BLDG Management Company has officially launched leasing at Stella LES, a new rental property at 251 East 2nd Street in the East Village.

In 1822 New York City faced a terrorizing invader: yellow fever. The number of deaths climbed to 140 per day, churches were ordered closed, and those who were financially able fled north to the healthful, rural air of the Village of Greenwich. J. Hardie wrote in his diary that on August 24, 1822: ...our city presented the appearance of a town besieged. From daybreak till night one line of carts, containing boxes, merchandise, and effects, were seen moving towards "Greenwich Village" and the upper parts of the city...Temporary stores and offices were erecting, and even on the ensuing day [Sunday] carts were in motion, and the saw and hammer busily at work. Some citizens who had never been involved in real estate suddenly took advantage of the sudden population boom to invest in speculative development. Among them was grocer Henry Potter who erected two Federal style houses at Nos. 45 and 47 Hammond Street. The 25-foot wide dwellings were, most likely identical. Two-and-a-half stories tall, they were faced in Flemish bond brick, their peaked roofs punctured by prim dormers. The entrances sat above a two-step porch above the basement level. Among the early residents of No. 45 (renumbered 251 West 11th Street in 1864) were Jacob Hoffman, his wife and two children. On the night of April 8, 1839 Hoffman left to view a political parade by the Butt Enders--a faction of the Democratic party. The group, which was often boisterous and rowdy, was composed of working-class men who espoused pro-labor issues. Their name, most likely, referred to workingmen's habit of chewing on the left-over stump of their cigars. The parade was not without tragedy. The New York Daily Express reported that as the "procession of Butt-enders, Rowdies and Loafers was passing through Broadway...one man fell down, and was run over and trampled upon, and bruised so badly as to deprive him of all sensation of signs of life." The article was referring to Jacob Hoffman. On April 10 the New-York American reported on the Coroner's inquest upon the body "of the unfortunate man, Jacob Hoffman, who was accidentally killed by being run over by a cart which formed part of the 'Butt Ender's' procession on Monday night." There would be another Coroner's inquest within the house five years later, on July 23, 1844. A boarder, John Steen, had a reputation as a drinker, prompting The Morning Express to entitle an article "Death From Intemperance." The coroner concluded that "John Steen, who was very intemperate in his habits...died in a fit thus produced last night." Mary Chase most likely boarded in the house in 1850. The 44-year old was a teacher in Public School No. 26 on West 21st Street. The New York Times said "The building had just been erected and was thought to be perfect," but it added "Those capable of judging...felt that one great error had been made in its erection. No suitable stairway had been provided, by which the children might rapidly and safely pass from the building in case of fire." Only a year later that omission turned tragic. At around 2:00 on the afternoon of November 20, 1851, the principal, Miss Harrison, suffered a stroke and "fell senseless to the floor." The New York Times reported: The children in the school became frightened and made a rush for the door, with the intention of running down the stairs. The children in the other departments hearing the rush below, supposed that there was some great danger, and of course joined the crowd among whom, by this time, the cry of fire had been raised. This cry renewed the fears of the children, and in their efforts to escape they rushed against the frail railing, which gave way before them, and the poor, helpless little ones were precipitated down upon the stone floor beneath. Into this awful chasm they poured like grain from a hopper, (as a policeman expressed it,) until they were piled up to the ceiling of the first floor, some falling from the second story and some from the first. As the news spread, hundreds rushed to the horrifying scene, including the parents of the children who "uttered fearful and heart-rending cries." In the aftermath, 44 children were dead, 21 injured and several of the teachers were severely hurt, two not expected to survive. Among the unfortunate teachers was Mary Chase. The house where Mary lived was owned by accountant Samuel D. Chase by 1853. He and his wife continued to take in a boarder. John Otter, a clerk, lived with the family in 1853 and carpenter William Baldwin was here in 1855 and '56. City directories no longer listed a profession for Chase after 1860, suggesting that he had retired. He died on February 1, 1862 at the age of 73 and his funeral was held in the house three days later. The Chase family did not remain long afterward. On December 2, 1863 the New York Herald reported that Samuel's son, John L. Chase, had sold the "two-story brick House." It became home to William L. Stevenson, an engineer, who offered it for sale again in February 1866. His asking price was $7,500--about $125,000 today. George A. Jeremiah and his family would be long-term owners. Born around 1826, he and his wife, Anna E. had four children. His profession was officially listed as wheelwright at No. 406 Tenth Avenue, but his passion seems to have been politics. He had already served in the State Assembly and as an alderman and in 1872 he ran again for that position. Jeremiah made significant updates to the West 11th Street house. He raised the attic to a full floor with a handsome Italianate cornice, added sheet metal cornices to the windows, and a triangular pediment over the doorway. George was appointed a Manhattan Bureau officer in the Public Works Department by the Tammany administration in the early 1880's. The New-York Tribune strongly suggested that he and his associates were involved in corruption on January 14, 1884, saying in part, "There are many peculiarities in the methods followed in the Public Works Department in evading the law in regard to contracts as well as in the letting of contracts." The article specifically named Jeremiah and others. Following George's death the house passed to his son, George J. Jeremiah. He leased it by the turn of the century when a Mrs. Bogue lived at the address. A newspaper article in 1902 may have sparked a scheme in her mind. Wealthy widow Sarah Ann Waters died that year, leaving a large estate and many questions. Attorneys suggested that her "spurious will" was signed "at a time when she was not mentally competent to contract business." The confusion opened a floodgate to opportunistic fortune seekers. On December 14, 1902 the New York Herald reported "All day yesterday there was a constant stream of alleged relatives calling upon Dr. Campbell and the several lawyers in the case. One of them was Mrs. Bogue, of No. 251 West Eleventh street, who said her grandfather had married Mrs. Waters' mother." George Jeremiah continued to lease the house during the first decade of the 20th century. William O'Neil rented it in 1908, and Martha Gross signed a lease in 1914. She operated it as a boarding house. Among her boarders in 1916 was 26-year old John Daly. He and four cohorts were preparing to steal "a big gray automobile" in Brooklyn on May 16 that year. Patrolman Laut happened upon them as they were changing the New Jersey license tag for a New York plate. As he approached, one of the men pulled a gun. Laut grabbed the driver "for a body shield" and fired two shots into the air to summon backup. The gunman escaped, but Daly and the other three were arrested. More incriminating evidence was found in the automobile--three loaded 38-calibre revolvers and two baseball bats. The Isinger family lived in No. 251 in 1919 when, as had been the case with Jacob Hoffman 80 years earlier, a bizarre accident occurred during a parade. Fourteen-year old Edward Isinger joined the "enormous throng" who jammed Fifth Avenue on March 25, 1919 to cheer the troops returning from World War I. To obtain a better view, he climbed top a glass marquee above a building's entrance. It could not sustain his weight and, according to The Sun, he "crashed through a glass panel." The article explained, "He landed on a man standing under the portico and both fell to the pavement. The man was uninjured, but young Isinger suffered a fractured leg." Tied-back curtains and window shades suggest a neatly maintained interior in 1941. via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services After having owned the house for more than half a century the Jeremiah family sold it to Arthur D. Smith in August 1920. He retained ownership until 1929 when it was purchased by the Spartan Engineering Company. Surprisingly, the firm did not renovate the house into apartments. The charming dwelling survives as a single-family home after almost two centuries. photograph by the author

New renderings have been released in time for the sales launch of Era, a boutique condominium building at 251 West 91st Street on the Upper West Side.

In the 1860s the block of East 71st Street between Third and Second Avenues saw the rise of speculative brownstone-fronted homes. Three bays wide and sporting elaborately-carved entrances; the homes were intended for respectable middle to upper-middle class families. At the time the neighborhood was slightly marginal—sitting only a few blocks from the gritty district near the East River that one newspaper deemed “a colony of laborers.” The homes, while comfortable and attractive, were little different than hundreds of brownstone dwellings being thrown up throughout the expanding city. It would be a full century before No. 251 East 71st Street could be termed “remarkable.” But before that day would come, the residence was home to a string of equally unremarkable owners who spent their lives modestly and quietly. The Rev. William G. French was the first owner. In 1865 he was a member of the New York Protestant Episcopal City Mission Society and worked as a missionary on Blackwell’s Island. His would have been an unglamorous position. Blackwell’s Island was the site of the Small Pox Hospital and the Workhouse and the Charity Hospital. French would have worked with the most indigent, criminal and diseased elements of New York society—few of whom one may imagine, were eager to receive his religious outreach. By 1880 he would obtain the position of Chaplain of the Workhouse. No. 251 was a match to its neighbor to the right. But by now the house on East 71st Street had become home to the Chapman family. The unmarried Ellen L. Chapman taught in the Girls’ Department of Grammar School No. 7 far downtown at No. 60 Chrystie Street for years. The house continued to change hands somewhat rapidly. In the 1890s it was home to James B. Smith, an art enthusiast; and at the turn of the century William E. Schastey and his family lived here. Schastey lived in the house with his wife and child. He was in the building business “in which he was prominently known,” according to The New York Times. But it was his military record for which Schastey was best known and respected. For years he was a member of the elite Seventh Regiment, popularly known as the “Silk Stocking Regiment” because it attracted the sons of New York’s millionaires in the mid-1800s. He was first lieutenant when the Spanish-American War erupted; and was captain of Company G of the 201st New York Volunteer Infantry when the regiment was mustered out of service in 1899. On Wednesday September 29, 1909 William E. Schastey was in Norfolk, Virginia when he was stricken with “acute indigestion.” The 39-year old contractor died within hours. His body was brought back to New York and the funeral was held in the house on 71st Street the following Saturday morning. The dwelling was purchased soon after by Wilhelmina Miller. The widow of Erhardt Miller, she owned other property in Manhattan and received her husband’s pension--$8.00 per month—earned through his service in the artillery company of the 65th Regiment. By the 1920s and ‘30s it appears the old Victorian house was being operated as a rather upscale rooming house. Josephine Lucille Zrust lived here in 1922 while she did graduate work at Columbia University’s department of sociology. The Department of Buildings apparently caught up with the owners in 1937 when the building received a “multiple dwelling violation.” In 1961 the house was formally converted to apartments—one per floor. But it would be a short-lived renovation. In 1969 the old brownstone was razed to be replaced by an ultra-modern townhouse that epitomized the 60s. Designed by architect Maurice Medcalfe of the architectural firm Hills & Medcalfe at No. 36 East 57th Street, it captured the Space Age in mortar and glass. Completed the same year that the astronauts walked on the moon, its minimal design relied on a stark flat surface broken by regimented rows of bulging oval glass windows. It was Barbarella Meets the Upper East Side. The vicious contrast between what was quickly termed the “Bubble House” and the staid architecture of the rest of the block resulted in immediate and unbridled opinion. The New York Times diplomatically called the swelling portholes “An interesting variation of the bay window.” The AIA Guide to New York City accused the house of being an excellent argument for the extension of historic districts. For many years the Donna Schneier Fine Arts gallery was located in the lowest floor of the building. Nearly half a century after its construction, the structure’s period design continues to shock the casual passerby. And the address which for a century was unremarkable is quite remarkable today. photographs taken by the author

New renderings have been released for Era, a 20-story, 57-unit project from ODA, Adam America Real Estate, and Northlink Capital at 251 West 91st Street.

The affordable housing lottery has launched for 251 West 117th Street, a 13-story residential building in Harlem, Manhattan.

In 1822 New York City faced a terrorizing invader: yellow fever. The number of deaths climbed to 140 per day, churches were ordered closed, and those who were financially able fled north to the healthful, rural air of the Village of Greenwich. J. Hardie wrote in his diary that on August 24, 1822: ...our city presented the appearance of a town besieged. From daybreak till night one line of carts, containing boxes, merchandise, and effects, were seen moving towards "Greenwich Village" and the upper parts of the city...Temporary stores and offices were erecting, and even on the ensuing day [Sunday] carts were in motion, and the saw and hammer busily at work. Some citizens who had never been involved in real estate suddenly took advantage of the sudden population boom to invest in speculative development. Among them was grocer Henry Potter who erected two Federal style houses at Nos. 45 and 47 Hammond Street. The 25-foot wide dwellings were, most likely identical. Two-and-a-half stories tall, they were faced in Flemish bond brick, their peaked roofs punctured by prim dormers. The entrances sat above a two-step porch above the basement level. Among the early residents of No. 45 (renumbered 251 West 11th Street in 1864) were Jacob Hoffman, his wife and two children. On the night of April 8, 1839 Hoffman left to view a political parade by the Butt Enders--a faction of the Democratic party. The group, which was often boisterous and rowdy, was composed of working-class men who espoused pro-labor issues. Their name, most likely, referred to workingmen's habit of chewing on the left-over stump of their cigars. The parade was not without tragedy. The New York Daily Express reported that as the "procession of Butt-enders, Rowdies and Loafers was passing through Broadway...one man fell down, and was run over and trampled upon, and bruised so badly as to deprive him of all sensation of signs of life." The article was referring to Jacob Hoffman. On April 10 the New-York American reported on the Coroner's inquest upon the body "of the unfortunate man, Jacob Hoffman, who was accidentally killed by being run over by a cart which formed part of the 'Butt Ender's' procession on Monday night." There would be another Coroner's inquest within the house five years later, on July 23, 1844. A boarder, John Steen, had a reputation as a drinker, prompting The Morning Express to entitle an article "Death From Intemperance." The coroner concluded that "John Steen, who was very intemperate in his habits...died in a fit thus produced last night." Mary Chase most likely boarded in the house in 1850. The 44-year old was a teacher in Public School No. 26 on West 21st Street. The New York Times said "The building had just been erected and was thought to be perfect," but it added "Those capable of judging...felt that one great error had been made in its erection. No suitable stairway had been provided, by which the children might rapidly and safely pass from the building in case of fire." Only a year later that omission turned tragic. At around 2:00 on the afternoon of November 20, 1851, the principal, Miss Harrison, suffered a stroke and "fell senseless to the floor." The New York Times reported: The children in the school became frightened and made a rush for the door, with the intention of running down the stairs. The children in the other departments hearing the rush below, supposed that there was some great danger, and of course joined the crowd among whom, by this time, the cry of fire had been raised. This cry renewed the fears of the children, and in their efforts to escape they rushed against the frail railing, which gave way before them, and the poor, helpless little ones were precipitated down upon the stone floor beneath. Into this awful chasm they poured like grain from a hopper, (as a policeman expressed it,) until they were piled up to the ceiling of the first floor, some falling from the second story and some from the first. As the news spread, hundreds rushed to the horrifying scene, including the parents of the children who "uttered fearful and heart-rending cries." In the aftermath, 44 children were dead, 21 injured and several of the teachers were severely hurt, two not expected to survive. Among the unfortunate teachers was Mary Chase. The house where Mary lived was owned by accountant Samuel D. Chase by 1853. He and his wife continued to take in a boarder. John Otter, a clerk, lived with the family in 1853 and carpenter William Baldwin was here in 1855 and '56. City directories no longer listed a profession for Chase after 1860, suggesting that he had retired. He died on February 1, 1862 at the age of 73 and his funeral was held in the house three days later. The Chase family did not remain long afterward. On December 2, 1863 the New York Herald reported that Samuel's son, John L. Chase, had sold the "two-story brick House." It became home to William L. Stevenson, an engineer, who offered it for sale again in February 1866. His asking price was $7,500--about $125,000 today. George A. Jeremiah and his family would be long-term owners. Born around 1826, he and his wife, Anna E. had four children. His profession was officially listed as wheelwright at No. 406 Tenth Avenue, but his passion seems to have been politics. He had already served in the State Assembly and as an alderman and in 1872 he ran again for that position. Jeremiah made significant updates to the West 11th Street house. He raised the attic to a full floor with a handsome Italianate cornice, added sheet metal cornices to the windows, and a triangular pediment over the doorway. George was appointed a Manhattan Bureau officer in the Public Works Department by the Tammany administration in the early 1880's. The New-York Tribune strongly suggested that he and his associates were involved in corruption on January 14, 1884, saying in part, "There are many peculiarities in the methods followed in the Public Works Department in evading the law in regard to contracts as well as in the letting of contracts." The article specifically named Jeremiah and others. Following George's death the house passed to his son, George J. Jeremiah. He leased it by the turn of the century when a Mrs. Bogue lived at the address. A newspaper article in 1902 may have sparked a scheme in her mind. Wealthy widow Sarah Ann Waters died that year, leaving a large estate and many questions. Attorneys suggested that her "spurious will" was signed "at a time when she was not mentally competent to contract business." The confusion opened a floodgate to opportunistic fortune seekers. On December 14, 1902 the New York Herald reported "All day yesterday there was a constant stream of alleged relatives calling upon Dr. Campbell and the several lawyers in the case. One of them was Mrs. Bogue, of No. 251 West Eleventh street, who said her grandfather had married Mrs. Waters' mother." George Jeremiah continued to lease the house during the first decade of the 20th century. William O'Neil rented it in 1908, and Martha Gross signed a lease in 1914. She operated it as a boarding house. Among her boarders in 1916 was 26-year old John Daly. He and four cohorts were preparing to steal "a big gray automobile" in Brooklyn on May 16 that year. Patrolman Laut happened upon them as they were changing the New Jersey license tag for a New York plate. As he approached, one of the men pulled a gun. Laut grabbed the driver "for a body shield" and fired two shots into the air to summon backup. The gunman escaped, but Daly and the other three were arrested. More incriminating evidence was found in the automobile--three loaded 38-calibre revolvers and two baseball bats. The Isinger family lived in No. 251 in 1919 when, as had been the case with Jacob Hoffman 80 years earlier, a bizarre accident occurred during a parade. Fourteen-year old Edward Isinger joined the "enormous throng" who jammed Fifth Avenue on March 25, 1919 to cheer the troops returning from World War I. To obtain a better view, he climbed top a glass marquee above a building's entrance. It could not sustain his weight and, according to The Sun, he "crashed through a glass panel." The article explained, "He landed on a man standing under the portico and both fell to the pavement. The man was uninjured, but young Isinger suffered a fractured leg." Tied-back curtains and window shades suggest a neatly maintained interior in 1941. via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services After having owned the house for more than half a century the Jeremiah family sold it to Arthur D. Smith in August 1920. He retained ownership until 1929 when it was purchased by the Spartan Engineering Company. Surprisingly, the firm did not renovate the house into apartments. The charming dwelling survives as a single-family home after almost two centuries. photograph by the author

Construction is finishing up on The Westly, a 20-story, 52-unit project from ODA and Adam America at 251 West 91st Street on Manhattan's Upper West Side.

BLDG Management Company has officially launched leasing at Stella LES, a new rental property at 251 East 2nd Street in the East Village.

Get a jump on spring and introduce a splash of colour into your home before the daffs bloom with this fabulous vase, fashioned from a trio of vibrant yellow lemons. Oh-so-Mediterranean in feel, this vase pairs perfectly with creamy white snowdrops or tulips for a feeling of subtle opulence. Alternatively, create a kaleidoscope of colours with super-bright blooms that clash gorgeously with its zingy tones. It’s retro-kitsch at its best – and a great way to evoke the essence of the glamourous Almalfi coast. Close your eyes and you could be sipping limoncello in the dappled sunlight, listening to the sound of the waves against the craggy coastline...or it could be that it simply reminds you of the treasures you used to find in your grandparents’ house. Either way, a vase to be loved. - Trio of Lemons Vase - Measures: H20cm x W10cm - Vase opening: 2.5cm - Material: Fine earthenware - Handle with care

Unlike some privileged boys George Washington Vanderbilt was intrigued by books. When only 12 years old he began cataloguing each book he read. A series of small notebooks, entitled Books I Have Read, recorded each title, numbered consecutively, along with the author. His affection for reading and books got him in trouble with his mothing, Maria Louise Kissam Vanderbilt that same year. On May 27, 1875 he wrote in his dairy “I have been way down town today and have displeased Mother, she gave me two dollars to buy a sketch book with which I went to four stores but could not get one so I spent it on books, besides $2.65 of my own money which Mother did not like…I got two volumes of the Young American Abroad. And the last volume of the Yacht Club.” Vanderbilt kept his list current and when he died on March 6, 1914 at the age of 51 following an appendectomy, his last entry was No. 3159—Volume III of Henry Adams’ “History of the United States.” George Vanderbilt was reading an average of 81 books a year at the time of his death. Few New Yorkers had the money or leisure time that enabled George Vanderbilt to pursue reading. The few libraries that existed prior to 1880 were not open to the general public. But that year the Free Circulating Library was incorporated. The response was so great that the sidewalks around the first library—a single room in a building on 13th Street near Fourth Avenue—were blocked. At closing time on one occasion, of the 500 books only two were left on the shelves. George W. Vanderbilt - from the collection of the Library of Congress. It was the sort of worthy project that caught the attention of the bibliophile Vanderbilt and he decided to fund a branch of the Lending Library in Greenwich Village, opposite Jackson Square. In 1887 Vanderbilt was no stranger to Richard Morris Hunt. Work was underway that year on George’s stable on Staten Island and on the Vanderbilt Family Mausoleum, both designed by Hunt. Ten years earlier the esteemed architect had designed the massive William K. Vanderbilt chateau on Fifth Avenue and within a year he would begin work on the palatial Marble House in Newport, also for William. George’s library would be less grandiose, but no less enchanting. In 1887, two years before Andrew Carnegie donated his first library in the United States; the first bricks were laid for George Vanderbilt’s. There was no fanfare associated with the opening of the library on July 5, 1888. A small listing in the New-York Tribune that day with the heading “What Is Going On To-Day” simply noted “Opening new Vanderbilt Library, Jackson Square.” New-York Tribune, March 24, 1901 (copyright expired) The handsome new building was, nevertheless, an “ornament” to the neighborhood. Unlike the frothy confections that characterized some of the other Vanderbilt projects; the library was a take on a Flemish guildhall. It was a very early example of the architectural fad that would sweep the city in the next decade recalling Manhattan’s Dutch roots. A red-tiled roof hid behind a curving Flemish Renaissance gable and wrought iron strapwork decorated the red brick façade. Wrought iron numerals on the four piers, just above the first floor, gave the date of construction: 1887. A touch of Gothic was introduced by the trefoil decorations in the blind arches of the window openings. Wrought iron numbers spell out the date of construction. Vanderbilt’s completed gift to the city cost him $40,000—about $900,000 in today’s dollars. By 1892 the Free Circulating Library consisted of four buildings, including Vanderbilt’s. “The Memorial History of the City of New-York” that year said “Wealthy citizens have contributed generously to this admirable free library, and its benefit to the community at large is evident from its circulation of nearly half a million of volumes in 1892.” Old rowhouses still abut the library in this stereopticon view -- NYPL Collection In 1899 the chief librarian, J. Norris Wing instituted a innovation nearly unheard of in public libraries: the “Open Shelf” system. Until now, the books were kept under the safeguard of librarians. The concept of allowing the public to run free among the inventory of books was unheard of. But Wing insisted that “The only proper way to manage a circulating library so as to avoid all unnecessary delay and friction in the bringing together of book and reader, is to run it upon the open-shelf system.” The Children's Reading Room -- photo NYPL Collection Until that year, readers looked over the library’s catalog of books, noted the number of the volume he wanted, filled out a call slip and waited until the librarian returned “after a weary search to inform him that the book is out,” said The Sun. Under Wing’s system, the reader simply wandered the shelves, chose his book and checked it out. The Sun was impressed. “From 1880, when the first branch was opened, up to about eighteen months ago the public was excluded from the places where the books were kept, and when the proposition was made to give the readers free access to all books in the library many of the attendants shook their heads.” The experiment was tried with one branch, then two, and by August 1899 all the libraries were on board. Librarians were pleased--instead of running back and forth all day with stacks of books they were giving recommendations and advice. “Now we are fresh when our day’s work is done,” said one. “Moreover, we know that we can and do help the people who use the library to an extent not one of us thought possible under the old system. Before we mostly only carried books; now we advise about books.” The newspaper pointed out the two drawbacks: wear and tear on the books and theft. Nevertheless, the advantages outweighed the negatives. “I do not know how many books were stolen elsewhere,” said one librarian, “but in my branch the thefts do not amount to anything worth speaking about, and even if they’d steal much more, I would still prefer the open shelf.” There was one other problem that some associated with the open shelf system—the transfer of communicable disease. On November 11, 1897 Dr. John S. Billings, the director of the New York Public Library spoke in the Jackson Square Library regarding “The Disinfection of Books.” Among his comments he said “At an investigation made by the State Board in Iowa three years ago it was found that six cases of scarlet fever were undoubtedly communicated through circulating library books. Other diseases may be communicated in the same way. There is not much danger o this from the edges of cards, although they are foul and filthy, and undoubtedly filled with bacteria.” Dr. Billings presented the problem of disinfecting books. Heat could not be used, since sufficient heat would destroy the bindings and pages; and applying chemicals was equally counter-productive. “We cannot apply a solution of corrosive sublimate or zinc chloride. The fumes of burning sulphur are both inadequate and undesireable.” Instead he suggested placing the contaminated book under a bell jar with a saucer of formaline. Although apparently effective it was a labor- and time-consuming process. Nevertheless, nearly a decade later the fears of Dr. Billings would manifest themselves at the Jackson Square Library. The janitor and his family lived in the building and in January 1908 his son fell ill with scarlet fever. The library was shut down indefinitely. When asked how long the building would be closed, Dr. Billings told reporters “That depends on the physician in charge of the case. As soon as he orders the patient removed the building will be fumigated and opened.” The New-York Tribune sympathized with the neighborhood readers. “In the mean time the book lovers who patronize that institution will have to walk a half-mile or more to the nearest branches of the New York Library, on Leroy and West 23d streets.” A few years earlier, in 1904, William Howe Tolman in his “The Better New York” praised the Jackson Square Library. “It circulates about 126,00 volumes a year, and its cheerful reading room is filled day and evening with more than a hundred readers. An interesting feature to be noticed upon entering the main library is the glass-covered cases against the wall, where are placed clippings from the illustrated papers of the day, depicting subjects which are interesting to people of New York at the time. This is done weekly to create interest in current events, and after looking at the pictures anyone can consult the librarians as to proper reading in connection with each subject. To help the musically inclined in the study of operas presented at the Metropolitan Opera House during the season, scores are lent for a period of three days each.” The effectiveness of the library was in part enough to prompt a Department of Finance investigative committee to push for discontinuance of city support of a nearby recreation center. That same year it reported “As to the library feature, there is no reason whatever for its existence in this centre, as the Jackson Square Branch of the New York Public Library…is in the same block and meets all the needs of the community in this respect. This library is open in the evening until 9 o’clock and is well patronized by the young people.” By the Great Depression the Library had lost its ornamental weathervane -- photograph NYPL Collection The innovative programs, like the current events boards, continued throughout first half of the 20th century. Art displays were a regular event. In 1951 there were an exhibition of drawings of pre-war Korea by a young Korean student and artist, Sam-Kih Min; and another of artwork by Turkish school children. In the 1950s “story-hour” entranced children as story books were read aloud. The library building gained a replacement weather vane in the renovations. Then in 1961 in order to save the marvelous Jefferson Market Courthouse, plans were laid restore and convert that building to a library. While the proposal would save the threatened landmark, it would mark the end of the line for the Jackson Square Library. Richard Morris Hunt’s Dutch fantasy sat empty until artist Robert Delford Brown purchased it in 1967 for $125,000 as his residence and headquarters for his First National Church of the Exquisite Panic, Inc. In 1970 an interior renovation by Paul Marvin Rudolph, among the world’s preeminent modernist architects, was completed. “The AIA Guide to New York City” said of the completed project, “Brown and Rudolph’s conversion was a thoughtful, subtle endeavor, carving light-filled spaces from the dark masonry rooms within the old library.” The New York Times was less appreciative. Nancy Hass, thirty years later on March 2, 2000, said “The formal front doors and a chunk of the ground floor had been hacked away in a renovation of shocking proportions. In their place was a rubble-strewn gated courtyard that dropped off sharply in the center, where a metal stairway led to an exposed basement. The house seemed to cantilever precariously above the sidewalk.” Brown affixed a plaque to the façade “The Great Building Crack-Up.” Inside, Rudolph’s interiors reflected his genius at melding light and lines into spacial geometry and visual cohesion. (Nancy Hass preferred the term “zany pad.”) It would not last all that long, however. Around 1995 television writer Tom Fontana discovered and purchased the now-available building. Having paid about just under $2 million for the structure, he then nearly doubled the cost by having Paul Rudolph’s work obliterated. New York Magazine, in 1997, called the process “de-geniusing it.” The vaulted glass ceiling, seen above in the Adult Reading Room, was painting over during WWII. Bentley painstakingly removed the paint and restored the ceiling. photo NYPL Collection Fontana, who told The Times “the place was ridiculous,” commissioned architect Ron Bentley to redesign the interiors. In the annihilation of the Rudolph design, Bentley fashioned an upscale single family residence on the two upper floors. Fontana’s offices were installed in the lower two stories where Rudolph’s single surviving feature, the entrance, remains. non-historic photographs taken by the author

ODA New York have released images of their newest project "Era", Manhattan's largest residential cantilever building.

Unlike some privileged boys George Washington Vanderbilt was intrigued by books. When only 12 years old he began cataloguing each book he read. A series of small notebooks, entitled Books I Have Read, recorded each title, numbered consecutively, along with the author. His affection for reading and books got him in trouble with his mothing, Maria Louise Kissam Vanderbilt that same year. On May 27, 1875 he wrote in his dairy “I have been way down town today and have displeased Mother, she gave me two dollars to buy a sketch book with which I went to four stores but could not get one so I spent it on books, besides $2.65 of my own money which Mother did not like…I got two volumes of the Young American Abroad. And the last volume of the Yacht Club.” Vanderbilt kept his list current and when he died on March 6, 1914 at the age of 51 following an appendectomy, his last entry was No. 3159—Volume III of Henry Adams’ “History of the United States.” George Vanderbilt was reading an average of 81 books a year at the time of his death. Few New Yorkers had the money or leisure time that enabled George Vanderbilt to pursue reading. The few libraries that existed prior to 1880 were not open to the general public. But that year the Free Circulating Library was incorporated. The response was so great that the sidewalks around the first library—a single room in a building on 13th Street near Fourth Avenue—were blocked. At closing time on one occasion, of the 500 books only two were left on the shelves. George W. Vanderbilt - from the collection of the Library of Congress. It was the sort of worthy project that caught the attention of the bibliophile Vanderbilt and he decided to fund a branch of the Lending Library in Greenwich Village, opposite Jackson Square. In 1887 Vanderbilt was no stranger to Richard Morris Hunt. Work was underway that year on George’s stable on Staten Island and on the Vanderbilt Family Mausoleum, both designed by Hunt. Ten years earlier the esteemed architect had designed the massive William K. Vanderbilt chateau on Fifth Avenue and within a year he would begin work on the palatial Marble House in Newport, also for William. George’s library would be less grandiose, but no less enchanting. In 1887, two years before Andrew Carnegie donated his first library in the United States; the first bricks were laid for George Vanderbilt’s. There was no fanfare associated with the opening of the library on July 5, 1888. A small listing in the New-York Tribune that day with the heading “What Is Going On To-Day” simply noted “Opening new Vanderbilt Library, Jackson Square.” New-York Tribune, March 24, 1901 (copyright expired) The handsome new building was, nevertheless, an “ornament” to the neighborhood. Unlike the frothy confections that characterized some of the other Vanderbilt projects; the library was a take on a Flemish guildhall. It was a very early example of the architectural fad that would sweep the city in the next decade recalling Manhattan’s Dutch roots. A red-tiled roof hid behind a curving Flemish Renaissance gable and wrought iron strapwork decorated the red brick façade. Wrought iron numerals on the four piers, just above the first floor, gave the date of construction: 1887. A touch of Gothic was introduced by the trefoil decorations in the blind arches of the window openings. Wrought iron numbers spell out the date of construction. Vanderbilt’s completed gift to the city cost him $40,000—about $900,000 in today’s dollars. By 1892 the Free Circulating Library consisted of four buildings, including Vanderbilt’s. “The Memorial History of the City of New-York” that year said “Wealthy citizens have contributed generously to this admirable free library, and its benefit to the community at large is evident from its circulation of nearly half a million of volumes in 1892.” Old rowhouses still abut the library in this stereopticon view -- NYPL Collection In 1899 the chief librarian, J. Norris Wing instituted a innovation nearly unheard of in public libraries: the “Open Shelf” system. Until now, the books were kept under the safeguard of librarians. The concept of allowing the public to run free among the inventory of books was unheard of. But Wing insisted that “The only proper way to manage a circulating library so as to avoid all unnecessary delay and friction in the bringing together of book and reader, is to run it upon the open-shelf system.” The Children's Reading Room -- photo NYPL Collection Until that year, readers looked over the library’s catalog of books, noted the number of the volume he wanted, filled out a call slip and waited until the librarian returned “after a weary search to inform him that the book is out,” said The Sun. Under Wing’s system, the reader simply wandered the shelves, chose his book and checked it out. The Sun was impressed. “From 1880, when the first branch was opened, up to about eighteen months ago the public was excluded from the places where the books were kept, and when the proposition was made to give the readers free access to all books in the library many of the attendants shook their heads.” The experiment was tried with one branch, then two, and by August 1899 all the libraries were on board. Librarians were pleased--instead of running back and forth all day with stacks of books they were giving recommendations and advice. “Now we are fresh when our day’s work is done,” said one. “Moreover, we know that we can and do help the people who use the library to an extent not one of us thought possible under the old system. Before we mostly only carried books; now we advise about books.” The newspaper pointed out the two drawbacks: wear and tear on the books and theft. Nevertheless, the advantages outweighed the negatives. “I do not know how many books were stolen elsewhere,” said one librarian, “but in my branch the thefts do not amount to anything worth speaking about, and even if they’d steal much more, I would still prefer the open shelf.” There was one other problem that some associated with the open shelf system—the transfer of communicable disease. On November 11, 1897 Dr. John S. Billings, the director of the New York Public Library spoke in the Jackson Square Library regarding “The Disinfection of Books.” Among his comments he said “At an investigation made by the State Board in Iowa three years ago it was found that six cases of scarlet fever were undoubtedly communicated through circulating library books. Other diseases may be communicated in the same way. There is not much danger o this from the edges of cards, although they are foul and filthy, and undoubtedly filled with bacteria.” Dr. Billings presented the problem of disinfecting books. Heat could not be used, since sufficient heat would destroy the bindings and pages; and applying chemicals was equally counter-productive. “We cannot apply a solution of corrosive sublimate or zinc chloride. The fumes of burning sulphur are both inadequate and undesireable.” Instead he suggested placing the contaminated book under a bell jar with a saucer of formaline. Although apparently effective it was a labor- and time-consuming process. Nevertheless, nearly a decade later the fears of Dr. Billings would manifest themselves at the Jackson Square Library. The janitor and his family lived in the building and in January 1908 his son fell ill with scarlet fever. The library was shut down indefinitely. When asked how long the building would be closed, Dr. Billings told reporters “That depends on the physician in charge of the case. As soon as he orders the patient removed the building will be fumigated and opened.” The New-York Tribune sympathized with the neighborhood readers. “In the mean time the book lovers who patronize that institution will have to walk a half-mile or more to the nearest branches of the New York Library, on Leroy and West 23d streets.” A few years earlier, in 1904, William Howe Tolman in his “The Better New York” praised the Jackson Square Library. “It circulates about 126,00 volumes a year, and its cheerful reading room is filled day and evening with more than a hundred readers. An interesting feature to be noticed upon entering the main library is the glass-covered cases against the wall, where are placed clippings from the illustrated papers of the day, depicting subjects which are interesting to people of New York at the time. This is done weekly to create interest in current events, and after looking at the pictures anyone can consult the librarians as to proper reading in connection with each subject. To help the musically inclined in the study of operas presented at the Metropolitan Opera House during the season, scores are lent for a period of three days each.” The effectiveness of the library was in part enough to prompt a Department of Finance investigative committee to push for discontinuance of city support of a nearby recreation center. That same year it reported “As to the library feature, there is no reason whatever for its existence in this centre, as the Jackson Square Branch of the New York Public Library…is in the same block and meets all the needs of the community in this respect. This library is open in the evening until 9 o’clock and is well patronized by the young people.” By the Great Depression the Library had lost its ornamental weathervane -- photograph NYPL Collection The innovative programs, like the current events boards, continued throughout first half of the 20th century. Art displays were a regular event. In 1951 there were an exhibition of drawings of pre-war Korea by a young Korean student and artist, Sam-Kih Min; and another of artwork by Turkish school children. In the 1950s “story-hour” entranced children as story books were read aloud. The library building gained a replacement weather vane in the renovations. Then in 1961 in order to save the marvelous Jefferson Market Courthouse, plans were laid restore and convert that building to a library. While the proposal would save the threatened landmark, it would mark the end of the line for the Jackson Square Library. Richard Morris Hunt’s Dutch fantasy sat empty until artist Robert Delford Brown purchased it in 1967 for $125,000 as his residence and headquarters for his First National Church of the Exquisite Panic, Inc. In 1970 an interior renovation by Paul Marvin Rudolph, among the world’s preeminent modernist architects, was completed. “The AIA Guide to New York City” said of the completed project, “Brown and Rudolph’s conversion was a thoughtful, subtle endeavor, carving light-filled spaces from the dark masonry rooms within the old library.” The New York Times was less appreciative. Nancy Hass, thirty years later on March 2, 2000, said “The formal front doors and a chunk of the ground floor had been hacked away in a renovation of shocking proportions. In their place was a rubble-strewn gated courtyard that dropped off sharply in the center, where a metal stairway led to an exposed basement. The house seemed to cantilever precariously above the sidewalk.” Brown affixed a plaque to the façade “The Great Building Crack-Up.” Inside, Rudolph’s interiors reflected his genius at melding light and lines into spacial geometry and visual cohesion. (Nancy Hass preferred the term “zany pad.”) It would not last all that long, however. Around 1995 television writer Tom Fontana discovered and purchased the now-available building. Having paid about just under $2 million for the structure, he then nearly doubled the cost by having Paul Rudolph’s work obliterated. New York Magazine, in 1997, called the process “de-geniusing it.” The vaulted glass ceiling, seen above in the Adult Reading Room, was painting over during WWII. Bentley painstakingly removed the paint and restored the ceiling. photo NYPL Collection Fontana, who told The Times “the place was ridiculous,” commissioned architect Ron Bentley to redesign the interiors. In the annihilation of the Rudolph design, Bentley fashioned an upscale single family residence on the two upper floors. Fontana’s offices were installed in the lower two stories where Rudolph’s single surviving feature, the entrance, remains. non-historic photographs taken by the author

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New renderings have been released in time for the sales launch of Era, a boutique condominium building at 251 West 91st Street on the Upper West Side.

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Construction is nearing completion on The Westly, a 20-story, 51-unit project from ODA and Adam America at 251 West 91st Street on the Upper West Side.

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In the last two decades of the 19th century, developers on the Upper West Side grabbed up long rows of property and erected speculative rowhouses. Quite often their architects created enclaves of harmonious structures that flowed together almost as a unit—each standing on its own merit; but architecturally similar to its neighbors. In 1885 architect W. H. W. Youngs would go a step further. Developer E. Stanton Riker commissioned Youngs to design three rowhouses on West 70th Street, Nos. 251 through 255. The playful Queen Anne style had caught on among those daring enough to step out of the more formal residential box; and Youngs turned to this style for the houses. His design resulted in the three residences pretending to be one grand home. Completed in 1886 the brick, brownstone and terra cotta houses rather surprisingly rejected the asymmetry associated with Queen Anne. Youngs liberally splashed Romanesque Revival into the design in the form of hefty arches at the parlor floor (including the great span that served as the entrance for No. 253) and a gaping arch below the central, terra cotta-filled gable. He successfully created the illusion of a single, imposing mansion. The three houses became home to upscale, respectable families. By 1895 when Michael Giblin sold No. 251 to John Noble Golding, the Rev. Claudius M. Roome and his wife lived next door and Harvard graduate John O. Powers lived in No. 255. John Noble Golding was a highly respected real estate broker with an office at No. 9 Pine Street far downtown. Educated at Trinity School, he was a member of the Lawyers’, Army and Navy, Colonial, New York Yacht and the New York Athletic Clubs. Golding was also a member of the American Geographical and Numismatic Societies. Not only was Golding responsible for massive real estate deals like the Equitable Company’s purchase of its Nassau and Liberty Street site; the sale of the Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum on Fifth Avenue for $125 million, and the New York Yacht Club’s property; he sold sites to some of Manhattan’s wealthiest citizens for their mansions. Included in his client list were Edward Berwin, Charles T. Yerkes, Howard Gould, Stuyvesant Fish, Perry Belmont, George Baker, Joseph Pulitzer and Thoams F. Ryan to name just a few. As was the case with all the wives of moneyed businessmen, Mabel Golding busied herself with charities. One of her favorites was the House of Refuge for Women, at Hudson, New York. The children of these impoverished women were often overlooked and in 1898 Mabel sent off eight bibs, books, wagons and other toys to the House of Refuge. The year before her donation, Claudius M. Roome, living next door, had been appointed the new curate of Christ Church, then standing at the corner of the Boulevard (later renamed Broadway) and 71st Street. Born into a prominent old Dutch family, he graduated from Columbia College and Columbia Law School. Having practiced law for a few years, he gave it up to enter the General Theological Seminary. Roome’s father had been an important businessman and it was most likely the family's wealth rather than his church salary that enabled him to live in the upscale home. The outwardly-serene home life of the Goldings, with their daughter Mabel, was shattered in 1904 when John Golding moved out. Finally, in 1910, Mabel filed a separation suit to ensure her financial survival. The New-York Tribune published the scandalous headline “Wife Sues J. N. Golding. Manager of Astor Estate Defendant in Separation Suit.” Millionaire real estate man John N. Golding would tire of his wife. The Successful American, January 1903 (copyright expired) Unexpectedly at the time, the title of the 70th Street home was in John’s name, not his wife’s. Mabel, with no legal expectations of income, testified that John Golding had $3 million in real and personal property. The terms of the separation required him to convey the title to Mable and to continue paying off the $15,000 mortgage. The unsuspecting Mabel Golding was no doubt shocked and humiliated when, in 1918, the house was sold at auction for $14,000—less than the mortgage which her husband had decided not to pay. She took her husband to court again, suing for the $15,000 (about $220,000 today). Her millionaire husband apparently came through and Mabel and her daughter retained possession of the house. She would remain in the house another two years before selling it in April 1920. Although the new owner, Taylor Holmes, promised he “would occupy,” he resold it a month later. Hiding under the vines that crawl up the facade, the pressed metal bay can be seen in autumn. http://www.luxurynewyorkcondominium.com/condo/251-west-70th-street-new-york By now Rev. Roome had moved on and F. K. Kraetzer, Jr. owned No. 253. Mrs. R. A. Du Foureq was leasing it at the time that Mabel Golding moved away. A year earlier No. 255 had fallen victim to a trend that was sweeping over the Upper West Side. In 1919 real estate operators Houghton Company announced that the house was “being altered into small suites.” That year The Cornell Alumni News reported that Ensign William F. Tufts had been released from active service in the Naval Reserve and “is now with the McCandless plant of the Westinghouse Lamp Company.” He was among the first tenants in the newly-converted house. Another resident held a related job. M. H. Naigles, XV worked in the installation department of Western Electric Co. “on the automatic phones.” Nos. 251 and 253 held out as single family homes for a few more years. In 1937 the former Golding house was home to Mr. and Mrs. Frank Seitz. The couple had met a colorful acquaintance through a mutual friend around 1930. Mrs. Muriel Du Pont Bergman told them she was the illegitimate daughter of Delaware Senator T. Coleman Du Pont. Now, following the senator’s death, Mrs. Bergman appeared with a letter showing that she had inherited about $40 million from the estate. Happy and excited, she asked the Seitz couple if they would loan her $15,000. If so, she would generously repay them with $1 million from the inheritance. The couple turned over their entire life’s savings to Muriel Bergman. On August 28, 1937 the 50-year old con artist was arrested in Portland, Oregon on charges of forging the inheritance letter. Two years later the Seitzes were gone and the house was sold at auction. It was won by Gus Trachtenburg for $5,700—a fraction of the $17,000 assessed value. It was converted in 1941 to two apartments in the basement, three furnished rooms on the first floor, and four furnished rooms on each floor above. In 1945 No. 253 was divided into apartments; two per floor except the third floor which had four furnished rooms. At least one relic of Mabel Golding's house survives. http://olshan.com/property.php?id=6557 By the 21st century Youngs’s brilliant design had been viciously abused. Only a few of the stained glass panels survive, a regrettable picture window was installed on the third floor of No. 255, and the stoops of the end houses were removed. Nos. 251 and 253, still apartment buildings, were joined internally in 1978. Despite it all, W. H. W. Youngs’s arresting triple residence still manages to catch the eye. non-credited photographs taken by the author

New renderings have been released in time for the sales launch of Era, a boutique condominium building at 251 West 91st Street on the Upper West Side.

Construction is nearing completion on The Westly, a 20-story, 51-unit project from ODA and Adam America at 251 West 91st Street on the Upper West Side.

New renderings have been released in time for the sales launch of Era, a boutique condominium building at 251 West 91st Street on the Upper West Side.

In the 1860s the block of East 71st Street between Third and Second Avenues saw the rise of speculative brownstone-fronted homes. Three bays wide and sporting elaborately-carved entrances; the homes were intended for respectable middle to upper-middle class families. At the time the neighborhood was slightly marginal—sitting only a few blocks from the gritty district near the East River that one newspaper deemed “a colony of laborers.” The homes, while comfortable and attractive, were little different than hundreds of brownstone dwellings being thrown up throughout the expanding city. It would be a full century before No. 251 East 71st Street could be termed “remarkable.” But before that day would come, the residence was home to a string of equally unremarkable owners who spent their lives modestly and quietly. The Rev. William G. French was the first owner. In 1865 he was a member of the New York Protestant Episcopal City Mission Society and worked as a missionary on Blackwell’s Island. His would have been an unglamorous position. Blackwell’s Island was the site of the Small Pox Hospital and the Workhouse and the Charity Hospital. French would have worked with the most indigent, criminal and diseased elements of New York society—few of whom one may imagine, were eager to receive his religious outreach. By 1880 he would obtain the position of Chaplain of the Workhouse. No. 251 was a match to its neighbor to the right. But by now the house on East 71st Street had become home to the Chapman family. The unmarried Ellen L. Chapman taught in the Girls’ Department of Grammar School No. 7 far downtown at No. 60 Chrystie Street for years. The house continued to change hands somewhat rapidly. In the 1890s it was home to James B. Smith, an art enthusiast; and at the turn of the century William E. Schastey and his family lived here. Schastey lived in the house with his wife and child. He was in the building business “in which he was prominently known,” according to The New York Times. But it was his military record for which Schastey was best known and respected. For years he was a member of the elite Seventh Regiment, popularly known as the “Silk Stocking Regiment” because it attracted the sons of New York’s millionaires in the mid-1800s. He was first lieutenant when the Spanish-American War erupted; and was captain of Company G of the 201st New York Volunteer Infantry when the regiment was mustered out of service in 1899. On Wednesday September 29, 1909 William E. Schastey was in Norfolk, Virginia when he was stricken with “acute indigestion.” The 39-year old contractor died within hours. His body was brought back to New York and the funeral was held in the house on 71st Street the following Saturday morning. The dwelling was purchased soon after by Wilhelmina Miller. The widow of Erhardt Miller, she owned other property in Manhattan and received her husband’s pension--$8.00 per month—earned through his service in the artillery company of the 65th Regiment. By the 1920s and ‘30s it appears the old Victorian house was being operated as a rather upscale rooming house. Josephine Lucille Zrust lived here in 1922 while she did graduate work at Columbia University’s department of sociology. The Department of Buildings apparently caught up with the owners in 1937 when the building received a “multiple dwelling violation.” In 1961 the house was formally converted to apartments—one per floor. But it would be a short-lived renovation. In 1969 the old brownstone was razed to be replaced by an ultra-modern townhouse that epitomized the 60s. Designed by architect Maurice Medcalfe of the architectural firm Hills & Medcalfe at No. 36 East 57th Street, it captured the Space Age in mortar and glass. Completed the same year that the astronauts walked on the moon, its minimal design relied on a stark flat surface broken by regimented rows of bulging oval glass windows. It was Barbarella Meets the Upper East Side. The vicious contrast between what was quickly termed the “Bubble House” and the staid architecture of the rest of the block resulted in immediate and unbridled opinion. The New York Times diplomatically called the swelling portholes “An interesting variation of the bay window.” The AIA Guide to New York City accused the house of being an excellent argument for the extension of historic districts. For many years the Donna Schneier Fine Arts gallery was located in the lowest floor of the building. Nearly half a century after its construction, the structure’s period design continues to shock the casual passerby. And the address which for a century was unremarkable is quite remarkable today. photographs taken by the author

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Façade work progresses on The Westly, a 20-story condominium project from ODA and Adam America Real Estate at 251 West 91st Street on the Upper West Side.