The distinctive curved facade on the polluted Harte & Company factory in Greenpoint could survive, an owner’s rep told the Brooklyn Eagle. But the 1930s Arte Moderne factory at 280 Franklin Street is still going to become apartments, likely a multi-building complex.
Yi Han of Experta Group said she’s working with the architects to save some piece of the unique corner, because “very few places in New York have that. It’s like a witness to the transformation of the neighborhood.” (more…)
This is the story of wealth, hurt feelings and stubbornness in a Brooklyn family, and the greed that surrounded the entire affair. In Part One, we met the Brasher family, millionaire residents of Park Slope. Widowed Mrs. Brasher did not like her only daughter Louise’s choice of husbands, and cut Louise and her daughter out of her large will.
Part Two is the story of the trial to break the will. At the end, Louise Bain lost, and unless the decision could be overturned by the Appellate Court, Louise and her family would never see a cent of her parents’ money.
When the case went to the jury in 1920, they pondered long and hard, pouring over the lengthy will, plus the four codicils, and days of testimony. At last they thought they had found a Solomon-like solution. Hidden deep in the original will was a bequest for Louise, after all. She was left a trust fund of $50,000 out of the $1,200,000 estate.
The jury voted to give that to her, plus $10,000 for attorney’s fees, and a $10,000 bequest already in the will for her son, William Clayton. They decided after 12 hours of deliberation to throw out the codicils which would have left Mrs. Louise Bain with nothing.
But when they made the announcement in court, they inadvertently set in motion a clause in the will that totally disinherited Mrs. Bain. The clause stipulated that she would get nothing if she contested the will. How they all missed that is inexplicable, but now Mrs. Bain could not legally receive any money.
In Part One of our story, we met Louise Bain, who was disinherited by her wealthy Park Slope mother, Martha Brasher. In this installment, which takes place in 1920, the daughter tries to overturn her mother’s will.
Mrs. Bain sued, trying to break the will. She and her attorneys argued that her mother was not in her right mind when she cut her out of the will. They also argued that Mrs. Brasher’s lawyers had too much influence, as they were executors and beneficiaries.
The Church Charity Fund, which received half the estate, teamed up with the lawyers for the executors to prove Martha Brasher sane, Louise Bain a horrible daughter, and the will valid.
All sides put forth a good case for their points. The trial lasted a week before the jury received the case. After long deliberation, they returned with a verdict upholding the will. Mrs. Bain lost. Then the story takes a strange turn. (more…)
The other day I featured 58 7th Avenue, the Brooklyn Conservatory of Music Building, as our Building of the Day. As I mentioned there, the house was originally built for William M. Brasher and his family, in 1881. Brasher had a factory down the street at 20th and 7th where he manufactured oil cloth. This material was used for many different purposes, and was the 19th century’s equivalent of vinyl coated fabric. Cotton duck fabric was soaked in linseed oil, which formed a waterproof fabric that could be used for tents, tarps, clothing, tablecloths and floor cloths. Brasher operated his factory during the Civil War period, and as you can imagine, he made a ton of money selling oilcloth to the government. Long story short – he was rich.
William Brasher and his wife Martha had only one child, a daughter named Louise. William died in 1912, leaving his tidy fortune, the house, and the yacht to his wife, Martha. She spent many subsequent years making other people miserable. She sued several people, and was sued in return. Aside from her servants, her lawyers probably saw her, and loved her, more than anyone else in her life. She hardly ever left the house, and did not socialize.
The Brasher’s daughter Louise had grown up and married Captain Bertram B. Clayton. He was a West Point graduate, and served in the Spanish-American War. He subsequently served a term in Congress, and was made a Colonel in the 14th Regiment of the New York National Guard. Their headquarters was the Park Slope Armory. Martha Brasher was very proud of her new son-in-law, and her new grandson, William, who was named after his grandfather. But her daughter’s marriage was not a happy one. (more…)
In the fall of 1942, the Bedford Stuyvesant-based automobile horn and headlight company, E. A. Laboratories, entered World War II. As one of America’s largest automobile accessories companies, EAL was poised to serve the country by converting its factory into a war materials manufacturing plant. Their distinctive song-tune electric horns, their car heaters and windshield wipers were going to be replaced by gun sights for airplanes, landing lights, and horns for ships, Jeeps and other military vehicles.
The company was very patriotic in their embrace of the war effort. John Aufiero, EAL’s president, was the younger brother of the founder of the company, inventor Emanuel Aufiero. He published full page patriotic ads in the local papers, contributed tons of scrap metal to the war effort, and hired more workers to enable the plant to work non-stop at a 300% rise in production. The American flag flew highest over the corner of Spencer Place and Myrtle Avenue in the two adjoining buildings that made up the E. A. Laboratories. Please see Parts One and Two, which give lots of background.
All of that flag waving may have been a necessary distraction to point attention away from John Aufiero’s personal skeletons. As I mentioned in the last chapter of this story, those skeletons were about to goose-step out of his closet, and make a mess of his well-ordered public persona. Aufiero, it appears, had a great admiration for Benito Mussolini, the Fascist dictator of Italy, and the enemy of the United States and Allied forces. (more…)
In 1929, Emanuel Aufiero, the president of E. A. Laboratories, the makers of the best car, motorcycle and bike horns around, had a nervous breakdown. His life had been an immigrant success story – a young man comes to America from Italy in the new century, and becomes a success in the field of automotive accessories. His designs and innovations are snapped up by the largest manufacturer of such items in the country, and he is paid more money than he’s ever imagined in his life. He marries, has children, and is living in Brooklyn, where he is respected and admired. What more could anyone want? Part One of our story introduces our characters and their products.
Success was not entirely all it was imagined to be. Aufiero was indeed a genius in his field, and he had produced dozens of designs for his employer, the Automobile Supply Company of Brooklyn. But he was ill-advised, or just hoodwinked on the terms of his contract. Early on, he had signed a very restrictive and exclusive contract with Louis Rubes, the president of ASC.
That contract gave his employer the lifetime rights to all designs produced for manufacture by ASC, and also the rights to anything Aufiero ever came up with in the future, even if he was no longer working for ASC. That, of course, guaranteed that Aufiero would never leave ASC’s employ, because what was the point of another company hiring him to design goods, when that company could not produce them without paying Rubes a cut of the profits? (more…)
If you’ve ever been walking down the street and a car passes you blasting the horn with the strains of “La Cucaracha,” “The Godfather Theme,” “Here Comes the Bride,” or some other popular eight bars of music making it past your earbuds, then you owe a thought, or a good curse, to Emanuel Aufiero. In 1908, he invented the first electronically operated motor horn. That one merely honked. His company, E.A. Laboratories, located right here in northern Bedford Stuyvesant, was where the first theme-song car horn was born. That didn’t happen in the 1960s or ‘70s either. It was back in 1941, during World War II.
Emanuel Aufiero was born in Italy in 1882. He and his brother Michael came to America in 1900 to seek their fortunes. Both brothers were mechanically inclined, but Emanuel was an inventive mechanical genius. He was one of those people who could look at a piece of machinery and understand it, put it to good use, and fix it if it were broken. More importantly, he could see where that object, or tool or process could be improved. He was one of those idea men who could take something that already worked and evolve that object, taking it to the next step in its evolution.
At the dawn of the 20th century, there was nothing so intriguing and exciting as the ever-changing world of the automobile. It captured the 20th century imagination, and inventors and innovators were constantly evolving the motor car into something more efficient and better each year. The Aufieros got into the car accessory business. Starting in a small workroom in Manhattan, Emanuel invented the first motor driven automobile horn. It was a variation on the classic “ahooga” horn that you’ve probably seen in old movies or at vintage auto shows. It was an instant success, and helped promote Mr. Aufiero into auto history, and soon, into his first law suit. (more…)
Every day we read about small companies relocating to Brooklyn. Inventive people in all kinds of ways are bringing their businesses to Brooklyn, attracted to available space, abundant public transportation and the possibilities of making their fortunes in the great city of Brooklyn. Everyone wants that Brooklyn name. Hopefully, we will once again be a city of makers. Our history is one of great manufacturing within our borders. We used to make everything imaginable, most of it in factories that were not tucked away in the outer fringes of the city, but with walking distance of some of the most desirable neighborhoods in that city.
I like to look at maps, and can spend hours examining our streets, and it never ceases to amaze me what used to be manufactured here. We were a self-contained city, capable of making everything we needed, except perhaps fresh food. And even that was possible well into the 20th century, in the outer parts of Southern Brooklyn and Flatbush. If you drive or walk around what was our industrial core – all of the waterfront areas, plus Gowanus, the border areas of Bedford/Clinton Hill and Crown Heights/Prospect Heights, Greenpoint and Bushwick, you can get an idea of what once was, and has since gone.
Most people don’t realize that downtown Brooklyn also had a lot of manufacturing going on, too. This part of town has been built up, plowed under, and built up again so often, it takes a look at maps, advertisements and old city directories to realize what a forgotten industrial hub parts of downtown once were. Two major bridges, ramps, highway exits and entrances, Metrotech, housing projects, hotels and college campuses have all but decimated the industrial parts of downtown. There were all kinds of interesting companies located there. One of them was Edward Weck & Company. (more…)
Sometimes I write about people who become so real to me I feel as if I know them. Telling their stories becomes much more than simply doing a lot of research and then condensing it. Often I feel a kinship with them because I may have experienced something they experienced, or have been in their homes, or in the places they visited, or in their shoes. Sometimes we did the same things, or sang the same songs. Sometimes literally.
Christine Adler was a turn of the 20th century classical singer. She lived for many years in Bedford, in a house that for a long time I dreamed would be be mine, and a house that I’ve actually been in. I’ve stood at the same mantel she must have stood by; I’ve climbed the same stairs, and looked out of the same windows. At the time, I had never heard of Christine Adler. That didn’t come till much later.
When I did discover her name, I found out that we also share a love of classical vocal music. She was a contralto, the lowest of female voices, although that means something different today than it did in her day. In her day, a contralto included what we call mezzo-soprano today, and includes some of the great operatic repertoire sung by characters such as Carmen, Delilah in “Samson and Delilah”, and Amneris in “Aida.”
I used to sing some of that repertoire too, back in the day, so when I read in the old Brooklyn Eagle pages that Mrs. Adler sang this piece or that piece, I know the piece, and I know what was needed to sing it well. Christine Adler also sang the equivalent of pop and show tunes, because she enjoyed working and entertaining, and she also was a gifted teacher. Although I’m too young to have been taught by her, I certainly could have been taught by someone that she had trained, albeit in that student’s later years. It’s possible; after all, my own real life voice teacher lived to be over 100 years old. So here is the story of Madame Christine Adler, a true diva. (more…)
We were amazed to see the spiffy new look at 156 Broadway when we happened by recently during a snowstorm. Brookland Capital has been remaking the dilapidated 19th century building, at one point a cabinet factory, for about two years.
The first three units, out of a total of eight, went on the market in late December. Then three more listings went up two weeks ago, and now two of the units are in contract.
The units are pricey, but they look good. They are all studios, but with unusual double-height ceilings and lofted bedrooms. The four units on the second floor have two levels and the four units on the top floor have three levels.
The firm does not typically develop in Williamsburg, where prices are among the highest in the borough. Brookland Capital purchased the building in 2012 for $2,650,000. The asks for the units range in price from $750,000 to $985,000.
Curbed wrote about the building when sales launched in December. Bel Air Design Group is the architect.
Click through to see what the building looked like before. What do you think about the transformation of the exterior?
After the great successes of New York City’s wonderful parks, such as Manhattan’s Central and Riverside Parks, as well as Brooklyn’s Prospect and Fort Greene Parks, every city in the country was envious. Cities are judged by their public buildings and public spaces, and by the beginning of the 20th century, almost every municipality and its civic movers and shakers wanted to have exemplary parks. Parks were places that every citizen, high and low, could enjoy the beauties of nature, fresh air, and room to relax.
For many urban areas, that was key to a better quality of life and a happier populace. Thanks to the philosophies of the City Beautiful Movement, city fathers also thought that parks, like great public buildings, would inspire the lower classes to civic pride, and therefore industrious behavior, better citizenship and moral uplifting. Parks were also a chance for city fathers, committee heads, wealthy donors, and ambitious landscape designers to shine. They all knew they were creating places that would live on after they were long gone. (more…)
A mutual friend forwarded these photos, taken by a neighbor about two months ago, of the inside of the Carpenter Gothic church at 809 Jefferson Avenue. The photographer commented:
Friends of mine belong to this church and tell me that they struggled with the situation for a very long time but ultimately decided they couldn’t afford to save a very deteriorated structure. It is very sad, indeed. I don’t know who could have saved this building. To anyone in the neighborhood, this is not a surprise. We will always wonder what could have been done to save it, and let this inspire us to prevent further loss of these old gems.
Click through to see the stained-glass windows in the balcony over the entrance.