Building of the Day: 950-952 Bergen Street

Brooklyn, one building at a time.

Name: Flats buildings
Address: 950-952 Bergen Street
Cross Streets: Bedford and Franklin Avenues
Neighborhood: Crow Hill/Crown Heights North
Year Built: 1892
Architectural Style: Renaissance Revival
Architect: William J. Conway
Other Work by Architect: 709-711 Union St, Park Slope; various flats buildings, houses, garages, etc, here and there throughout Brooklyn.
Landmarked: No

The story: By the late 1880s, through the first decade of the 20th century, tenement and flats buildings were going up in Brooklyn as fast as houses, in some cases, faster. The most popular kind of flats building was a four story walk-up with 8 flats, two per floor, floor-throughs, one on either side of a central stair. You can find them everywhere in brownstone Brooklyn. Some are very plain, others covered in all kinds of ornament, designed to appeal to people who couldn’t afford, or didn’t want, a single family home. As developers and their architects figured out how to maximize the space in these buildings, some creative solutions were devised. The most obvious one was to use bays, front and/or back, to get extra square footage, and allow more air and light into the apartments.

William Conway, who was responsible for 950-92 Bergen Street, was a one man show. He was the developer, architect and builder of his projects, which meant he didn’t have to answer to anyone, and could be as imaginative as he wanted. On these two flats buildings, he opted to get some extra footage by building these unusual bays, which hang out over the street by about three feet. They are a clever skirting of a technicality, since they don’t touch the ground; they are technically not over stepping the bounds of the sidewalk line set by the city’s code.

But a bay that big, unsupported, would be heavy, and likely to be a problem in no time, so Conway came up with the idea of covering them in light weight pressed metal, not heavy brick. He used patterns with fanciful animals and floral motifs, and created a pair of flats buildings that literally jump out and demand attention. I’ve admired these buildings since I first came to the area, years ago.

Some of the early residents of these buildings were almost as interesting as the buildings themselves. Especially in 950 Bergen. They were all middle and working class folk, with a variety of jobs. One of them, Henry Hellies, was a street car conductor. He made the papers in 1896 for being arrested on the complaint of his neighbor, Mary J. McCrann. The day after he got out of jail, the two of them were married.

Another tenant was Joseph Kerr, who was brought before the magistrate at the Grand Avenue court for public intoxication, in 1901. He told the judge that he had been sick, and had over-medicated himself with brandy, and was very sorry. The judge sentenced him to a day in jail, or a fine, but when Kerr tearfully told the judge he had no money, the judge took pity on him, and suspended the sentence.

That would have been the end of the story, and it would never have made the news, except that after getting out of court, Joseph Kerr tried to board the Franklin Avenue Trolley by handing the conductor a pass for another line. When the pass was refused, and the five cent payment for the trolley demanded, Kerr got into an argument with the conductor, and had to be removed from the trolley by a detective who happened to be riding on the same car.

Undaunted, he waited for the next car, and tried it again. Again the pass was refused. This time Kerr was so belligerent and abusive that he was arrested. The next morning, he was standing in front of the same judge who had shown him mercy, only the day before. This time, the judge threw the book at him, fining him $500 and giving him a stay in jail for disorderly conduct.

And in 1906, 950 Bergen was home to “the bad boy of Bergen Street,” a fourteen year old juvenile delinquent named Walter O’Rourke. The same Grand Avenue courthouse was the scene when the boy’s beleaguered father, Cornelius O’Rourke, pressed charges against his own son for sending him a “Black Hand” letter. The Black Hand was all over the news and tabloid press at the time; an extortion and kidnapping arm of the Mafia. Mr. O’Rourke received a letter stating, “We have your son. If you want him back, pay us $1000. If you don’t we’ll send him back in a box in pieces.” Signed, The Black Hand.

Mr. O’Rourke said he knew the letter was from his son, he recognized the handwriting, but he had had it with the boy, who had been in scrapes with neighbors and the law for years. When asked if he had sent the letter, young Walter laughed and admitted it, saying that he “thought it would be fun.” He may not have been laughing when the judge sent him to the New York Catholic Protectory, a reform school.

The two flats buildings were occupied by ordinary working people for years, both white and black, until the buildings were abandoned late in the 20th century. This part of the Franklin Avenue corridor was pretty unpleasant for years, forgotten by most. In 1991, the empty shells were rehabbed into low and moderate income housing by the Coalition Conservation. They got a grant to repair and replace the pressed metal inserts, which were in poor shape. The story of that restoration can be found in Christopher Gray’s Streetscape Column, here. Today the buildings are both owned by the Black Veterans for Social Justice, probably for their members, many of whom have seen hard times. GMAP