Prolific architect Clarence Fagan True was responsible for scores of structures Upper West Side, many of them constructed by his own development firm, the Riverside Building Company.  In 1896 he began construction of a row of six Elizabethan Renaissance Revival style homes which wrapped the corner of West 77th Street and Riverside Drive.

Anchoring the three 77th Street residences was No. 334.  Completed in 1897, it was faced in  beige Roman brick and trimmed in limestone.  Like the preponderance of Fagan's residences, it was designed on the American basement plan (meaning there was no stoop).  Its bowed facade rose four stories to a stone balustraded balcony which fronted the mansard roof level.

True outlined the upper windows in stone Gibbs surrounds and gave the entrance a full dose of architectural drama.   The doorway was recessed below a carved Renaissance-inspired hood, supported in turn by manorial lion-faced brackets.



On July 3, 1897 Leopold Wallach purchased No. 334 for $50,000--just over $1.5 million today.  He was one of the trustees of the inheritance of his 20-year old sister, Gertrude.   Their father, Samson Wallach, had run the shirt manufacturing firm of H. Wallach's Sons and upon his death in December 1889 The New York Times noted he had "an ample fortune."

Gertrude, one of seven surviving Wallach children, lived with Leopold's family.  He and the other trustees of Gertrude's money most likely purchased the imposing residence in anticipation of her upcoming marriage.  Almost simultaneously her financé Myron Irving Borg graduated from Yale.  The son of Simon Borg, he lived in a the family's impressive mansion at No. 855 Fifth Avenue.

On Wednesday, October 26, 1898 the couple was married in Leopold's home.  The bride was still enrolled at Barnard College at the time.  Gertrude was, by now, of age and the title of the house was transferred to her name.  

The already comfortable financial position of the Borgs was improved in 1899 when Myron was admitted as a full partner in his father's stock brokerage firm, Simon Borg & Co.  As the years passed they would have three sons--Myron, Jr., Cecil and John.

The family maintained two Connecticut country residence--in Stamford and in Greenwich.  There Gertrude flexed her gardening skills, resulting in her repeatedly winning prizes in the annual exhibitions of the New York Horticultural Society.  

Both she and her husband were active in philanthropic causes.  Gertrude routinely opened the 77th Street house for meetings and benefit receptions for charities like the Stony Wold Sanitarium (a facility in the Adirondacks for women and children suffering tuberculosis), the Council of Jewish Women, and the National League of Women Workers.   She helped found the Women's Auxiliary Board of Mt. Sinai Hospital, was a vice president and director of the Altro Health and Rehabilitation Services, Inc., (a workshop for handicapped adults), and would be named vice-president of Irving House, a shelter for children with cardiac disease.

No less involved was Myron, who was a trustee in the Hebrew Technical School for Girls, a director of the Home for Aged and Infirm Hebrews, and was on the advisory committee of the Irvington House for Cardiac Children.

The family was at the Stamford house in the summer of 1907 when a drive ended with a speeding ticket.  On July 29 their road car was pulled over and chauffeur Charles W. Stobble fined $20.  Newspapers reported that several other drivers were ticketed that day as the Stamford police had lost patience with speeders.  The ticket--an astounding $1,350 in today's dollars--was hopefully paid by Borg and not his unfortunate employee.

Near the family's Greenwich home was the sanatorium of Dr. W. H. Wiley.  On the windy night of December 28, 1911 the wooden building caught fire.  Inside were 20 patients.  The wind accelerated the blaze which quickly spread.  The staff had no time to wait for fire fighters.

The Richmond, Virginia newspaper, The Times Dispatch, reported "Dr. W. J. Wellington, the house physician, and Mrs. Wiley and the nurses risked their lives time and again in carrying out the men and women patients, many of whom were unable to move."

The winds carried sparks and embers into the night sky.  Both the Borg house and the nearby Henry O. Havemeyer mansion caught fire.  Luckily for the millionaires, their homes were saved when firefighters arrived on scene.  The sanatorium, however, was a complete loss.

Although the enactment of Prohibition outlawed the “manufacture, sale and transportation of intoxicating liquors," the law allowed private citizens to keep and enjoy "in the privacy of their homes" the wine, beer or spirits which they already had before January 1920.  Perhaps Myron had prepared for the coming law, or perhaps he had always kept a well-stocked cellar.  In either case, when the sale and manufacturer of alcohol became illegal, his cellar was well-filled with quality wines and liquor.

In March 1920, just over a month after the national enactment of Prohibition, Borg hired three men to do repairs on the damaged brickwork in the basement of the house.  On March 22 The Sun reported "They worked for several hours until they discovered the cellar."   The workmen summoned a friend who had a wagon.  The newspaper continued "while Mr. Borg's family and the servant thought the cracks in the bricks were being filled up the bottles were being taken out to the wagon."

When the basement became suspiciously quiet, a servant went down to check.  "All the workmen left were their discarded implements and an old coat."  The New-York Tribune reported "Thirty-six bottles of extra fine liquor, said to be worth $1,000 were removed from the cellars of Myron I. Borg, banker, at 334 West Seventy-seventh Street."  The loss would equate to more than $12,000 today; but perhaps worse for Borg was that it was now irreplaceable.

Myron, Jr. graduated from Harvard in 1917.  His engagement to Josephine Heimendinger was announced on March 13, 1923.  The wedding took place in the ballroom of the St. Regis Hotel a week later.  John was his brother's best man and Cecil acted as an usher.  A reception and dinner for 200 guests followed the ceremony.

The marriage, incidentally, did not last.  A few years later Josephine's romantic interest turned to her brother-in-law, Cecil Borg.  She and Myron were divorced on August 10, 1931 and exactly two months later Josephine married Cecil.  One imagines strained family relationships from then on.

Gertrude sold No. 334 in 1927 and she and Myron moved to No. 270 Park Avenue where Myron died four years later.   Gertrude lived until the age of 82.  She died in Stamford on August 17, 1958.

In the meantime, the home that she had shared with Myron and their children was altered immediately after its sale.  The new owners rented rooms in the once-lavish home, earning them a multiple dwelling violation from the Department of Buildings in 1936.

A renovation in 1966 resulted in a duplex on the first and second floors, and two apartments each on the floors above.  Three decades later the duplex grew to a triplex, the fourth floor now had two apartments and the fifth just one.

But despite the upheaval inside, little is changed to the exterior of the handsome house Gertrude Wallach purchased in anticipation of her 1898 wedding.

photographs by the author

In 1887 partners William C. G. Wilson and James Tichborne began construction on a row of five 20-foot wide residences on West 77th Street, between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues.  Their architect, William K. Benedict, has been largely forgotten today; but he would go on to design hotels and high-end homes, many of them out of town.

Benedict used a visually-pleasing combination of brownstone and red brick.  The Romanesque Revival style basement and parlor levels were clad in chunky, undressed blocks.  The brick upper levels were Queen Anne, with a splash of English Renaissance.  No. 131 was the centerpiece of the balanced A-B-C-B-A designed row.

The second and third floor openings were framed in brownstone quoins.  The three windows of the second floor upheld two on the third--separated by handsomely-carved panels.  To compensate for the missing center window, Benedict installed another carved stone panel.  The arched openings were joined by crisp, projecting stone eyebrows.  Benedict's English-inspired treatment of  fourth floor culminated in an unusual pressed metal parapet.

The row was completed late in 1888 and on February 26, 1889 Wilson & Tischborne sold No. 131 to Robert and Olga J. C. Soltan.   Robert was a "prosperous importing merchant," as described by The New York Times, with offices at No. 15 Cedar Street.  The Soltans were well-known among in the German social circles, and Robert was a member of the Liederkranz, the German singing society founded in 1847.

Like all well-to-do New Yorkers, the Soltans spent the warm months at fashionable resorts, like Newport or Long Beach, New Jersey.  They were among the 800 or so guests at the Long Beach Hotel's ball on the evening of August 5, 1891.  (The following day The New York Times remarked "There were some very handsome costumes noticeable.")

Many wealthy businessmen visited their families in their summer homes only on the weekends or for occasional extended stays.  Olga and the children were summering in the Long Beach Hotel in 1892 while Robert remained in New York.  His brother, Ernest, was in town from Hamburg, Germany.

Robert had to go to Chicago on business, and offered to take Ernest with him, showing him Niagara Falls on the way.  He send a letter to Olga explaining the plans.  But after he was able to conduct the business through telegraph, the trip was canceled.  Now he and his brother. Ernest, decided to take a small "naptha launch" from the Columbia Yacht Club on 86th Street and the Hudson River, to Long Beach, "intending to give his wife and children a surprise," according to a newspaper.

The Bob, the naptha-powered motor launch, would have been similar to this one.  Katalog fran Escher Wyss, ca. 1900 (copyright expired)

They men started off in the launch the Bob on Tuesday morning, July 17.  But they never arrived.  The following day the Bob was discovered bottom-up on a shoal near Long Beach.  The New York Times reported "articles of clothing and a valise known to belong to Robert Soltan were found in the locker."  There were no signs of the brothers.

On June 22 The Times noted "His wife is in a critical condition from grief and shock."   The bodies were never recovered, and the newspaper reported that "it is the general opinion among old bay men that the high winds carried them out to sea."

Olga and the children remained at No. 131 for a few years.  She sold it in February 1895 to Mrs. Margaret Kennedy for $35,000, or just over $1 million today.  The Kennedys would be victims of crime before the year was out.

William K. Benedict produced a handsome, balanced row of upscale homes.

Twentieth Century magazine lamented on the increased number of "murders, highway robberies and burglaries" which it deemed "a pretty good indication as to whither we are drifting."  Among nearly a dozen crimes--murders, attempted murders, suicides and robberies--on single day, November 22, it listed was the burglary of No. 131 West 77th Street.

In March 1902 Margaret Kennedy sold the house to Hermann A. Flurscheim for $32,250 taking a slight loss in the deal.

Flurscheim had arrived in New York City with his parents from Germany at the age of 15 in 1866.  He married San Francisco native Isabella (known as Bella) Goldsmith in 1876.  The couple would have five children--Estelle, Helen, Agnes, Harry and Bernard.

In 1884 he became associated with Stern Brothers department store, where his retail acumen was first displayed.  As the firm's foreign representative he was one of the founders of the American Chamber of Commerce in Paris.

The delicate carving of the keystone, including a wafting ribbon, defies the nature of the otherwise rugged Romanesque Revival parlor level.

Flurscheim's purchased of the West 77th Street house was necessitated by a career move.  He had brought his family back to New York from Paris the year earlier, resigned from Stern Brothers, and founded the competing Franklin Simon & Co. with his partner Franklin Simon.   The Times would later credit him with being "among the first to establish buying headquarters for American firms in European cities: and as "one of the first New York merchants to foresee the future of Fifth Avenue as a retail business street."

The 77th Street house was filled with masterful artworks.  While living in Paris Flurscheim had not only collected art, but had served on the jury of awards at the salon of the Paris Exhibition of 1900.  The Dry Goods Economist said that he had "formed a valuable collection of paintings which are now in his New York home."

In the spring of 1910 focus turned to things social as Estelle's wedding was planned.  She was married to Otto Loeb in the fashionable St. Regis Hotel on the evening of April 11.  The Times reported that "following the ceremony there was a dinner in the marble ballroom, which was decorated with Bride's roses and lilacs."  The newlyweds set off for a six-month trip to Europe.

Not every mother interrupts her newly-married daughter's honeymoon; but before long Bella arrived in France.  Then tragedy struck.  On July 7, 1910 the New-York Tribune reported "Cable dispatches received in this city on Tuesday announced the death on Monday in Paris, France, at the Hotel Carlton, of Mrs. Isabella Flurscheim, wife of H. A. Flurscheim, of No. 131 West 77th street."

Herman and his unmarried children remained at No. 131, attended to by their domestic staff.  Helen would be the first to leave.  On October 20, 1912 The Sun reported "H. A. Flurscheim...has announced the engagement of his daughter, Miss Helen Flurscheim to Ansel Straus of Boston."

The following year the New-York Tribune reported "The wedding of Miss Agnes Flurscheim, daughter of H. A. Flurscheim, of No. 131 West 77th street, to Harry G. Cowen will take place on Tuesday, October 21 at the St. Regis Hotel."

The 63-year old Hermann A. Flurscheim died on August 18, 1914 "of a complication of diseases at his home," as reported in the Dry Goods Economist.  The New York Times described him as a "pioneer dry goods merchant and art collector."  The Evening World added "He was deeply interested in art and had a fine collection."

Flurscheim, who had owned a 50 percent interest in Franklin Simon & Co., left an estate valued at "more than $1,000,000."    It was, for the most part, divided among the children and Hermann's one grandchild.  But a codicil in the will may have raised a few eyebrows among society.  Mme. Bertrand De Lyteull of Paris, France, received $50,000 outright and $1,000 monthly income for life.  The bulk sum would be equal to more than $1.25 million today, and the monthly payments about $25,300.  Reporters who asked Flurscheim's lawyers about the bequest were told simply that Mme. De Lyteuil "was a friend."

The will directed that No. 131 West 77th Street "be turned over to the use of the unmarried daughters Helen I. and Agnes V., and shall be at their disposal while they remain single."  The rub was, as noted by the New-York Tribune on September 25, "They have married since the making of the will."

The house, therefore, was temporarily leased by the estate to Charles W. Hart and his wife, Sarah.  By 1917 they owned it outright, and around 1919 the Harts leased it to Florence M. Overton.  She used the house for her boarding school, although she preferred not to use that term.

Florence had been the dean of the Brenau School of Expression and Dramatic Art in Georgia for 19 years.  Now she struck out on her own.  In November 1919 The Anchora of Delta Gamma reported that Florence had a "very unique plan of caring for young women who desire the advantages of New York and yet who are mature enough not to need the restrictions of a boarding school.  Courses in contemporary English, Conversational French, Art History, Grand Opera, etc., are offered."

The bulletin described No. 131 West 77th Street as "a spacious stone and brick structure with magnificent parlors, airy bedrooms, and the atmosphere of your own cultured home.  Social advantages, sight seeing, theaters, etc., are attractions."

The early 1920's saw the once elegant residence being operated as a rooming house.  In 1921 23-year old John McGuigan was renting a room here, while working as a bellhop at the Hotel Chatham.  Also working there was a "telephone girl," Marie C. Walsh.  The beautiful Marie became the object of John's affections.

According to The Evening World a year later, "Between hops Johnny basked in the sunshine of the telephone operator's smiles and finally they were 'keeping company,' she accepting his invitations for little outings on their evenings off."  But then Marie's fickle affections cooled and she asked for a transfer to the Hotel Majestic "to get rid of his attentions."

In an effort to be nearer to the girl he still loved, John managed to get a job at a nearby hotel, the Lucerne.  He repeatedly annoyed Marie at her job, and threatened to commit suicide if she did not come back to him.  That prompted Marie to go to the police.  At the West 68th Street Police Station he was ordered to keep away from the girl.  "He said, in sorrow, that he would if he could," wrote The Evening World.

"But he couldn't."

He continued to haunt the Majestic Hotel, which caused his being fired from the Lucerne.  Then, on the night of May 16, 1922 Marie had to work late, not leaving her switchboard at the Hotel Majestic until 11:00.  She was frightened upon walking out of the building when she saw her stalker sitting across the street.  She tried to make it home without having to face him, but he caught up with her at the top of the stoop of her rooming house.

McGuigan professed his love, again threatened suicide, and physically restrained her.  In court on May 23 she testified "He grabbed me around the neck and hugged and choked me.  With my disengaged hand I pressed the bell while I struggled with him.  Robert Peterson came to the door and told Johnny to let go, but he said he wouldn't that I was his."

Peterson responded by sending McGuigan tumbling down the stone steps.  The following day Marie filed for his arrest.  Amazingly, by today's viewpoint, McGuigan received no punishment for his stalking and abuse.  In reporting the case The Evening World took a rather cavalier attitude.  "Then came the warning form the bench and the parole and Miss Walsh left the courtroom wondering what will happen next."

A colorful roomer at No. 131 in the early 1930's was actor Edward La Roche.  The stage and motion picture actor had at one point spent seven years in the French Foreign Legion during which time he won two decorations for bravery.

La Roche's roles were always incidental characters.  In the 1923-1924 stage production of The Lady he played The Loafer, and in the 1932 Foreign Affairs he was the Waiter.  His last Broadway part was Second Beard in the 1932-1933 production of Twentieth Century (another cast member of which was William Frawley).

But the aging actor was struggling.  In November 1935 he worked for three days in a Warner Brothers short film, earning $70 (about $1,250 today).  But the spotty work was not enough to keep him afloat financially.  When he was found dead in his room a few weeks later, on December 26, The New York Times noted that he "had recently been on relief."


Although the house was not yet officially converted to apartments, sprinklers were added in 1937.  It would not be until 1970 that a renovation would result in four units.  An extension into the rear yard allowed for an eight-room, 3,200 square foot owners' duplex in the former basement and parlor levels.

photographs by the author

In 1892 developer George R. Dunn began construction on a five-story flat and store building on the southeast corner of Amsterdam Avenue and West 77th Street.  It was designed by George Keister whose apartment buildings, private homes and resident hotels often overflowed with decorative elements.  That would not be the case with No. 172 West 77th Street, completed in 1894.  But while the overall design was, frankly, unremarkable, Keister included details which stand out.

The stone base included two shops--one opening onto the avenue, the doorway to the other nestling next to the main entrance on 77th Street.  The four stories of Roman brick above were enhanced by limestone bands and a stone cornice at the fourth floor.  Three slightly faceted metal bays on the avenue elevation added interest.  A projecting, bracketed cornice capped the design.

Keister strayed from his overall style with the Romanesque Revival granite capital of the ground floor corner pier.  Here two female faces--one with a slight smile, the other more serious--stare out from intricately carved floral forms.  Additionally, the areaway railings took on the Northern Renaissance style in their wonderful cast iron posts in the form of dragons.



Keister's most eye-catching detail, however, was the 77th Street entrance.  Here solid wing walls morphed to pedestals for stone columns, the straight fluting of which changed to spiral.  They upheld an entablature where charmingly carved with two chubby naked children play tug-of-war with a banner announcing the building's address.  Directly above, a stone balcony spanned the main entrance and that of the 77th Street shop.  It would originally have held an iron or stone railing

The closing off of the store entrance gives the balcony a decidedly off-kilter appearance.

Dunn called his new building The Levridge.  The term "flats" or "French flats" was intended to distinguish such structures from tenements (although, technically, at the time there was no official difference).  It would be a few years before the term "apartments" came into wide-spread use.

Suites in The Levridge were spacious--either six or seven rooms each--and while tenants did not enjoy the amenities (like maid service) of more upscale buildings, advertisements did note "hall attendance."  (Hall attendants customarily wore uniforms and were on hand in case a resident needed help with packages or similar tasks.)  Rents ranged from $600 to $1,080 a year, or about $1,400 per month for the cheapest today.

The two stores were leased to M. Foster's drug store and C. H. Magna & Bro. grocery.  The Magna brothers, William and Clamor, operated two other grocery stores in the neighborhood, both on Columbus Avenue.

Most landlords on the Upper West Side happily accepted theater people--a group not welcomed in many parts of the city.  Consequently No. 172 (the name Levridge had been quickly dropped) became home to several well-known thespians.

By 1902 the Byron family lived here.  Oliver Doug Byron was described by The Evening World as "the well known actor," and his wife, Kate Byron,was "long a prominent figure on the American stage, according to The New York Herald years later.  Their son, Arthur, entered a stage career at the age of 17, in 1889.  The Evening World, on February 17, 1902 said he "comes naturally enough by his talent for acting."  Indeed, not only were Arthur's parents well-known by theater audiences, his aunt, Ada Rehan was a true star.

Kate's three siblings, Ada Rehan, William Crehan, and Hattie Russell, lived together in a house on West 93rd Street.  When William died late in 1903, Kate was appointed sole executor.  Crehan was apparently partial to Ada, for he gave Kate and Hattie each one-fourth of his estate, and Ada one-half.  Newspapers were most interested in a specific bequest, however.  On December 16 The New York Herald ran a headline "Leaves Parrot to Miss Ada Rehan."  The New York Times headline was similar and the article noted "Mr. Crehan also left his pet parrot, Poll, to Miss Rehan."

The fearsome cast iron railing posts no doubt have given toddlers the shudders for generations.

Two other residents involved in the theater were Max and Gertrude Hoffman.  Neither was an actor, but they produced plays and vaudeville acts.  On April 1, 1906, for instance, The Sun reported on a "the extra attraction" coming to the Hammerstein Theatre, called "The Swim."  "There will be produced for the first time in New York a singing and dancing act with fourteen people, arranged by Harry Williams and Max Hoffman, and staged by Gertrude Hoffman."

Gertrude's name appeared in newspapers for far different reasons on May 4, 1909.  The day before Antonio Pagliaro had been arrested and charged with felonious assault.  The New-York Tribune explained "Mrs. Holman alleged that the prisoner stabbed her as she was about to enter a drug store on Sunday night."

The tenants of No. 172 continued to be well-respected and financially well-off, most having at least one servant.  None would seem to be more so than James Philip Gilroy, the son of former Mayor Thomas J. Gilroy.  But domestic tranquility turned to upheaval by the spring of 1910.

Gilbroy had a responsible position with the O. J. Gude Company, earning $6,000 per year (a satisfying $160,000 today).  But his wife, the former Nina Huntley, accused him of drinking to excess.

On April 30, 1910 The New York Times reported "When Gilroy was not drinking in 1908, Mrs. Gilroy says, he was an exemplary citizen and a model husband."  But even Gilroy admitted that that year he began drinking too much.  So he "took the pledge" in church to abstain in 1908 and, according to him, "hasn't taken a drink since."  Well, "except those which are occasionally necessary in my business."

Calling his wife "this sweet-scented geranium," Gilroy told the judge that if he had drunk at all, it was because he was driven to it by Nina's conduct.  He said she was in the habit of accepting presents from "gentlemen friends."  The Times reported "As the result of their generosity he says, she has thousands of dollars' worth of jewels and a bank account of $3,000."  Furthermore, she "buncoed" him out of $275 when she claimed she needed to make a payment on a sealskin jacket.  He later found out that it was the gift from a man.

The back and forth he-said-she-said in the courtroom was dizzying.  Nina then said he had become "very disagreeable" since returning to drink.  "She says he broke her nose when he saw her kiss a man in a taxicab," reported The Times.  And Gilroy said it was Nina who was the drinker.

He told the court of one occasion when "his wife came home drunk and fell down stairs.  She flew into a rage and tore the curtains from the windows and threw them and the poles into the street...Then he says she pitched into him with a carving knife."

A maid, Mary Swarni, gave damning testimony.  The Times said she "testified that Robert Butt, to whose friendship for his wife Gilroy objected, was a regular caller during the afternoons, and that Mrs. Gilroy sent her out to take a walk around the block during his calls."

A much less controversial couple in the building were broker William E. Pearl and his wife.  Pearl had organized the Wall Street firm of P. T. Adams & Co. in 1889.  Following his death in 1905 his wife remained.  The apartment was the scene of her sister's funeral, Helen Schuyler Morse, on January 4, 1918.   She was active in social events, and when series of lectures was planned in the Plaza Hotel to benefit the Bethany Day Nursery later that year, The Sun noted "The tickets for the lectures may be obtained from Mrs. William E. Pearl, 172 West Seventy-second street."

By the time of the lectures, the store space facing Amsterdam Avenue was home to the Lotus Restaurant.  On January 17, 1920 Prohibition went into effect, a federal law not precisely followed by proprietor Henry Wertheimer.  On April 10, 1922 The New York Herald reported that Wertheimer was charged with violating the Volstead Act and was summoned to appear that day before United States Commissioner Samuel M. Hitchcock.

Victorian flats had fallen from favor among well-to-do apartment dwellers by now.  Jazz Age buildings with modern amenities were the new fashion.  Once home to respected citizens well-known among West Side society, No. 172 West 77th Street now attracted some less-than-savory tenants.

Among these was 29-year old Melvin Dunham.  He and Sidney Szarn had successfully committed several hold-ups when their criminal careers met an abrupt end on September 27, 1925.  At around noon that day the pair walked into the United Cigar Store at 60th Street and Broadway, brandishing handguns.  The Times said that "without any preliminaries" the crooks ordered the clerk into a rear room.  But as soon as the door was locked their victim began shouting, causing them to flee.

A police car was passing by just as they ran out of the store.  Patrolman John J. Leahy pursued them, nabbing the pair on 60th Street near Columbus Avenue.  The article said that "several hundred persons" watched the half block chase.  Melvin Dunham would not be returning to his West 77th Street apartment.  The $53.75 they stole from the cash register would earn them both long prison sentences.

On October 15 The Times reported that before Judge William Allen imposed his sentence, he questioned Dunham.

"Why did you resort to robbery?"

"Well, Judge," Dunham answered, "we read how easy it was to get away with it, and so we did it."

The judge did not consider that an adequate excuse.  Both men received sentences of between seven and a half to fifteen years in Sing Sing.

The mid-century years were not kind to No. 172 West 77th Street.  A third store was added by 1949, and at some point the doorway to the easternmost store was bricked up, creating an awkward asymmetry to the balcony.  Then, in 1971, the stores were consolidated into a single space for the Cuban restaurant Los Dos Hermanos.


The restaurant lasted in the space for years, garnering praise from food critics like New York magazine's Linda Wolfe and The New York Times' Raymond Sokolov.  It was followed around 1992 by Wildlife, a trendy bar.

No. 172 West 77th Street received horrific press coverage that year.  Resident Troy A. Rivera moved in after being released from prison in 1990 for attempting to sexually assault a young boy.  At some point, possibly in prison, he had contracted the HIV virus.

He began taunting children with obscene jeers as they walked to school.  His behavior progressed to mingling with children at the playground across the street from No. 172, despite his parole officer having explicitly prohibited him from being in contact with youngsters.

A neighbor, Sarah Rodriguez, later told police "He used to come down at 7:00 in the morning.  He'd stand on the stoop.  He'd say something to every kid who walked past.  He'd say, 'I like your butt.  Can I have your butt?'"  Nevertheless she did not think it was her responsibility to report the behavior to police.

Sarah's husband, who was the super of the building, received numerous late-night complaints of "prostitutes, transvestites and young men" (all under 17 years old) coming and going from Rivera's fourth floor apartment. 

On January 14, 1992 the unthinkable happened.  Rivera grabbed an 11-year-old boy as he walked to school alone.  Rivera forced him up the stairs and into his apartment, where he forcibly sodomized him.  The heinous crime was the talk of the neighborhood and the city for weeks.

In 2008 The Chirping Chicken restaurant took over the shop space.

Rivera was, of course, an anomaly among the tenants of no. 172.   From a broad range of ethnic backgrounds, they were on the whole hard-working, middle class families.

After more than 120 years the delightful carved address banner still brings a smile to passersby who happen to notice it; and the scary cast iron dragons no doubt continue to cause a few toddlers to pause.

photographs by the author