.

The tragedy of the fatal 1966 fire was surpassed on September 11, 2001 when terrorists flew airliners into the World Trade Towers.   Eight brave men from Engine Company 18 who rushed to the aid of the innocent civilians targeted in the mindless attack were lost.

LeBrun’s handsome firehouse is little changed since it opened in 1892.  It is a familiar Village landmark that has seen joy and tragedy and, briefly, a few women in bathing suits.

contemporary photographs taken by the author

The Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus -- West 51st Street

photo by Alice Lum

In 1876 the West Side of Manhattan north of 42^ndStreet was rapidly developing.  Cardinal McCloskey recognized that “a parochial district was demanded by the growth of the city in that direction,” as explained by The Evening World twelve years later.  The Plymouth Baptist Church on West 51^st Street between Ninth and Tenth Avenues was available, and the Catholic Church purchased it for $24,500.  Another $1,000 was spent “in fitting it up for the Catholic worship,” said The Evening World, and on June 25, 1876 the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was dedicated.

Before the first service was concluded, it was obvious that the current structure would not be sufficient.  The church building was relatively new; but it accommodated only about 900 worshipers.  In his remarks during the dedication, Vicar-General Quinn “urged the people of the parish to build a larger structure, for it was easily seen that the church he had opened would soon be too small for the growing demands of the parish,” reported The Evening World.

Father Martin J. Brophy was selected by the Cardinal to head the parish.  He immediately started fund raising efforts and purchased land along the 51^st Street block in anticipation of upcoming building projects.  In October 1880 construction on the pastoral residence was begun on the plot abutting the church.

Three years later Brophy was ready to tackle the larger task—the building of a new church.  Two days before Christmas in 1883 The New York Times reported “The Rev. Martin J. Brophy, Rector of the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, in West Fifty-first-street, has perfected his arrangements to build an edifice of sufficient size for the wants of his congregation.  This work will be commenced at an early day.”

Brophy had put together a building plot 81 feet along 51^stStreet, extending back 100 feet.  Architects Napoleon Le Brun & Sons were commissioned to design the new structure. Having moved to New York from Philadelphia around 1861, Le Brun busied himself not only with designing several other churches but with the fire houses of the New York Fire Department for which he had been official architect since 1879.

The architects were tasked with designing a space capable of seating a congregation which, at the time. Father Brophy estimated at about 11,000.  The Times reported that the church would be “constructed of stone and brick, with seats for 1,500 persons…For the greater accommodation of the people, the old church will be used as long as possible.”  The fund-raising had been successful and the estimated cost of $100,000 was already in the bank.

On Sunday March 30, 1884 Father Brophy celebrated the final mass in the old building and the following morning demolition began.  By July 13 the walls were up.  That afternoon a “very large crowd,” as described by The Times, assembled for the cornerstone laying ceremonies.  Flags “of all the nations” decorated the church walls and the platform as 30 priests and 20 altar boys took part in the impressive service.  The Archbishop sprinkled the walls with holy water, the normal psalms and prayers were recited, and the lead box was placed into the cornerstone and sealed.

Construction continued for another year.  On May 16, 1885, as the building neared completion, Archbishop Corrigan was back to consecrate the “three magnificent marble altars,” as described by The Times.  The custom-built organ, which along cost $10,000 (about $234,000 today), was also nearly completed.

The day following the consecration of the altars, the new Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was dedicated and blessed.  According to The Sun on May 18, 1885, “Two thousand persons were present.”  The choir consisted of a double quartet with a chorus of 150 voices.  The newspaper reported that the completed structure had come in just above budget at $125,000.

The Evening World reported that “the appointments throughout are elegant and artistic, the interior of the church itself being one of the handsomest and most imposing in the city.” 

photograph from "The Catholic Church in the United States of America", 1914 (copyright expired)

Napoleon LeBrun & Sons had produced a red brick beauty touted by architectural critics as vaguely “Venetian.”  The architects trimmed the hefty structure with limestone and terra cotta; a Romanesque Revival show stopper with touches of Gothic and Moorish.

Large areas of terra cotta, like textile, create a visually-tactile contrast to the brick and the carved stone trim -- photo by Alice Lum

Father Brophy continued on with his expansion projects.  In May 1887 he purchased four houses on 51^stStreet near the church for $72,000 in preparation for the erection of a large parochial school.  On January 31, 1888 The Evening World remarked “Father Brophy is famous for his executive ability and business tact, and it is worthy of note that during the past year, besides meeting all the running expenses and paying interest on mortgages, he has reduced the debt of the church $30,000.”

The mostly Irish and German congregation of the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was one of the largest in the city.  The combined political power of such a large group did not escape the notice of the clergy and in 1894 eyebrows were raised city-wide when news leaked out that the priests were using the pulpit to sway voters.

The pastor was now Father Joseph Mooney, Vicar General of the Diocese of New York, and he diplomatically avoided celebrating mass on November 4, 1894, while the other priests stumped from the pulpit.  The next day The New York Times reported that political speeches were made by the priests at all masses except the one for children.

“The remarks made by the officiating clergymen created a sensation among the members of the congregation, most of whom live in the Eighteenth Assembly District, because all Catholics, of whatever political faith, were entreated, almost commanded, to vote the straight Democratic ticket.”  The newspaper went on to say “it was at first understood by those who were present or who heard of the action taken by the Sacred Heart clergy that the whole power of the Catholic Church throughout the city had been thrown to the side of the ticket supported by Tammany Hall.”

Republican candidate for State Assembly Lawrence P. Mingey was outraged.  On the Saturday before Election Day he had strong support among voters.  He told reporters that the priests, by “advising the voters in the congregation to vote for the protection of their religion against all candidates but those on the Democratic ticket,” cost him fully 1,000 votes.  He lost the election. 

The disgruntled politician fired a strong, but respectful, letter of complaint to Archbishop M. A. Corrigan, who had denied affiliation with Tammany Hall.  In part Mingey’s letter said:

“You indignantly repudiated such a scandalous imputation upon the honor of the Church. Surely the same righteous indignation will be stirred at the established fact that one of the churches in your diocese and under your control has prostituted its holy services in assistance to the organization from the touch of which you gather your robes lest their purity be sullied.”

Whether it was the church’s close proximity to the notoriously gritty Hell’s Kitchen area, or simply a case of boys-will-be-boys; but on February 27, 1906 the building was shamefully vandalized.  Father Mooney telephoned the West 47^thStreet police station that night, reporting burglars in the church.  When police arrived, they found that there were no burglars; but “small boys who had got on the roof of the church and were throwing stones at the windows.”  The delinquents escaped when the police arrived, but not before breaking several windows.

Prior to the turn of the century the reputation of theatrical types often prevented their being married in tight-laced churches.  By the time the boys were breaking windows in the church the situation had relaxed.  On November 30 that year two high-profile people from the entertainment world were wed in the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Frederic Thompson had become famous along with his partner Skip Dundy through their over-the-top entertainment projects.  They had created the massive Hippodrome on Sixth Avenue; conceived and built Luna Park; and, as described by The Sun, designed and built “similar wonders at the Chicago, Atlanta and Buffalo expositions.”

At 19-years old, actress Mabel Taliaferro was markedly younger than her 32-year old fiancé of two weeks.  She was raised in a stage family and was known as a child actress.  At the time of her quiet wedding here, she was playing in Pippa Passes at the Majestic Theatre.  New York audiences had previously seen her in Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch and The Little Princess.

It was not the grandeur of the ceremony—the only witnesses to the wedding were Thompson’s brother-in-law and his chauffeur—but the fact that it involved two celebrities that earned it a spot in the newspapers.

photo by Alice Lum

Joseph F. Mooney was eagerly anticipating the visit of Archbishop Giovanni Bonzano, the new Papal Delegate, to New York who was scheduled to arrive on May 3, 1912.  Now elevated to Monsignor, Mooney still held his position as Vicar-General and would play an important part in the Archbishop’s reception.

Three days before the arrival, on April 30, Monsignor Mooney was riding in a taxi when it skidded into a parked automobile.  Shards of flying glass struck the priest’s head, inflicting a two-inch gash over his right temple.  The Sun reported “This wound has been dressed, but the doctors have insisted that Mgr. Mooney remain absolutely quiet.  Mgr. Mooney will not be able to take part in the reception of Archbishop Bonzano.”

If Mooney was dejected over his bad luck; perhaps he was less so when Bonzano, along with Cardinal Farley, Monsignor Ceretti of Washington and Monsignor Lewis arrived at the Sacred Heart of Jesus Rectory to pay a personal visit on May 4.

When Cardinal John Murphy Farley died on September 17, the 70-year old Monsignor Mooney became temporary head of the archdiocese, in addition to his role as pastor of Sacred Heart.  The Evening World reported the following day, “With the death of Cardinal Farley, Mgr. Joseph F. Mooney automatically becomes administrator of the archdiocese of New York.”  The newspaper added that he “has the title of prothonotory apostolic from the Vatican.”

To show their respect for Mooney, more than 3,000 Catholic men filed into the church on the morning of March 9, 1919 to attend Holy Communion.  “The service is in connection with a testimonial being offered the Monsignor on the occasion of this twenty-fifth anniversary as spiritual director of the Archiocesan Union of the Holy Name Society,” explained The Sun.

A more worldly token of appreciation came to Mooney in June 1921.  The monsignor had been hospitalized since November 7, 1920; however he had improved to the point that doctors felt he could attend mass at Sacred Heart of Jesus for his golden jubilee as a priest.  Mooney had been rector of the church since 1890.

On June 3, 1921 the New-York Tribune reported that “as a mark of the high esteem in which he is held,” he was being presented with a gift of $10,000 (about 12 times that much in today’s dollars).  The newspaper added “He also will be presented with an automobile.  The car will be the gift of the clergy of the Catholic archdiocese of New York.”

An unspeakable tragedy occurred on April 22, 1922.  Nine-year old Vincent Jennings received his Confirmation in the church that morning.  Less than an hour after the service, he was struck by a delivery truck a block away at the corner of Tenth Avenue and 52^nd Street.  The truck driver rushed the boy to Roosevelt Hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival.

Just before 11:00 on the night of May 13, 1923, the Right Rev. Monsignor Joseph F. Mooney died in the rectory.  He had suffered a succession of paralytic stroke which left him wheel chair bound.  The 83-year old priest’s passing would trigger the most impressive ceremonies to take place in the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

His body was laid in state in the church the next day and The New York Times reported that it “was viewed by thousands of the venerable pastor’s parishioners.”  On May 16 a solemn pontifical mass of requiem was celebrated by Archbishop Patrick J. Hayes.  There was not enough space within the church to accommodate the crowd, estimated at between 10,000 and 15,000.  In addition “thirty-one hundred boys and girls of the Sacred Heart parochial School lined Fifty-first Street, from Ninth Avenue to Tenth Avenue, in accordance with Mgr. Mooney’s dying wish,” reported The New York Times.

Flags throughout the parish were flown at half-staff and American flags were flown from hospitals, tenement and apartment house windows, and other facilities.  More than 300 priests were in attendance, along with three bishops and more than two dozen monsignors.

Several times Monsignor Mooney had refused elevation to Bishop due to, according to newspapers, “his modesty and humility.”  Nevertheless, he was dressed in the vestments of a bishop in his coffin.

In 1930, as now, the church posed an imposing presence on the block -- photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

A disturbing set of events started during the 10:00 mass on July 22, 1934.  About 500 worshipers were in the church when smoke wafted into the sanctuary.  Rev. Cletus McCarthy sent an altar boy to investigate.  The boy found fire fighters tackling a blaze in the Sacred Heart School.  When Father McCarthy realized that the congregants were not in danger, he continued services.  Fire fighters estimated the damage to the school building at about $1,500.  “The blaze was believed to have been of incendiary origin,” reported The New York Times.

Exactly one week later another fire started, this time in the church basement directly under the altar.  While priests groped through the dense black smoke to rescue the Blessed Sacrament and sacred vessels, firemen flooded the basement with three inches of water.  Once again the fire marshal deemed the fire “of suspicious origin.”

More damaging to the interior of the church than any fire were the ramifications of the 1965 Vatican Council.  Witnesses reported that the marble altars were smashed with sledgehammers.  The Stations of the Cross were demolished and the Victorian LeBrun interiors were savagely modernized.  It was most likely at this time that the great rose window was bricked up.  The entrance doors at some point were discarded, to be replaced with unsympathetic glass panels with modern etched designs more expected in a restaurant than a church.

The replacements to LeBrun's Victorian entrance doors could best be described as hideous -- photo by Alice Lum

Today the neighborhood is ethnically diverse and one Sunday Mass is celebrated in Spanish.  The Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus continues its important role in the community, participating in the Feeding Our Neighbors project that replenishes food pantries.

The exuberant 1885 structure is no less imposing on the quiet 51^st Street block today than it was 130 years ago.  Despite the regrettable attempts at improving its unimprovable design, it remains a fantastic treasure.

photo by Alice Lum