A famous writer recalls his boyhood on an 1850s working-class Williamsburg block

If you think Williamsburg is popular now, you should have been there in the early 1850s.

At that time, the number of residents had ballooned to 35,000, the riverfront was bustling with industry, and this Kings County town ambitiously incorporated itself into a city (before changing course and becoming part of the neighboring city of Brooklyn three years later).

During these booming years, two real estate investors teamed up to buy and develop parcels of land in the center of Williamsburg, some of it farmland. They hired a surveyor, cut a slender new road they called Fillmore Street after the sitting U.S. President, and planned to construct two rows of mostly three-story homes designed in the elegant Italianate style.

Though they sound like the kind of fine houses upper class residents would be interested in, and they were billed before they were built in a June 1852 edition of the New York Times as future “magnificent dwellings,” the houses weren’t intended for Williamsburg’s wealthy business owners.

Instead, the walkups on what was later renamed Fillmore Place were multi-tenant “flats” meant to be owned or rented by the working-class folks who came to Williamsburg to fill jobs and enjoy a lower population density than that of New York across the East River.

Who were the early residents of this brand-new enclave, which soon had gaslights installed and sewer hookups? “In the mid-19th century, most of the owners were English, Irish or German, and worked as artisans or were petty merchants,” states the Brooklyn neighborhood association WGPA. “The residents renting apartments on Fillmore Place at this time were of a similar background, usually artisans, clerks and laborers.”

Life on Fillmore Place appears to have been a step above the options available to most working-class New Yorkers.

While the buildings “were erected as multifamily dwellings and occupied by working-class tenants, their architecture has more in common with the fashionable middle- and upper-class single-family row houses of the period than with the substandard tenements that were becoming more common in the poorer sections of the city,” states the Landmarks Preservation Commission Report for what’s now known as the Fillmore Place Historic District.

Though the houses weren’t large and only one flat existed on each floor, each room likely had a window facing “either the street or a generously sized rear yard,” per the LPC report—which is more than the typical tenement offered in an era before tenement reform laws.

As a result of this apparently decent quality of life, Fillmore Place’s residents tended to stick around. Even the opening of the Williamsburg Bridge in 1903, which brought in thousands of new residents and saw the tearing down of row-house neighborhoods in favor of tenements, didn’t drastically alter the fabric.

The houses along Fillmore Place, “were not directly affected by the opening of the bridge and remain perhaps the most intact enclave of buildings erected during Williamsburg’s initial period of urban. development,” states the LPC report.

More than a century later, this slightly slanted street still retains a small-scale 19th century feel. No wonder it became an official historic district in 2009. While one-block Fillmore Place is bounded by Driggs Avenue, Roebling Street, Grand Street, and Metropolitan Avenue, the historic district extends to include a row of walkups from 662 to 676 Driggs Avenue.

One of those walkups was home in the 1890s to Henry Miller—author of Tropic of Capricorn, among other novels. Though Miller only spent the first nine years of his life at 662 Driggs (below), his description of Fillmore Place, his “favorite street,” as he called it in a 1971 New York Times essay, can give you an idea of what life was like here at the tail end of the 19th century.

“The house I lived In was between North First and Metropolitan Avenue, then called North Second Street,” Miller wrote in a 1971 essay for the New York Times. “Opposite us was Dr. Kinney, the veterinarian, and on the rooftop next door to his place Mrs. Omelio kept her 20 to 30 cats. Diagonally opposite us was Fillmore Place, just one block long, which was my favorite street and which I can still see vividly if I close my eyes.”

In his 1936 short story collection Black Spring, “Miller wrote “’there were three streets—North First, Fillmore Place, and Driggs Avenue. These marked the boundaries of the known world,’” via the neighborhood website Greenpointers.

“His description of Fillmore Place in Tropic of Capricorn perfectly captures many people’s love for the historic little block: ‘[it was] the most enchanting street I have ever seen in all my life. It was the ideal street—for a boy, a lover, a maniac, a drunkard, a crook, a lecher, a thug, an astronomer, a musician, a poet, a tailor, a shoemaker, a politician,’” wrote Miller, excerpted by Greenpointers.

[Third image: New York Times; seventh image: NYC Department of Records & Information Services]

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10 Responses to “A famous writer recalls his boyhood on an 1850s working-class Williamsburg block”

  1. GhostBikeCollector Says:

    It’s Grand Street, not Grand Avenue It’s Grand Street from the East River to Newtown Creek, at which point it crosses Newtown Creek over the Grand Street Bridge and becomes Grand Avenue in Maspeth.

  2. The pretty peacocks holding court in the Garment District | Ephemeral New York Says:

    […] Chronicling an ever-changing city through faded and forgotten artifacts « A famous writer recalls his boyhood on an 1850s working-class Williamsburg block […]

  3. Mykola Mick Dementiuk Says:

    I’ve always been enchanted by Henry Miller; his writing got me in trying it myself. All I did was win two Lambda Awards, good enough for me.

  4. kathleentreat Says:

    How charming – and how damning of real estate developers as far back as the 18303-40s, pre-Filmore Place. “Anything for a buck” was probably coined at the time unhealthy tenements were thrown up. If you consider the state of NYCHA housing put up in the Koch years nothing much has changed. K. McGee/Hell’s Kitchen

  5. Greg Says:

    It would be a really lovely street with some trees and some sprucing up.

    • ephemeralnewyork Says:

      It’s not in the same shape as other historic details for sure. But it’s charming, and feels as I suspect it did for generations. It does feel like a residential enclave shielding you from the foot traffic and activity of Driggs.

  6. kensurferhotmailcom Says:

    “I am living at the Villa Borghese. There is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced. We are all alone here and we are dead.” – Henry Miller wrote about his Parisian living arrangement.

  7. velovixen Says:

    Ah, yes, Henry Miller. His writing is a Fillmore Place of the mind and spirit, if you will.

    I often ride my bike, for commuting and pleasure, through the area. These days, Fillmore, even if it could be in better condition, feels like a kind of refuge. Just a few blocks away, towers are constructed from Lego blocks of glass and metal in neutral colors, seemingly for the purpose of refracting the river and skyline into poster-prints framed on apartment walls for those who can pay for, but not see, them.

    I know that cities change. But Fillmore Place makes me happy we have a landmarking commission.

    • ephemeralnewyork Says:

      It really is a shabby but so very charming and evocative respite in the Williamsburg of dark glass and stainless steel.

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