Past and Present: 26th Ward Bank

A Look at Brooklyn, then and now.

If you’ve ever headed east towards Long Island, along Atlantic Avenue, then chances are you’ve seen the 26th Ward Bank, on the corner of Atlantic Avenue and Georgia Street, in East New York. If you’ve been here for more than ten years, you’ve seen the changes this building has undergone, if longer then you really have reason to cry. The building is a cautionary tale, told in brick, glass and concrete; of prosperity, the descent into ruin, followed by its “rescue”, and a textbook case of why the landmarking process is a good and valuable thing to have in our fair burg.

Like Chicago, Brooklyn used to be divided into wards. Wards were political divisions, little fiefdoms of political influence that ran across neighborhood boundaries, districts used to elect local aldermen and assistant aldermen to office, who in turn made up the City Council. Manhattan had wards, and so did Brooklyn, and when the city of Brooklyn incorporated in 1837, it was divided into nine wards. By the time Brooklyn became part of Greater New York City in 1898, there were 32 wards. Ward politics gave rise to the power of “ward bosses” within Tammany Hall, and people grew tired of the corruption. Wards were eliminated in 1938. Today, a City Council district has about the same function.

Parts of East New York, Brownsville and Cypress Hills constituted the old 26th Ward. This was part of the old town of New Lots, one of the original Dutch settlements in Brooklyn. One of the area’s most prominent residents was Ditmas Jewell. He and his son ran Jewell & Son, a very successful East New York flour business on Broadway and Fulton Street. He was very active in the community, and sat on several local boards. On February 11, 1889, Mr. Jewell founded the 26th Ward Bank. He was, of course, the first president.

Two years later, in 1891, architect J. Graham Glover was hired to design a new bank building to stand at the prominent corner of Georgia Street and Atlantic Avenue, at 2588 Atlantic. This was practically in the center of town, as the main cross street, Pennsylvania Avenue, was only two blocks away. The bank was a tall structure, which curved elegantly around the corner lot, and was made of granite, Indiana limestone, buff brick and terra-cotta. A tower and turret rose above that turned corner, with a steep peaked roof that had interesting oval shaped windows. There were all kinds of interesting terra-cotta trims, peaked and hooded dormers, and other fine detailing. The building very much resembled a church; a temple of money, as it were.

Since the LIRR tracks were at street level, at the time, the bank was one of the largest buildings around, and was quite striking, with the contrast between the white limestone of the ground floor, and the orangey-red brick making it even more noticeable. The words, “The 26th Ward Bank AD 1891” were carved into the limestone above the door in large letters visible at least a block away. Even when the LIRR elevated their tracks, the turret and roof rose above the street, still a local landmark. For many people in ENY at the time, the bank was “Jewell’s 26th Ward Bank.”

In 1903, the bank merged into State Mechanics Bank. The “Mechanics Bank” sign is visible on the 1905 photograph. For those who love bank merger stories, Mechanics Bank is now, about 8 mergers later, JP Morgan Chase. By the 1940s, East New York was still a working class white ethnic neighborhood. This bank had long ago moved into other banking hands, and was the Brooklyn Trust Bank. The second floor was rented to the Visiting Nurse Association, and the upper floors were apartments.

The bank is the subject of a fascinating post on a blog called the East New York Project. In the post, the author interviews his aunt, who lived in the building in the 1940s. She remembered her bedroom windows were the oval windows of the turret. She also remembered the building being half converted into offices below their apartment, the shadows of the removed fireplace mantels still visible on the walls.

It was the beginning of the end for this fine old bank. The 1980s tax photo shows a building in rundown, but pretty decent shape. I remember the bank during the 80s; it was so visually striking, and captured the eye as one drove down Atlantic Avenue. I always wanted to know its history, even before I got into this field. If I remember correctly, the bank part was boarded up sometime in that decade. But by the 1990s, it was an easy target for graffiti, vandalism, and just neglect, and its condition worsened, as ENY’s fortunes declined as well.

One day, in 1996, I happened to drive down Atlantic Avenue, and the bank was gone! Further examination showed that the entire brick part of the building had been torn down, leaving only the limestone first story. After that, a new, modern condo building was tacked onto the base, a building fusion that took quite a long time to finish. Property Shark shows several stops and starts, as well as tax liens and lis pendens on the building. It’s still in trouble.

So, I have to ask…..what were they thinking? This thing is awful. The Hearst Building it’s not. The brick part of the building was run down, but why couldn’t they just fix it? Or if it was too far gone, why not replace it with something that actually looks like it goes with it? Perhaps it never sold because it was just too ugly and mismatched? What was its function? Condos?

This neighborhood is short on landmarks, and not because there aren’t some landmark-worthy buildings around.There are quite a few, and this certainly should have been one of them. The history of the bank, of Ditmas Jewell, (love the name) who died at 83, in 1905, hailed by the NY Times as the oldest man in East New York. What of the importance of the bank to the community, and the excellence of the architectural design? This was a lost opportunity, and a crying shame. GMAP