In 1853 three fine brick-fronted homes were completed at Nos. 55 through 59 Christopher Street.  Each was 22-feet wide and three stories tall above a high English basement.  The double-doored entrances above the tall stoops were embellished with simple molded Italianate framing.  The floor to ceiling parlor windows were most likely fronted by cast iron balconies.  Cast metal cornices featured paired brackets and fussy decorative cartouches.  The elements that stood out as somewhat unusual were the graceful rolled lintels of the openings.

The original brownstone framing of the entrance can be seen through the trees in this 1916 photograph by Jessie Tarbox Beals.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Nos. 57 and 59 were owned by Peter J. Christie and Gilbert J. Bogart, respectively.  Both were in the building trade, so it is likely they were responsible for the construction of the row.  John Kemp, the owner of No. 55, however, was a well-to-do merchant.  What, if any, connection he had with the other two is unknown.

Newspapers of the day printed the passenger lists of sailing ships departing to and arriving from Europe.  The names of John Kemp and his wife, like other moneyed New Yorkers, appeared in print often over the years.  One crossing, however, stood out.

Returning from England in December 1854, the Lady Franklin was buffeted by gales.  Under the command of Captain J. Thompson, the crew managed to successfully weather the storms, while providing as much comfort to the guests as possible.  Before reaching New York Harbor, several of the passengers, including the Kemps, signed a letter of thanks to the captain, which was reprinted in The New York Herald on Christmas Day that year.  It said in part, "We, the undersigned passengers, on board your fine and strong ship, being about to terminate our voyage from Liverpool to New York, after a somewhat rough and boisterous passage, cannot part without expressing to you our strong admiration of the vessel, and the various arrangements made for our health and comfort."

John Kemp seems to have worn a Southern-made pocket watch; a pricey accessory which he discovered missing in the winter of 1861.  His advertisement in The New York Herald on February 21, 1861:

Lost, on Tuesday, in the vicinity of College place [West Broadway today] or Hudson street, a gold Watch and Chain, marked Wm. Ashton, Charleston, S. C.; No. 6,496.  The finder will receive the above reward by leaving it at John Kemp's, 55 Christopher street.

The reward of $20 offered would be equal to about $575 today.

As was the case in many families with large houses, in 1858 the Kemps rented a portion or their home.  Their advertisement in The New York Herald in March read "To Let--Part of house 55 Christopher Street, consisting of front and back parlors, kitchen and bedroom on the second floor; also part of the third floor with privilege in bathroom, washroom and subcellar."

The couple apparently did not relish the thought of rowdy children, however.  The ad concluded "A small family of grown persons preferred."

On April 15 1868 John Kemp sold No. 55 to Martin H. Reed for $15,500--just over a quarter of a million dollars today.   Reed remained in the house until his death in 1874.  It was sold by his estate on January 23, 1875 to Gilbert L. Stevenson and his wife, Eleanor.

Like the Kemps, the Stevensons took in boarders by 1880.  Two well-to-do bachelors, Halstead C. Hynard and Albert H. Schoudel lived in the house that year.

Schouldel would be a part of a fascinating, if unrelated, side story years later.  After marrying, he moved into a house in Brooklyn.  When he and his wife went to their country home one weekend in June 1893, The New York Times reported that they left "a negro servant, Emma Crawley, in charge of the house."  Emma decided to throw a party

A private watchman saw eight young men enter by the basement door on Saturday, around midnight.  "Shortly afterward five other young men were admitted."  The watchman called police who stormed in.  Eight men were arrested and two girls were found hiding in the basement.  "The rest of the party escaped," said the article.  One may assume that Emma Crawley lost her job.

The Stevensons would be the last to own No. 55 as a private residence.  As they prepared to move to Williamsburg, Brooklyn on April 1, 1889 they sold it to John P. Gaw for $13,500.  Gaw operated it as a rooming house; prompting the Real Estate Record & Guide to term it a "tenement" when he sold it in 1893; making a $50 profit.

Among the more colorful roomers here came along early in 1916.  The 78-year former school teacher old had left his 61-year old wife, Jeanette Bernard, behind in Brooklyn.  Their domestic troubles had started when Bernard came across a former student, Jennie M. Thompson, who was now a teacher herself.

Jennie, who was 51, was an accomplished artist and when Bernard expressed an interest in painting she began giving him lessons.  It did not sit well with Jeanette.  Exactly what led to her husband's moving into the Christopher Street apartment is unclear, but when she appeared before Justice Kapper in the Brooklyn courts on February 4, 1916, she accused him not only of abandonment, but with "being on too friendly terms with Miss Jennie M. Thompson."

The judge was frustrated with the entire affair.  "It is a pity that the elderly couple have reached a bitter matrimonial litigious stage instead of that peaceful evening of life to which the happily mated look forward," he said.

At the time of the Bernards unpleasantness, Greenwich Village had become Manhattan's Bohemia.  Cafes and tearooms sprouted up in the basement levels of houses.  Artists, poets, musicians and actors gathered in the subterranean dens, exchanging ideas.  No. 55 was about to get one of its own.

Mary Alletta Crump (who went by her first initial and second name) had come from the South to take a nursing course in a New York hospital.  The stress of the training was too much, however, and she was advised to follow "a lighter profession."  Taking inspiration from her surname and an old family recipe, she opened The Crumperie in the basement of No. 55 in 1917.

Crocheted curtains, simulating quilts, added to the charm of the antique furnishings.  photo by Jessie Tarbox Beals from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

M. Alletta added to the allure by wandering among the tables strumming a ukulele and singing folk songs.  Multilingual, she sang French and Russian ballads as well as Negro spirituals.  Word spread across the Hudson and on November 17, 1922 Margaret Rohe, writing in the Perth Amboy Evening News, gave offered a charming glimpse inside.

"In the basement of a little old-fashioned house at 55 Christopher Street Miss Crump set up her Lares and Penates and tea tables and crumpet utensils...Here daily from 11:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. she purveys steaming, amber-colored tea and hot buttered crumpets on which you may heap with your own lavish hand a mixture of powdered sugar and cinnamon."

The Perth Amboy Evening News depicted M. Alletta atop a piano entertaining her guests.  (copyright expired)

In other such tearooms, like Edith Unger's Mad Hatter a few blocks way, local artists were welcomed to add their own personality to the walls.  The Crumperie was no different.  Artists with crayons converted the water stains on the walls to elephants, sheep and other frolicking animals.

M. Alletta Crump posed with her ukulele for photographer Jessie Tarbox Beals.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Rohe wrote "It's a refreshingly quaint little spot, this Crumperie, furnished in real old colonial furniture with braided rugs on the floor and bits of patchwork quilt for curtains at the windows.  A bright fire crackles on the hearth...it is no wonder it is a favored haunt of the original 'gang' of the Village, those clever radical young artists, sculptors, actors and spring poets who first discovered this old corner of New York as a Mecca for true Bohemians."

Mary Alletta Crump had moved on by 1924; but it was not the last New York would hear from her.  In 1941 a fleet of "mobile kitchens" was established by the American Women's Voluntary Services.  The food trucks were on hand for "emergency feeding work in case of disaster."  When the first class of trainees was graduated on July 2, they received their diplomas from M. Alletta Crump.

In the meantime the basement space had become "55," a tearoom which doubled as exhibition space.  On March 2, 1924 The New York Times reported "A group of old league students now well into the professional stage are exhibiting for the third time at "55," that is, at a hospitable tearoom at 55 Christopher Street."

Apartments upstairs were being rented by financially comfortable tenants in the Depression years.  On June 15, 1930 The Times reported that Donald Snedden had taken an apartment in the building.  The 27-year-old was an Associate Professor of Psychology and Statistics at New York University.  His wife, the former Marcia Mendenhall, was a psychiatrist at Bellevue Hospital.

A few months after moving into their new apartment, the Sneddens purchased a sloop, the Sea Fox, with intentions of making a cruise to Bermuda in June 1931.  On Saturday, May 23 they hosted a sailing party on the Long Island Sound.   The guests included Marcia's brother and his wife, several educators and 30-year-old Robert Johnston, a radio and night club entertainer.  Of the eight persons on board, at 30-years-old, Johnston was the only one not still in his 20's.

A violent gale blew in, with winds reaching 46 miles per hour.  The Sea Fox was lost; and planes and boats searched for the vessel for days.  On Tuesday a fisherman plucked the body of 25-year old Marcia Snedden from the waters.  One by one over the subsequent days the other seven bodies were recovered.

Following the repeal of Prohibition the basement space where tea and crumpets had been served for years became Hymie's Bar.

For years, beginning in the early 1960's, the Country Dance and Song Society had its headquarters at No. 55 Christopher.  It was headed by May Gadd, considered at the time to be the foremost authority in the United States on English country dancing and its American cousin, square dancing.  (She had been consulted by choreographer Agnes de Mille for help in the 1943 musical Oklahoma, among other stagings.)   Every Tuesday evening country dance classes were held in the Christopher Street space, at least through 1977.

Around 1983 the former Hymie's Bar gave way to 55 Bar, a jazz club.  It became an annual destination during the Greenwich Village Jazz Festival.

The 20th century was not kind to John Kemp's once-elegant home.  The carved embellishments of the entrance were shaved flat (as were the lintels of the central windows, no doubt to accommodate a fire escape), and the basement and stoop were covered with a stucco-like substance.  The deteriorating cornice was given a slap-dash repair with galvanized metal painted to match.  Today there is one apartment, on the top floor in the building.


But it is the basement, oddly enough, where the history of No. 55 played out and continues to do so today.

photographs by the author

The towering section above the stage provided space for an electric sign announcing the theater's name.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

When the Commissioners' Plan laid out the grid of streets and avenues above Greenwich Village in 1811, Seventh Avenue began at 11th Street and ran northward.  In 1913 the city began a massive project to connect it to Varick Street to the south.  The herculean undertaking not only obliterated 194 buildings, but created oddly-shaped triangular and trapezoidal plots.

Among the latter was the lot at Christopher Street, Seventh Avenue and West Fourth Street.  In November 1916, two years after the dust had settled, the Greenwich Village Players issued a press release that announced a coming 500-seat theater for the neighborhood.   The New York Times reported "It will be situated in historic Greenwich Village and will bear the name of that centre of Bohemian and artistic life.  The building will be at Fourth Street and Seventh Avenue." The article added "The building itself will be in the Dutch Colonial style of architecture from plans by Herman Lee Meader."

The Greenwich Village Players had been incorporated only months previously.  It was the brainchild of English-born Frank Conroy, described by The Times as "one of the most talented actors with the Washington Square Players."   When Conroy left London for New York, actor Harold Meltzer joined him; both becoming members of the Washington Square Players.

Conroy envisioned his own theatrical company and discussed his dream with other actors at Boni's bookstore, just off Washington Square, one evening.  (Boni's was a regular gathering spot for Village artists and actors.)  Restaurateur Barney Gallant, a long-time neighborhood resident, was there.  He joined in on the discussion, offered to be the group's business manager and to provide significant financial backing to the venture.

Frank Conroy founded and directed the theater.  Pearson's Magazine, December 1917 (copyright expired)

Several months later the Seventh Avenue site was decided upon, and ground was broken in April 1917.  The style was now described by The New York Times as Georgian, "a style that is harmonious with the old brick houses of the neighborhood."

On November 18 the newspaper reported "Conroy declares that his theatre is to be handicapped in no way by traditions or customs, that it will be free to produce plays of any length and of any sort."  The number of seats, by now, had been reduced to 425 and the construction costs were estimated at $100,000 (around $1.9 million today).

A month earlier The Real Estate Record & Guide had said "there is probably no more important feature, tending toward the fostering of community interest and spirit, than the new theatre...During the last two years this part of the city has undergone a decided metamorphosis in its character."  It was an opinion echoed by The Quill a few years later when, in September 1923 it credited the theater for "saving the Village."

Meader's office released this rendering in 1917.  Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, September 1, 1917 (copyright expired)

"The erection of this magnificent new theatre with upholstered seats mollified to an extent the fumes of malice that were brewing among the traditional enemies of Bohemia.  In fact, the chances are that the whole of Bohemian Greenwich Village would have been burned, massacred, and pillaged in the name of law and order had not the unenlightened been placated by this obviously decent structure that in a way offsetted the affronts on the respectability typified by the flamboyant signs of cake and coffee parlors, with their cigarettes, squeaky phonographs and Don's Jazz band."

Meader's completed structure was an Edwardian melding of several styles.  The diapering of the variegated brickwork produced a diamond pattern on the three-sided front.  Ionic columns flanked the three entrances and stone quoins contrasted with the brick.  The shallow stone hood above the main entrance was emphasized by brick voisseurs, which were in turn outlined in stone.  Classical stone urns sat upon a brick parapet.

In December 1917 Pearson's Magazine called it "a real honest-to-goodness show house" and said its stage was "second to none in New York."  Not everyone was impressed.  Guldo Bruno, in his Fragments From Greenwich Village, wrote "What did the Greenwich Village Theatre people do?  On the most picturesque of all New York's squares they erected a Greek structure in the architectural style of a small-town savings bank."

The exterior of the theater was completed when Jessie Tarbox Beals snapped this photograph.  Seventh Avenue is not yet paved and what appear to be wooden crosswalks stretch across Christopher Streets.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Frank Conroy's intimate friend, Harold Meltzer, took on the job of director, and Barney Gallant took on the additional title of "press representative."   They had promised to focus on one-act plays, while "not neglecting" longer plays.   The short plays were highly successful; but then Theatre Arts Magazine was disappointed in the theater's first full-length play in May 1918.

"In Karen...Frank Conroy's players and staff do not completely fulfill the promise of their earlier bill of one-act plays.  The acting acting and staging failed somewhat of that unity and distinction which should characterize art-theatre production."  The critic called Fania Marinoff, who played the title role, "temperamentally unfitted for the part" and said the acting ranged "from the quietly effective work of Mr. Conroy to the painful antics of a cub-actor."

A charming charcoal sketch in this 1921 postcard depicted the theater from the park across Seventh Avenue.

The reviews of the theater's offerings were, of course, good and bad.  But rave reviews poured in after the opening night of the Greenwich Village Follies on July 15, 1919.  The production had been delayed several times, prompting The Times' critic to begin this review, "Someone said recently: 'Well, when the Greenwich Village Follies does open, it had better be good.'  It opened last night.  And it is good."

A vaudeville-type variety show, the Greenwich Village Follies staged comedy skits, singing and dancing.  The Times raved it "has melody and beauty pre-eminently, and where it does not win outright on these points it scores on novelty, burlesque, and comedy."  The Follies would be an eagerly-anticipated annual show for years.

The man responsible for releasing good publicity for the theater, drew some rather negative attention on November 2, 1919 when The Times reported "Bernard Gallant...now manager of the Greenwich Village Inn in Sheridan Square, is the first man in New York to go to jail on a charge of selling intoxicants."

Gallant had acquired a house guest earlier in playwright Eugene O'Neill, who was briefly staying in New York.  It was most likely that arrangement which resulted in the Greenwich Village Theatre's introducing several of O'Neill's works.

Like other off-Broadway theaters, The Greenwich Village Theatre was the starting point for several stage and screen stars.  On November 17, 1920 press attention was focused on Yiddish actor Jacob Ben-Ami who starred in Sven Lange's Samson and Delilah.   Critic Alexander Woollcott deemed the production "arresting and potentially significant" and far down in his column he mentioned an unknown player, saying that Edward G. Robinson had delivered "a fine performance."   Among other famous actors who performed here early in their careers were William Harrigan and Walter Huston.

As moving pictures gained popularity, the theater's management embarked on a bold move.  On May 29, 1921  The New York Times reported "The Greenwich Village Theatre is to become a Summer motion picture house next Wednesday evening when 'Heedless Moths' will open for a run.  The star of the production is Audrey Munson, an artist's model, and its story is said to deal with life in an artists' colony."

Andrey Munson had posed for dozens of sculptures across the country, around 20 of them in New York City alone.  She is immortalized as Civic Fame atop the Municipal Building, the three female figures on the USS Maine Memorial, and the two widows depicted on the Firemen's Memorial, among others.  She was popular among artists not only for her lovely figure but for her willingness to remove all her clothing--a relative rare trait among Edwardian women.  Heedless Moths had been written expressly for Audrey and its plot was essentially a vehicle for her to disrobe again.

The priggish Villagers who had years earlier protested against tearooms and cigarettes now set their sites on the scandalous movie poster at the Greenwich Village Theatre.  A member of the Washington Square Association and the pastor of St. Joseph's Church went to Chief Magistrate William G. McAdoo on June 6, 1921 to complain that the theater refused to remove the offending poster.  McAdoo went to see for himself, and although someone had pasted a ballerina skirt over Audrey Munson's anatomy, it was not enough.

"There is no doubt that the poster was palpably indecent," he said.  "There were a number of men and women staring at it and also little children, schoolgirls, with books under their arms."  He ordered the police to remove the poster.

Despite a resultant outcry from artists, poets and writers, the poster remained down.  Although Heedless Moths went on, it appears to be the last attempt at the movies for the Greenwich Village Theatre.

The season of 1925 was notable.  It opened with Maxwell Anderson's Outside Looking In; and would include his When in Rome and Eugene O'Neill's The Fountain, The Great God Brown, and Desire Under the Elms.

A scene from O'Neill's The Fountain.  The set designs were, apparently, not always elaborate. from the collection of the New York Public Library

In May 1926 the theater management announced that it had merged with the Actors' Theatre.  The name Actors' Theatre was retained and, while its permanent home had not been decided upon, the announcement made one thing clear: "It will not be the Greenwich Village."

In January 1928 N. Brewster Morse signed a five-year lease with owner Marguerite A. Barker for the vacant building.  The New York Times reported on January 5, "The theatre will be renovated and will reopen about the middle of next month.  According to the announcement, the new policy will be 'unique and revolutionary.'"

That policy included "musical, dramatic and motion picture features, with a change of program every two weeks."  In the lounge area art exhibitions were to be held, "where tea, coffee and cigarettes will be served during the intermissions."  Among the first films screened was Paul Fejos's The Last Moment, described by one critic as an "impressionistic picture."  The Times called it "a weird, startling and brilliant achievement."

It seems that even Greenwich Villagers were not ready for the weird and startling, and two months into his five-year lease Morse returned control of the theater to Marguerite Barker who told reporters she intended to show "unusual films at popular prices" beginning on April 9, 1928.

That idea did not go well, either.  The Irish Theatre, Inc. took over for the 1929 season, opening with Sean O'Casey's The Silver Tassie.  But despite its successful beginnings, the end of the line for the Greenwich Village Theatre. was on the near horizon.

Five months later, on February 4, 1930, The New York Times announced "Demolition of the Greenwich Village Theatre on the northwest corner of Christopher and Fourth Streets...will begin early in March."  The article explained that developers George and Edward Blum had filed plans for a 19-story apartment building, the tallest in Greenwich Village.

It may have been the Great Depression that overturned the grandiose plans.  But for whatever reason, the demolished theater was replaced with the two-story Art Deco style Stewarts Cafeteria building.  It survives, significantly altered at street level.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

When builders James Barclay and Nicholas Connor began construction on the two story structures at the corner of Christopher and Greenwich Streets for Thomas E. Broadway, Jr., in 1867, there was no architect involved.  The red brick buildings would be a simple, no-nonsense job.  Described as "vernacular" in style--essentially meaning without a definite architectural style--they shared a straightforward pressed metal cornice.

Completed in 1868, one of the structures housed a wheelwright and blacksmith's shop on Christopher Street and the other a stable, opening onto Greenwich Street (it sometimes used the address of 684 Greenwich Street).  Upstairs was a dwelling.

Thomas E. Broadway, Jr. was a partner in his father's butcher business, T. E. Broadway & Son.  Highly successful in business, he was not so fortunate in love.  His wife, Kate, obtained a divorce on March 9, 1870 and quickly married J. W. Funk.  Her new husband was enraged when Broadway told associates that it was he, not Kate, who initiated the break-up.  Funk took out an advertisement in The New York Herald in October that read in part "It having been rumored that Thomas E. Broadway, Jr., had obtained a divorce from his former wife (Kate Broadway), the attention of all whom it may concern is called to the following article."  A reprint of the New York Daily Times article followed, which said Kate had been the complainant and had won court costs.

Thomas married Martha L'Hommedieu.  She had at least one child, Charles, from a former marriage.  The birth of a granddaughter, Frances Elizabeth L'Hommedieu in 1884 would cause tremendous upheaval down the road.

In the meantime, the projected uses for the two structures seem to have never come to pass.  In 1870 Peter Hagen leased the "stable," and while the paperwork repeatedly described it as such throughout the ensuing years, Hagen ran a saloon in the space.    Behind it, John I. and William Walling operated their shoe business.  They would remain until 1872.

Hagen's 1870 rent was $1,000 per year--or about $1620 per month today.  His location only a few blocks from the Hudson River piers and his relatively low overhead no doubt combined to make a profitable business.  When he signed a new five-year lease in 1893 his rent had increased to $1,500.  By then Christopher Street had been renumbered, giving the two buildings the addresses of Nos. 143 and 145.

As would be expected, the tenants in the upper rooms were working class. There were nine occupants living here according to the voter registration list of 1874.  (There were no doubt more residents, since the list did not include those not registered to vote.)

In 1884 carpenter Henry Hartung lived here.  He attempted to improve his lifestyle by applying to the New York City Police Department.  Hartung received disappointing news in February 1885 when he received notice he had had been rejected.

The influx of immigrants into the neighborhood was evidenced in August 1895 when Rocco Luigi Letella received his permit to "keep a stand in front of 684 Greenwich street."  What Letella's business was is frustratingly vague; but his stand in front of Hagen's saloon could have been anything from a shoe shine stand to a newsstand or perhaps a fruit stand.

Thomas and Martha Broadway lived in an impressive home in Islip, Long Island.  Previous to her death she asked her husband to take care of her granddaughter, Fannie.  In 1894 Charles L'Hommedieu, who made his living as an auctioneer, moved into the Islip house with the 10-year old girl.  The Sun explained "He did so because Broadway disliked to be alone."

It was most likely also Broadway's deteriorating health that prompted L'Hommedieu and his daughter to move in.  On April 3 that year Dr. J. Z. Wild of Bayshore, Long Island, was made "the attending physician at the Broadway house," according to The Sun.  Thomas Broadway's mental facilities began to fail around the same time.

Dr. Wild later said that his patient insisted on several occasions that "his wife came back to him, that she took hold of his hand and conversed this him."  When the physician said "You don't mean that she came back to you you mean her soul came back," Broadway replied "I mean that she came back in flesh and blood.  You fellows can't understand."

Thomas E. Broadway, Jr. died in September 1897.  His six-line will left his entire estate to 13-year old Fannie L'Hommedieu.  Reaction was quick and more than 70 relatives (including his former wife Kate) contested the will.

When the trial began in March 1898, The Sun reminded its readers that the Fannie's new-found fortune was "estimated at over a million," and that her father had been made executor.  The family argued that Broadway's will was made under "undue influence and mental incapacity."

On March 17 Dr. Wild took the stand.  He told the court of Broadway's visions of his dead wife and that he "reverted to this hallucination on every visit that he made to him."  Wild said that he "never saw Mr. Broadway alone; that either L'Hommedieu or his daughter Fannie or one of the servants was present."  Seemingly adding support to the family's contentions, the only witnesses to the will were Charles L'Hommedieu and the gardener.

The trial extended for months, prompting The Sun to call it "the most interesting will case ever heard in this county."  On November 15 the will was upheld.  The Sun said "The decision of Surrogate Petty was a surprise to many who heard the case."

Included, of course, in Fannie L'Hommedieu's inheritance were the Christopher Street buildings.  The teen was less interested in the management of her real estate (that was left to her father) and more on her comforts.

On March 25, 1903 Charles L'Hommedieu was directed by Surrogate Petty (the same judge who upheld the will) to give an accounting of Fannie's spending.  Because the principal estate was held in trust for the minor, she was permitted only to spend the earnings which amounted to $12,736.30 per year (about $366,000 today).  And she did.

L'Hommedieu explained to the court that "it was impossible to support her on less than the whole income."  The New-York Tribune reported "The accounting was not contested in any way"

In 1906 the buildings were combined.  New beams, columns and girders were installed and that year John J. Coogan, who also lived upstairs, took over the saloon, which now engulfed the entire ground floor.  In 1913 his excise (or liquor) license described his operation as "hotel," suggesting he managed the entire building.

Coogan's saloon and hotel business was upset by the onset of Prohibition.  In January 1923 The New York Times reported that the Cathedral Cafeteria had been incorporated, taking over the ground floor space.  It was a somewhat ironic name choice.  Almost four decades earlier in 1884, John J. Mitty was born upstairs.  In June 1926 Pope Pius appointed him as the Bishop of Salt Lake City.

Prohibition ended in December 1933 and it did not take the Cathedral Cafeteria long to re-invent itself as the Cathedral Bar & Grill.  But its location, directly next to the rectory of St. Veronica's Roman Catholic Church caused problems.  Its pastor, Father Delaney, went to court on July 11, 1934 to have the bar closed.  The New York Times reported that he testified "that the bar stood against the wall in a building between the cafeteria and the church.  He said that frequently 'loud language' could be heard in the restaurant at 6 A. M."

But the Cathedral Bar & Grill had a legal loophole.  The Times explained "even though it was less than 200 feet from a church, because the premises had been occupied for the past nine years" it was immune from that law and could not be closed.  The judge's Solomon-like decision ordered that the bar be moved from the wall next to the rectory and to the front of the restaurant.

When Fannie L'Hommedieu died, she passed the Christopher Street building to her aunt, Mary Brown King, who died in 1936.  The King family retained possession until 1959, when it was purchased by Empire Equities, Inc.  The New York Times noted it was the first sale of the property (since it's title had previously passed through inheritance) since 1865.

Tenants in the upper floor rooms continued, of course, to be blue collar and not always respectable.  Among the later was James Napole, aka Jimmy Napp, who lived here in 1965 when he was charged with tax evasion.  Although the 53-year old listed himself as "unemployed," he and five cronies were accused of not paying taxes on income of more than $450,000 between 1958 and 1961.  (The gross income would equal just over $1 million today.)

The Cathedral Bar & Grill made way for the Ballybay Pub in 1973.  By now the Christopher Street neighborhood had become the epicenter of the gay community.   In 1982 a gay bar, Two Potato, moved in and would be a destination spot for years.

The AIDS epidemic decimated the gay population in the 1980's and the neighborhood around Two Potato declined drastically, drawing a seedy and often dangerous element.

At around 1 a.m. on April 1, 1988 Colin L. Brown, who lived in New Jersey, was standing out front of the bar with friends when a group of Queens teenagers passed them.  One, a 14-year old girl, called them faggots.  A fist fight broke out during which Brown was stabbed in the liver.  Oddly enough, Police Captain Barbara Sicilia would not describe the incident as a bias attack.  She said since the stabber had not made the remark, and was defending the girl, it could not be defined as such.

Four months later a Two Potato regular, Fitzroy Green, left the bar with two men.  He was found the following day in a pool of blood in his nearby apartment.  He had been stabbed to death.  It was the second murder in the vicinity in less than a week.

When the liquor license for Two Potato came up for renewal in August 2001, residents revolted, sparking a heated controversy.  The New York Times reported on December 23 "Two Potato, a dingy gay bar at Christopher and Greenwich Streets, is in the middle of a dispute that pits accusations of gay-identity politics against claims of racism.

"The 15-year-old tavern, once at the center of New York gay life, now attracts a mostly gay, black and Latino crowd.  Neighbors say it is frequented by drug dealers and prostitutes who spill onto the sidewalk and cause trouble."

The State Liquor Authority suspended the license for 30 days, beginning November 26, and fined the bar $5,000.  Its owner said it would hopefully reopen in January under the name Chances Are.

The renaming took place and Chances Are lasted until 2005.  In the meantime, locals did not relent on their insistence that the Christopher Street neighborhood--filled with prostitutes and drug users--be cleaned up.  On January 19, 2001 Chairwoman of Community Board 2, Aubrey Lees, said "People are really fed up and disgusted."




Increased police presence and enforcement did turn the neighborhood around.  In 2005 Chances Are was replaced with Bar Nocetti, and today is home to an Italian restaurant.  Upstairs there are four apartments.

The little building survives, a bit careworn.  Its past, never glamorous, has been unarguably fascinating.

photographs by the author