IS THAT A TUB IN YOUR KITCHEN? (1920)
Brownstone Detectives investigates the history of our clients’ homes.
The story you are about to read was composed from research conducted in the course of one of those investigations.
Do you know the history of YOUR house?
The following article tells how a young lady’s visiting relation – during the New York City housing shortage of 1920 – thought it would be simple to quickly find her niece a $50 (a month!) apartment in Brooklyn – and how, upon viewing one in Brookyn Heights, she was shocked – “Shocked, I say!” – to see a bathtub in the kitchenette (or a kitchen in the bath)! – Courtesy of Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Sun., 22 August 1920
AUNT BELLA is an august soul and very imposing in her handsome second mourning. And she set her tea cup down with a force Which made me nervous for my Royal Sevres.
“You needn’t tell me,” said Aunt Bella firmly. “This Housing shortage is all a myth, and is cooked up between the newspapers and the property owners to keep up the high rents. You haven’t looked, child—you admit it yourself. Right here in Brooklyn there are, I know, hundreds of apartments, kitchen, living room and bath. Here you sit and let your rent go up 25 percent, and don’t make a murmur. That will be $62.50 for this box of a place. Nonsense!” as I weakly murmured something about the intense heat. “It Would be cheaper to take a taxi today and find an apartment than pay that extra $150 a year.”
“I know I can’t do any better than this for $62.60,” I ventured. “Even If I do have to sleep on a couch in the living room.”
“Well, we’ll see,” said Aunt Bella. “We’ll see, my dear. I have three days before; the Adriatic sails, and in those three days I’ll find you an apartment right here in Brooklyn. You let things be put over on you,” Mary, you always did. It’s lucky you have three days left of your vacation, and that I am here,” reaching for her hat and placing it above her commanding brow. “No time like the present. It’s just 10 o’clock and we’ll locate that apartment this morning and then lunch and go to the beach.”
Meekly, but with an inwardly rebellious soul. I laid aside my embroidery and put on my wide brimmed sailor hat. Aunt Bella is one kind of person who adores to manage other people, and I felt indeed that something was being “put over on me.”
“Where shall we go first? ‘This neighborhood, I think,” as we stepped out on Remsen st. “I noticed a good many houses being done over when I went for a walk yesterday,” said Aunt Bella, putting on a pair of immaculate White kid gloves and adjusting her veil a shade tighter.
Around on Montague st, not far from the Hotel Bossert, she led the way triumphantly into a newly decorated building over a patisserie. The second, story front was vacant arid consisted of one fairly good size room, one small room, one alcove and a bath. “Where is the kitchen?” demanded Aunt Bella. The janitor led the way into the bathroom and pointed to a narrow shelf against the Wall over one end of the bathtub. About 4 Inches above the shelf projected a gris jet, set into the wall parallel with the shelf. My Baltimore aunt, who occupies a large old-fashioned residence on North Charles st. with a retinue of colored servants, looked uncomprehendingly at the stolid janitor.
“What’s this?” she asked sharply.
“The Kitchenette, ma’am.”
“What, cook in the bathroom?”
“Yes’m.”
“Well, I never. Most unsanitary. I call it. Where Is the food kept and the garbage?”
“Some of the ladles keeps the milk In Thermos bottles and some of ’em uses them Mexican things,” pointing to a round plaster globe showing through a nearby window. “They sets the gabrage in a tin outside the door and I takes it down mornings.”
“What is the rent?” asked my aunt sternly.
“Ninety dollars,” said the janitor calmly.
When We. recovered we found ourselves out on the sidewalk and entered a large apartment house a few doors below. We didn’t go up and look at the apartment, however, when the elevator boy told us the rent of 3 rooms, bath and kitchen, a real kitchen, was $130 a month, front, or $110 top, rear.
Over on Hicks st. a caretaker looked at us suspiciously and demanded, “Any children or animals?”
“No,” said I, regretfully. Whereupon she smiled graciously and permitted us to enter. “We don’t allow any cooking,” she informed us, “and we don’t allow any children or animals. Our house^ Is very well run.”
Aunt Bella’s face became very red and she remarked tartly, “If people can’t eat and don’t have any children the world Will be run out of business!” and as the caretaker went to get her keys, “Horrible woman—she reminds me of Pharaoh and Lucretia Borgia. Even if: she never had any children herself, she had to be a child once, didn’t she?” The price of apartments was $76 for one room and bath.
“What’s that queer little street?”
“Love Lane, Aunt Bella.”
Aunt Bella snorted, “A nice, pretty old-fashioned name for this city. Love, indeed. It’s no wonder there are so many divorces these days. No woman could feed a man and keep him happy without a kitchen. Why a kitchen is the very heart of a home, in my opinion—or a nursery,” she added.
At a big apartment hotel on Hicks st. we were informed that they had no vacancies, all their apartments having been taken in June for the coming Winter. The rates here were $100 a month for two rooms, bath and maid service, and the price of meals $12 a week.
On Monroe pl. near Clark st we found two very attractive apartments of two rooms and bath each “And no objection/ to cooking by electricity.” An excellent Imitation of Japanese grass paper, white, paint, mahogany trim arid casement windows added to the charm of the interior. I felt that, despite the absence of a kitchen, I could be quite contented here until I learned that this contentment could not be purchased for less than $100 for the second-floor apartment and $85 for the top floor each month.
On Plerrepont pl. we found the same prices prevailing. Two rooms, one a very largo one, with a bath and a kitchenette, the last mentioned being a shallow closet with the ubiquitous shelf, to which we were becoming accustomed, cost $76. Nowhere on the Heights, and we looked at many apartments, did we see a solitary gas stove or an Icebox. Maid service, we were informed, went with the Pierrepont pl. apartment. When pressed for the meaning of the word “service,” the caretaker assured us she swept the rooms every other week and’ would make the beds and do other cleaning “extra.”
On Sidney pl., near Livingston st, we found two rooms, bath and the same little cooking shelf could be leased from $60 to $75 a month. The $60 ones were on the ground floor a t either entrance to the doorway, and If one did not fear dampness and noise and could cook on the shelf, thoy could exist therein.
“There’s a top one vacant for $60, too, miss. It sets back and you can’t see the street, but it’s light.”
Also, near Livingston, on Clinton st, we found other vacancies. Rents here were considerably higher than elsewhere, one room and bath being $80; two and bath. $126, and three and bath, $145, with the shelf again introduced into a cupboard.
Having exhausted possibilities on the Heights wo journeyed out to Flatbush. Hero, indeed, vacancies were few. In the vicinity of Ocean and Newkirk aves. we inquired at five large apartment houses only to receive the same answer at each, “No vacancies.”
On E. 21st st., near Ditmas ave., there was one vacancy. Here the price of three rooms, a bath and a kitchen was $90. Followed numerous houses, all tenanted, until, above Beverly rd., on Ocean aye., we located a new building in course of construction bearing a large sign inviting us to “make your selection now, don’t delay.” We failed to make a selection, however, on finding the price of our choice to be $90 for two rooms, a kitchen and bath, and $120 for three rooms, kitchen and bath. There were two striking differences between Flatbush and the Heights. Children were everywhere in evidence in Flatbush, and are welcomed to the apartments, where baby carriages stand about in the hallways. The little shelf no longer passes muster as a kitchenette, and “buy your own stove.” In Flatbush all apartments have really truly kitchens where hungry men and little children may be fed. The prices, while a trifle lower, average about $25 or $30 a room, and the rooms are not large.
From Flatbush we went to the Bedford section and from there to the Park Slope. Prices were uniform in all sections. If there is a $50 apartment of one room and bath in Brooklyn, not to say three rooms and bath, it did riot reveal itself to us. Some lucky mortal is snugly ensconced therein, doubtless, and will never relinquish it. We did find one for $66 and it made us feel gloomy for some time afterward. It was on Sterling pl., near Flatbush ave., and is part of one of the old-fashioned apartments now being remodeled. A “bowling alley,” long and. dark, with cubby holes opening off its serpentine length, has been cut up into three apartments, or six on each floor. For the front and rear, two or three rooms and bath, they are asking $76 and $90. For the miserable, lopsided little cubby holes in the center, with an outlook on airshaft and the brick walls of the next-door house, they will accept $55.
Auntie Changes Her Mind
Arriving home at sunset, Aunt Bella for once was speechless. Attired in my flimsiest kimono, ensconced on the couch and sipping an iced lemonade, she looked about her rather mournfully, I thought.
“This is a very cozy little place,” said she. “You girls will be very comfortable here next winter.”
And I realized that a miracle had happened: The proud and dauntless spirit of my Aunt Bella was broken. Never again would she be quite so sure of herself, and so commanding. What 30 years of more or less happy wedded life with my late Uncle Thomas had failed to accomplish, one day of apartment hunting in this boro had achieved. Her spirit was broken. The housing situation in Brooklyn was too much for it.
———————————————————————————————————————–
Brownstone Detectives is an historic property research agency. Our mission is to document and save the histories of our clients’ homes. From our research, we produce our celebrated House History Books and House History Reports. Contact us today to begin discovering the history of your home.
Leave a Reply