The 1888 Nos. 117-119 Hudson Street

John Castree was three years old when he arrived in New York from Ireland in 1814.  As he grew he worked in the grocery store of his uncle, James Beatty, learning that trade.  He established his own business and by the time he was 25 was wealthy enough to purchase a fine residence in the fashionable St. John’s Park neighborhood.  In 1836 his house at No. 121 Hudson Street sat among other handsome Federal-style mansions that ringed the bucolic park.

But change was to come to St. John’s Park.

By the end of the Civil War the neighborhood had been essentially abandoned to commerce.  Warehouses and freight yards replaced most of the mansions and those that survived were converted for business.  Unlike his neighbors, John Castree stayed on.  Recognizing its real estate potential, not only did he retain ownership of No. 121; he gobbled up surrounding property.

In 1888 he commissioned architect Thomas R. Jackson to design a warehouse building at Nos. 117 and 119 Hudson Street, directly across the street from his former home.  The area had become the center of the provisions district and Jackson’s resulting structure was intended to cater to such firms.  Six stories tall, the sturdy Romanesque Revival structure was six bays wide on Hudson Street and stretched 10 bays to the west along North Moore.  Jackson designed the base with a focus on ventilation to retard damage to perishable foodstuffs.  Wide bays between cast iron piers on Hudson Street could be secured at night or in foul weather by iron shutters.  But when opened, they allowed fresh air and cooling breezes to waft through the interior.

Heavy iron shutters, seen closed at left, disappeared into the piers when open -- photo by Alice Lum

Jackson used blocks of rough cut granite as lintels and band courses to disrupt the heaviness of the red brick mass.  Intricate, swirling foliate panels filled the spandrels below the openings of the third, fifth and sixth floors.  Romanesque burst forth at the upper level with arched openings, terra cotta capitals and a strapping brick-corbeled cornice.  It would be the first of three corner buildings at Hudson and North Moore Streets that the architect would produce for the family.

photo by Alice Lum

John Castree died in 1889, just months after the building was completed.  At the time E. C. Hazard & Co, importer and manufacturer of “fancy groceries,” was operating from the nearby 87-91 Hudson Street.  Like Castree, Edward Clarke Hazard was a self-made, wealthy businessman.  Although successful by 1883, his fortunes would soar when that year he set out to produce “a pure article of tomato catsup,” as described in William Nelson’s 1902 The New Jersey Coast in Three Centuries.  He purchased 165 acres of land in Shrewsbury, New Jersey to grow tomatoes; built a factory and laboratory and began production of Shewsbury Tomato Ketchup, “celebrated for its purity and excellence.”

Hazard relocated to No. 117-119 Hudson Street where the firm distributed its catsup, canned tomatoes, baked beans and mushrooms, and imported delicacies.  The building would be the firm’s headquarters for years.

Acutely aware of his lack of formal education, Edward Hazard read voraciously and devised his own advertising campaign based on Shakespearean quotations.  Display cards were posted in the street cars and by printing them in color Hazard ensured they would stand out.

“I rang fifty changes on these condiments in my street-car advertising, each one introduced by a Shakespearean quotation,” he told Art in Advertising in November 1895.  “Though many of them were known to every schoolboy and familiar as household words, yet I flatter myself in the new ‘dressing’ we gave them they lost the chestnutty flavor.”  The Hazard ads consistently stressed the purity of its product—no additives were ever used in its production.

Art in Advertising published four examples of Hazard's Shakespeare-inspired street car ads in November 1895 (copyright expired)

The E. C. Hazard & Company business blossomed and by the turn of the century it was also producing and distributing its own chili-pepper and burnt onion sauces, salad dressings and mayonnaise, various jellies and other condiments under the Shewsbury label. 

Jackson documented the year of construction in beautifully executed terra cotta panels.  photo by Alice Lum

Following his death on February 2, 1904, American Industries noted “When Mr. Hazard died his business was one of the largest and most prosperous in the country, and it was his boast that his entire success had been due to the fact that he had never used any adulterants, as preservatives or as coloring matter, in any of the foods which he manufactured.

The firm was taken over by Edward’s son, Elmer C. Hazard and three investors.  The business which had grossed as much as $5 million a year under its founder's direction was quickly in trouble.  On August 22, 1907 the New-York Tribune reported on the bankruptcy of E. C. Hazard & Co.  Saying the bankruptcy was based on the company’s inability “to meet claims against it,” the newspaper estimated the number of creditors to be over 200.

Around the same time dyers and colorists were moving in to the building.  In 1911 I. J. R. Muurling was here, as was the German-based firm, Farbenfabriken of the Elbertfeld Company.  Not only was Farbenfabriken a maker of textile dyestuffs; oddly enough it also produced aspirin.  A year later the corporation was absorbed by the Bayer Company, Inc., also a German corporation.  The firm’s name would soon appear in the newspapers, not because of its textile dyes or aspirin; but because of espionage and political scandal.

Hugo Schweitzer worked for Bayer at No. 117 Hudson Street and in August 1915 the New York World exposed a plot by which the chemist was supplying chemicals to the German government for munitions making.   The New-York Tribune on August 17 said Schweitzer “is frankly recognized as the agent of the German government” and was involved in “a clever scheme calculated to insure the supply for German arms of $1,400,000 worth of phenol (carbolic acid) from the factory of Thomas A. Edison.”

Until Schweitzer’s exposure as an agent “in total disregard of this country’s neutrality” he had “always been respected as a chemist of great skill and loyalty,” said The Sun later.  He was later discovered to be involved in the dissemination of pro-German propaganda.  Although he maintained his mansion at No. 410 Riverside Drive, his reputation was forever ruined   On December 20, 1917 with the United States now firmly involved in the war, he fell ill and three days later was dead.  In reporting the death of the 57-year old scientist, The Sun focused, as expected, on his role in the espionage rather than his accomplishments.

At the time of World War I Bayer was still mainly known for its dyes -- Textile World Journal, June 30, 1917 (copyright expired)

Schweitzer’s high-profile involvement with the German government probably played a hand in the Bayer Company’s being taken over by the Alien Property Custodian a month later, in January 1918.  This was followed on August 21 by the arrest of five company officials.  “The men were taken on Presidential warrants and are charged with being dangerous enemy aliens,” reported the New-York Tribune the following day.

Jackson successfully used a medley of materials--elegant terra cotta, hefty brick corbels, rough-cut granite, and wonderful antefixae (mainly ignored from below) atop the corners.  photo by Alice Lum

Following the war, the Bayer Company edged back into a normal business routine and before long few remembered the wartime turmoil.  By 1921 Bayer, which held a trademark on the word “aspirin,” was better known throughout the country for its pharmaceuticals than for its dyestuffs.  Other dye producers were still in the building, however.  The Grasselli Chemical Co. was a major producer of vat colors for textiles and remained in the building in the 1920s.

Bayer was still producing both dyes and aspirins in January 1927 when burglars broke into the stockroom here.  They made off with aspirin worth $90,000 (over $1 million today).  The New York Times reported “The robbers, it was found, had taken 1,286 cartons of aspirin.  Each carton contained five gross of small tin containers, and was valued at $70.  To have carried away so many cartons, it was said, the robbers must have used two trucks.”

The picky thieves took only aspirin; leaving the dyes and other products behind.  But before they had a chance to liquidate their booty, police closed in.  By February 27, 1927 thirteen men had been arrested and nearly all of the stolen aspirin was recovered.

At mid-century the T. M. Duche & Sons firm, importers of fruits and nuts, was here.  But by the 1960s the Tribeca neighborhood was changing.  Commercial lofts and warehouses were slowly taken over by art galleries and studios as the area became trendier and less industrial.  In 1963 the former loading dock received a facelift with modern glass doors and aluminum frames to accommodate a furniture store.

By 1978 a dance theater, Marleen Pennison & Dancers, had taken over the third floor loft; and in 1991 the ground floor held a health food store.  Nearly a century and a half after its completion, Thomas R. Jackson’s No. 117-119 Hudson Street is little changed.  A striking example of a utilitarian structure that did not sacrifice handsome design for functionality.

The original industrial metal steps survive as do the handsome piers. photo by Alice Lum

The 1886 New York Mercantile Exchange - Nos. 2-6 Harrison Street

photo by Jim Henderson

In the middle of the 19th Century, buyers and sellers of various commodities recognized the need to organize in order to maintain quality and standards, to eliminate questionable practices and set down rules of doing business. Among the several "exchanges" was the Butter and Cheese Exchange of New York, formed in 1872 when the dairy men broke off from the Produce Exchange.

The new exchange quickly broadened its base, admitting the egg trade soon after (and changing the name to the Butter, Cheese and Egg Exchange), then including dried fruits, poultry and canned goods in 1882 when the name was changed again to the all-inclusive New York Mercantile Exchange.

Three years later, in 1885, grocers were admitted to the exchange. By now there were 801 members and as additional trades were added, the membership was limited to 1000 with an initiation fee of $500. The growth demanded a larger space to conduct business and land was purchased from theTrinity Corporation at the corner of Harrison and Hudson Streets for a new building.

Architect Thomas R. Jackson was commissioned to design the new exchange. Jackson, who had been head draftsman under Richard Upjohn, created a five-story red brick Queen Anne style building with an imposing off-set tower over the Harrison Street entrance. The finished structure cost $400,000. Rusticated granite pillars, terra-cotta Corinthian capitols on brick pilasters and carved stone ornamentation combined with gables paired stone columns on the fifth floor and picturesque dormers in the tower’s mansard cap created a visual feast.

On the evening of April 6, 1886 invited guests toured the new building. While the 7th Regiment Band played music from “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” over 800 well-dressed ladies and gentlemen alit from carriages. The New York Times remarked that “The decorator’s art was taxed to beautify the galleries with graceful hangings in velvet and spangles.” After the guests had toured the building the maple floor of the hall was given over to dancing, inciting The Times to note that “a good many feet were set in motion during the latter part of the evening.”

The upper three floors of the building were leased to other businesses for offices, the Hooven Mercantile company leasing space here in 1911.

When an investigation into possible control of egg and dairy products prices and subsequent monopolies arose in 1916, Julius D. Mahr, the President of the Exchange was aghast. “The investigation on which that allegation is made does not show the bitter competition that exists in the butter and egg business,” he stressed. “Why, those twenty men are all the time willing to cut one another’s throats. It’s a question of dog eat dog, that is by the day. Of course, after business is over, they are the best of friends at night.”

On July 5, 1922, tragedy struck at the Exchange when commission merchant Herman Ettinger spoke to friends of financial worries and debts owed him by his customers. Ettinger cleared his business for the day, telephoned a friend saying “You will never see me again,” wrote a note asking that his wife, Ella, be notified as “gently as possible,” then shot himself with a pistol in his office.

By 1939 the Exchange was the trading center for 7,500,000 cases of eggs and 3,500,000 tubs of butter every year. Business was conducted throughout most of the 20th century here; with a high-speed ticker system being installed in 1972, the year of the Exchange’s Centennial. That year The Times remarked on the wide variety of commodities being exchanged. The old building was, it said “where futures in Maine potatoes, platinum, United States silver coins, imported boneless beef and palladium are traded.”

Hudson Street facade - photo by Jim Henderson

In 1994 the New York Mercantile Exchange, by now called NYMEX, merged with COMEX and left the venerable old brick building, moving to a new trading facility and office downtown. For a period the building was home to Local 1180 of the Communications Workers of America. Today the structure has been sensitively converted into condominiums with a restaurant on the ground floor.

"Crooked Work" and a Shoot-Out -- The Castree Building - 121 Hudson Street

photo by Alice Lum

Three-year old John Castree was brought to New York by relatives from County Tyrone, Ireland in 1814.  Castree’s mother intended to follow soon after, but died before the intended voyage.  It would be twelve or fifteen years before the boy’s father arrived.

John was enrolled in the public schools, but left while still very young to work in the grocery store of his prosperous uncle, James Beatty.  Before long he had his own business and at the age of 25 was wealthy enough to move into a fine home at No. 121 Hudson Street in 1836, near fashionable St. John’s Park.

By now John Castree was less involved in the grocery trade than in insurance, real estate and banking.  He was not only a stockholder in some of the leading firms, but was a director in several of them.  By the 1880s he was president of the Irving Savings Institution, a member of the Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen, and of the Mercantile Exchange.

Other changes had come about by this time, as well.  The once-elegant St. John’s Park neighborhood was now home to warehouses and freight yards.     The blocks directly surrounding Castree’s former home had become, coincidentally, the center of the wholesale grocery trade.    And yet Castree not only still owned No. 121 Hudson, but he had bought up significant property in the neighborhood.

 In 1888 Castree hired esteemed architect Thomas R. Jackson to design a warehouse building across the street from his old home, at Nos. 117-119 Hudson Street.

John Castree died a year later, in 1889.  His estate commissioned Jackson, again, to design a warehouse building to replace the three brick structures at the corner of Hudson and North Moore Streets, including No. 121 Hudson.

Jackson's earlier commission for Castree, directly across the street (above), was a near match -- photo by Alice Lum

Completed in 1891, the new building was a near-copy of the earlier structure.   Inspired by the popular Romanesque Revival movement at the time, Jackson created a utilitarian warehouse with handsome elements:  arched three-story arcades at the upper level; robust brick piers with ornate, garlanded capitals; and a cornice of brick corbels.  Separating the third and fourth floors, a continuous granite frieze announces the name CASTREE BUILDING on both elevations.

Jackson used cast iron, manufactured by the J. B. & J. M. Cornell foundry, for the heavily-used street level with its loading bays.  Despite the near-industrial use, the first floor boasted attractive proportions and handsome glass transoms.

Boldly carved lettering announced the name of the building -- photo by Alice Lum

The lease on the impressive new warehouse was signed immediately by the respected wholesale grocers, C. Burkhalter & Co.  It would not be a long-term lease, as things turned out.

Shortly after moving in, the firm purchased an unusually large among of food products.  Then, in October of 1892, it declared bankruptcy, listing $600,000 in liabilities; about $150,000 more than the company’s assets.   Upon investigation, it was found that the large stock of products recently purchased had disappeared.

“Crooked work was charged,” said The New York Times, “and the creditors combined to find out the whereabouts of their property.”

C. Burkhalter & Co., was dissolved and its president, Charles Burkhalter, disgraced by the scandal.

Burkhalter & Co. was followed quickly at No. 121 Hudson Street by another wholesale grocer, Seeman  Brothers.   Run by brothers Joseph, Stanley and Sigel W. Seeman, the dealers were among the largest in the city. 

Crates and boxes piled high on the sidewalks along the loading docks of the warehouses along Hudson and North Moore Streets.   In 1901 Policeman Joseph E. Burke of the Leonard Street Station complained to the Seeman Brothers management that he had torn his jacket on one of their crates and demanded $22.50 to replace it.   The brothers bulked at the extortion until Burke compromised at $10.

Word of the policeman’s actions reached the station house and Captain Stephen O’Brien accused him of taking an old, worn jacket to the grocers in order to pretend his jacket had been ripped.   The Seeman warehouse was not even on the patrolman’s beat.

In the end the matter came before the deputy commissioner and Burke was fined a month’s pay for violating departmental regulations.

Seeman  Brothers managed to run its business quietly, with little unwelcome press.  One exception came on November 3, 1911 when the Department of Agriculture seized and condemned 734 cases of tomato pulp.    The department contended that the product was adulterated, “for the reason that it consisted in whole or in part of a filthy and decomposed vegetable substance.”

The embarrassing situation would be a rare black mark on the record of the highly-respected food purveyor.

The firm made news again in 1920 when a blizzard struck New York City.  When the Street Cleaning Department was slow to clear the streets in the warehouse district, Seeman Brothers joined other firms in putting 2,000 workers to work for eight hours shoveling.   If the companies hoped to make a statement against the Street Cleaning Department’s lack of efficiency, it did not work.

Mayor Hylan, instead, complimented the merchants and urged people to form block parties to remove snow.   “The people during the Summer time have block parties and enjoy themselves immensely,” he said.  “Many people have snow parties and have a great deal of fun.  If the people will get together in their blocks, have a snow party and open up a passage way through the street so that the fire apparatus can get through in case of fire, they will get a whole lot of fun out of it…I would also suggest that the gutters and sidewalks be cleaned.”

Three years later Seeman Brothers witnessed a scene that could have been taken from an Elliot Ness gangster story.   On Friday, February 16, 1923, bank messenger William Buck prepared to carry the Seeman Brothers payroll across the street from the Pacific Bank at No. 122 Hudson.  The armed security guard, Robert Johnson accompanied him.  The pair made the trip across the street with more than $9000 in cash every week.

Around 2:00 Buck wrapped the money in plain brown paper and tucked it under his arm.  The two men crossed Hudson Street and headed for the elevator.  But they were being watched.

As cars and trucks bounced along the stone pavement, an idling automobile with its driver inside sat outside of No. 121 Hudson Street.  Three young men in caps were casually chatting in front of the freight elevator.   They watched as the driver in the car gave them the signal that the payroll was on its way.

As Buck and Johnson exited the passenger elevator into the hallway to the cashier’s office, the three men rushed from the freight elevator with revolvers exposed.   When the bank employees put up a fight, the robbers shot.

As Seeman employees rushed into the hallway, a gunfight ensued between the robbers, who now had the cash, and the bank employees.   The three men escaped down the freight elevator and into the waiting car.

Despite the crowds of pedestrians, workers and vehicles, the gunfire continued as the car drove away.  “Both men sent a dozen shots at the automobile, and the escaping robbers responded with a volley,” reported The Times.

Sigel W. Seeman, director of the firm, died in 1931.  Before the decade was over, none of the brothers remained in the company.  

In 1942, when Silvan L. Stix was president, the company initiated an astoundingly early example of computer accounting.    Seeman Brothers hired fifteen men to do a break-down analysis of items, quantities, price and class of trade.  The statistics were tabulated through “electrical bookkeeping machines on 75,000 hole-punched cards.” 

At a time when few companies used technology more advanced that hand-cranked adding machines, Seeman Brothers was at least a decade ahead of its time.

Seeman Brothers immense success in the whole grocery industry resulted in its filling nearly the entire length of North Moore Street from Hudson Street to Greenwich Street by mid-century.  By the 1960s, however, the company was gone.  Warren Fastenings Corporation would occupy the building for a time afterward.

And then towards the end of the 20^th century, Tribeca was discovered.  Celebrities like Robert DeNiro moved in, restaurants replaced loading docks and wealthy New Yorkers transformed factory space into luxury residences.  And so it would be for No. 121 Hudson Street.

In 1999 it became part of the $35 million renovation that would join the Castree Building with the three warehouse running down North Moore Street.  The result would be a 125,000 square-foot condominium.

Real estate investment firm Greystone & Company hired New York firm Meltzer/Mandl Architects to design the renovation.  Meltzer/Mandl calls the resultant project a “faithful restoration” of the buildings’ exteriors.

Indeed, the Castree Building, sitting squarely on the site of John Castree’s Federal residence, is pristine and attractive once again.