The 1890 Hudson Building -- No. 342 West 14th Street

The imposing mass of the building is, technically, the backside -- Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Industry was no stranger to West 14^th Street near the Hudson River in 1890.   For years the Astor family had built markets, warehouses, and related business buildings on its large land holdings throughout the area.   But the six-story structure planned by real estate developer John Pettit would be something out of the ordinary.

Pettit’s speculative building would not merely provide lofts for warehousing and manufacturing; it would offer office space as well.   The concept was nearly unheard of in the area that would become known as the Gansevoort Market; but Pettit sensed change in the air.

Commercial architect James Farnsworth designed the building which would have a surprising footprint and three addresses.   Originally called the Hudson Building, it filled the 111-foot Hudson Street block from 14^th to 13^thStreet (Nos. 666-670 Hudson Street); stretched 150 feet east along West 13^thStreet (No. 339 West 13^th); and elbowed a 25-foot sliver of a presence among the buildings on West 14^th Street (No. 342).

The 14th Street elevation (and main address) is just 25-feet wide -- Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Farnsworth’s buff-brick façade featured grand expanses of glass—made possible by the relatively new construction technique of load-bearing masonry walls and iron beams.   Cast, decorative panels between floors contained graceful foliate shapes that repeated their rolling design like breaking waves.

Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Despite the elegant lines and decorative cornice and panels, Pettit and Farnsworth did not forget that this was also a utilitarian structure.  Hudson and 13^th Street sides were lined with loading docks protected by deep overhanging permanent awnings.   The Hudson Building announced that the days of small buildings for individual businesses in the area were coming to a close.

Among the first tenants was The American Type Telegraph; a manufacturer of “printing telegraph instruments.”  The firm would stay on in the building through the turn of the century.   The company hired a 17-year old electrician, Edward Clauschmidt, who lived with his widowed mother.

The teenager got around the city on a bicycle and, although city ordinances required that the vehicles be outfitted with “a lamp;” he did not have one.  It proved to be a tragic oversight in May 1893.

Mrs. Mary McGlynn and her 9-year old daughter, Katie, stepped off the street car on 67^th Street the night of May 31.  As they started across the street they heard a shout and the frantic ringing of a small bell.   Philadelphia’s The Sporting Life reported that “Mother and daughter stopped and looked around in afright.  The next moment they saw a bicycle only a few feet away.”

In the darkness and with no light on Clauschmidt’s bicycle, they were unable to react quickly enough.  “The mother tried to drag the little girl over to her, but as she did so the swift-running machine struck Katie and knocked her down, the back of her head striking the hard roadbed.”

Edward Clauschmidt was knocked off the bicycle by the collision.  He helped the little girl up and the three walked together to the 68^th Street Precinct.  Although little Katie had initially appeared not seriously hurt; she now complained that her head hurt and she began to vomit.

Police Office Jose took the girl in his arms, boarded a horse car and took her to Roosevelt Hospital.  She soon lost consciousness and died around 1:00 in the morning.  The teen-aged bicyclist was charged with homicide.

On May 11, 1894 John Pettit sold his building to “a Western capitalist” for $300,000—approximately $7 million today.  Rent revenues that year amounted to $34,900.

Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

In the Hudson Building at the time was the Zinn family – Simon, Arthur and Martin.  The brothers manufactured metal goods, such as their “pocketbook frames” and safety razors.   Martin Zinn was called away from work on May 12, 1896 when he was summoned to appear as a potential jurist in a murder case.

On August 30, 1895 Mary Alice Almont Livingston Fleming had, so prosecutors alleged, poisoned her mother to death.   Now lawyers grappled with a substantial problem—finding a jury of men willing to hang a woman for murder.  When Martin Zinn was called nearly 200 men had already been interviewed and dismissed.

“Are you opposed to capital punishment,” he was asked by Assistant District Attorney McIntire.

“I am opposed to capital punishment as far as regards women,” Zinn replied.

Martin Zinn's frank reply freed him to resume his work in his metal goods factory.

Other metal making companies filled the lofts.  In 1901 Paul E. Carbaret’s brass and bronze goods factory was here; as was the Gem Cutlery Company, makers of the “Gem safety razor.”

In 1908 a small fire broke out in the Zinn factory on the third floor.   The Sun reported on July 17 that “The firemen found a little blaze and put it out quickly.”  The problem now was not the fire; it was the new-fangled automatic fire sprinklers.

Although the flames were quickly extinguished, they had set off the sprinklers which continued pouring water that flooded down through the three floors.  “The water was shut off at the tank on the roof, but there were gallons in the pipes which had to keep running,” explained the newspaper.  “While little damage was done by the fire three firms lost $20,000 by water.”

In addition to Zinn, the three water-soaked firms included its competitor Paul E. Carbaret & Co., and the H. C. Miner Lithographing Company.  Two years after the incident, the Zinn brothers built their own factory building and left.

By now the paper box companies were moving into the area.  Hefter & Co. was one of these and in the summer of 1911 the firm ran into severe labor troubles.  The company’s contract with the union workers expired on June 15 but, according to The New York Call, “no action was taken toward a renewal because the union had other troubles on its hands.”

The newspaper was unsympathetic with the paper box company’s management.  “However Hefter was not long in seizing the opportunity to lay off seventy-five workers on the excuse that business was dull.  Heftner followed up this move by making a cut of 10 per cent in the price of one style of box.”

The union protested, Heftner stood firm and a strike loomed.  “A committee then went to see Hefter with a view of arriving at a settlement, but when the employer refused to meet with them, the 500 workers were called out.”

Fixed awnings originally sheltered the loading docks that wrapped the Hudson and 13th Street sides -- photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

Another firm having problems that year was the Anchor Novelty Company, which went into involuntary bankruptcy in October 1911.  Hard hit was the newly-elected president James O’Neill who had recently put about $30,000 into the business.

Most interesting to readers of The New York Times was that O’Neill was involved in the company at all.  He was a well-known actor “who for two generations has played the part of Monte Cristo,” reminded The Times.  “James O’Neill is now in his sixtieth year and has played the role of Monte Cristo more than 6,000 times.”

By the following April Heftner & Co.’s workers were all back at their jobs; however the firm told The Paper Box Maker and American Bookbinder “trade is slow at present, but bears signs of an improvement.”

The store on the West 14^th Street side was taken by the Atlantic Hotel Supply Company in 1917.

As the 1920’s dawned the name Hudson Building was dropped (a new Hudson Building was erected further uptown).   New firms in the building now would include the Mendosa Fur Dyeing Works, Inc.; American Paper Box Company; the Glass Products Company; and the Linen Shrinking Company. 

photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

In a surprisingly early effort at air pollution reduction the Health Department established a “Smoke Abatement Commission” in 1931; the goal of which was to clean the air of furnace output.   It was a positive move for the city and its residents; not such a welcomed turn of events for the former Hudson Building.    On November 30 building management appeared before the Health Departments trial board for smoke ordinance violations.

For a large part of the 20^th century the entire building was home to a printing firm.  Then, in 1998 construction began on a renovation that converted the old factory and office building to luxury condominiums.  An additional story was added for seven penthouse duplexes, each having a private terrace.

The first floor loading docks were nearly seamlessly removed, as seen here on the Hudson Street side -- Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

The conversion was completed in 2000, bringing the dingy façade back to its handsome 1890’s appearance—except for the rows of freight docks were deftly melded into the façade.  James Farnworth’s clean, industrial building is a reminder of a time when the neighborhood rattled with delivery trucks.  And the $9 million price tag placed on a 3-bedroom apartment in the building in 2011 is a reminder that times have changed.

The Lost Rhinelander Office Bldg -- No. 155 W. 14th Street

In the 1950s a soda shop and watch repair store share spaced in the old Rhinelander Estate office.  photo by C T. Brady, Jr., from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UAYW8TBMQE&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

In the second half of the 19^th century three families held the reins of Manhattan real estate—the Astor brothers, John Jacob and William; the Goelet brothers, Peter and Robert; and the Rhinelanders.  

In 1878 the Rhinelander family had been in New York nearly 200 years; having arrived in 1686.  By the time of the American Revolution William Rhinelander had amassed a fortune in the sugar business.   The family’s wealth would increase enormously as it moved from sugar into real estate in the early decades of the 19^thcentury.  Recognizing the potential of the rural land north of the city, William Rhinelander purchased vast tracts of real estate for development.   He died on September 9, 1825 leaving, according to The New York Supplement, “a very large amount of real estate, including a large farm in the upper part of this city.”

As the city inched northward, his son, William C. Rhinelander developed, in some cases, full blocks of structures.  In 1842, for instance, he erected 11 houses known as Cottage Row on Seventh Avenue between 12^th and 13^th Streets.  When he died on June 20, 1878 he left an estate of “50 millions” according to The New York Timesfive days later.   The newspaper added that he “inherited a strong bias toward the English method of keeping family estates together and regarding them as almost sacredly indivisible; and it is hence more than probable that he has expressed his wishes most decidedly upon the point, and that the integrity of the property will be practically preserved.”

Regarding the vast Rhinelander holdings, The Times said that there was no practical way of measuring its monetary worth.  “Of the value of the down-town property it is not possible to form any estimate.  It has increased tremendously in value since the erection of the immense warehouse and dry goods establishments on West Broadway, and is increasing even during the present depression.”

As The Times anticipated, the William Rhinelander's estate would operate as a real estate development business for decades.  Among the first items of business was the erection of a new office building and the family considered West 14th Street as its site.

Around 1840 West 14^th Street, much of it owned by Rhinelander, saw the rise of elegant brick-faced mansions.   At No. 155 stood the home of Alexander J. Norwood.  On the morning of Monday, July 19, 1852 Jacob Aufelter sneaked into the home of the wealthy merchant and helped himself to two gold watches and other property, valued at $400—about $12,400 by today’s standards.  “The rogue entered the premises with a skeleton key,” explained The New York Times, “and while he was coming down stairs, he was met by some of the family, whom he told he was looking for Dr. Smith.  The ruse did not answer, and he was locked up for trial.”

The Norwood family would stay on at No. 155 West 14^thStreet until at least 1857.  By 1860 it was home to the Meader family.  In September that year Mrs. Maeder was walking on Sixth Avenue when “a German lad, named Jacob Calston, snatched her reticule, which contained $25, from her arm and ran away,” according to The New York Times on September 7.  People on the street yelled “stop thief!” and Officer Christopher captured the crook and Mrs. Maeder’s money.

As the 1870s approached, the northward movement of Manhattan’s well-do-to families left West 14^th Street behind.  Elegant homes were operated as boarding houses or taken over by charitable institutions for purposes such as homes for wayward girls.  On March 12, 1866 an advertisement in the New York Herald offered “Elegantly furnished room on second floor, to let, with board, at 155 West Fourteenth street.”  The boarding house required references from potential tenants.

Among the respectable boarders here was Miss C. A. Butler who acted as representative for St. John’s Church at the House of Mercy at the “foot of West 86^th Street, North River.”

But at the time of William C. Rhinelander’s death commerce was overtaking the last of the residential structures on West 14^th.  Now the family demolished the old mansion at No. 155 and replaced it with a handsome brick office building two stories tall.   Gone were the florid, scrolling lines of a generation earlier.  The Rhinelander office building was all about the sharp geometry popularized by the Victorian Gothic style.   Brick laid both diagonally and on end provided textured panels and bands.  The construction date was proudly announced in a central panel.   Projecting wavelike bands followed the shapes of the elliptically arched openings; the only curves in the design.  Above it all wonderfully intricate cast iron cresting completed it all.

From here the Rhinelander Estate continued to shape Upper Manhattan.   In 1880 an apartment building called The Manhattan was erected at the corner of 86^th Street and Second Avenue; and two years later eight four-story brick rowhouses were constructed on East 86^th Street from No. 309 to 323.  The land had been known, decades before, as the Rhinelander “farm.”

The quaint little building would be the scene of Rhinelander Estate operations until 1903 when Charles Duross moved in.  In reporting that he “has moved his real estate office to the office lately occupied by the Rhinelander Estate,” the New-York Tribune noted “he occupies the whole building.”

The highly successful Duross Company would stay on here for years.  As the United States entered World War I Duross was one of the real estate men who rallied for the sale of Liberty Bonds.  He endorsed an advertisement in The Sun on Sunday, April 23, 1918 that said in part “The Huns, the Hindenburgs and the Hohenzollerns Nevershall exact tribute from the Metropolis of the World.”  The ad prompted real estate operators to buy the bonds “and buy them until your last dollar buys the last bullet to insure Freedom for all forever.”

The Duross Company sold property from No. 155 West 14^thStreet into the 1920s.  On February 1, 1920 it prompted potential homeowners to consider, instead, an income-producing building.  “Purchase a homelike apartment house, 5 story, 6 rooms each.  Total income $6,000.  Price, $45,000.  Nicest lower west side block.”  New Yorkers today would probably jump at the price, even at its equivalent value of $523,000.

By 1926 the upper floor had been converted to living space.   Paul E. Hilton was living there that year, making a living as a low-end crook.  On the night of March 25 his petty-thievery would take a violent turn.   According to his confession on May 5, he entered a house in Queens “and started to look for valuables.”  When he heard noises outside, he unsuccessfully tried to get out a basement window then left through the kitchen door.

“I saw some one come around the corner with a flashlight and a gun and I started to go back to the kitchen and some one said: ‘Who’s that?’ and I started to run down the stoop with my gun in hand.”

A foot chase and gun battle followed, with Hilton jumping fences and running down alleys.  At one point a policeman closed in and, according to Hilton, “started to raise his gun when I fired one shot and heard his groan.  Then I hurdled two fences to the street and walked to the elevated station and took the elevated to Park Row and then to the Bowery.”

Hilton left the body of Patrolman Arthur Kenney lying in the dark alley.  He was charged with murder in the first degree.

The delightful little building , once the seat of the vast Rhineland real estate empire, housed mom-and-pop stores downstairs and residential renters upstairs until 1961.  That year developers Hyman and Irving Shapiro filed plans for a 21-story, $4.6 million apartment building to be called The Vermeer.

photo Cityrealty.com

The gargantuan 352-unit white brick structure (the brick color was changed in the early 1990s) wiped out the mish mash of 19^th and early 20^th century structures on the block, including the Rhinelander Estate office building.  What No. 155 West 14^th Street had in charm, the new building made up for in bland.  It was a circumstance perhaps explained by Hyman Shapiro himself when he told the New York Times in 1974 “Architectural amenities are sheer nonsense.”