Purple Is Not Your Color

I haven't been to Brooks 1890 Restaurant in Long Island City since the century-old eatery changed hands last fall and underwent a renovation. The other night, however, I took a peek in. They seem to have retained the lovely character of the bar room. They've made one great mistake, however. For whatever reason, they've decided to light the beautiful, stained-glass canopy behind the bar—a one-hundred-year-old, one-of-a-kind item—with blue and purple lights. The effect is ghastly.

See below how the canopy used to look in happier times.

Brooks 1890 Restaurant to Reopen

Got this note from a reader about Brooks 1890 Restaurant, which has been closed for renovations for a month: "Passed by the restaurant the other day and there are new red awnings replacing the green ones that had been up for quite awhile. Also, a note on the door stated that they are re-opening. So, looks like the restaurant is still in business."

Good news. But still many question unanswered. Will the menu change? Has the interior been altered? What of the stained glass? New owner?

UPDATE: The same fine citizen sent me the photo above. So that's what Brooks looks like now. Also: It reopened Friday, Nov. 12.

Brooks 1890 Restaurant Closed for Renovation

Brooks 1890 Restaurant, one of the oldest and most unheralded restaurants in the City, and one of my personal favorites, is closed for renovation. When it reopens, it will be under new management.

I had met the longtime owner Bill "Brooks" Gounaris just last fall. He had made no mention of his intention to sell the place. Gounaris was not the original Brooks; he bought the restaurant after the real Mr. Brooks died, by his own hand, in the 1970s. (He was reportedly a heavy gambler and got into a bit of trouble.)

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Breaking: Kleefeld Descendent Emerges

It happens from time to time. I dig around in the history of an old business, and then, shortly after, a descendent of the original merchant finds my posts and contacts me out of the blue.

Last month, when I posted my series of fact-finding posts about the formerly mysterious Brooks 1890 Restaurant in Long Island City—uncovering, with the inestimable help of reader Ian Schoenherr, that it used to be the old Long Island City City Hall, and then a bar/hotel/meeting place owned by Martin Heilbut and Herman Kleefeld (Whose initials can be found in stained glass behind the old bar)—I wondered if a Heilbut or a Kleefeld might be out there somewhere tracking the progress of the investigation.

Indeed, it was so! Today I was contacted by Kenneth Kleefeld, grandson of Herman, and he has offered another piece to the puzzle. Heilbut and Kleefeld bought the building in 1910, and I was speculated that, when Prohibition came, they turned it into a speakeasy. This is exactly what they did:

Thanks for the research. My grandfather was Herman Kleefeld. His restaurant became something of a speakeasy, frequented by judges from across the street during Prohibition, to whom beverages were served in teacups.

--Kenneth Kleefeld

So, Heilbut descendants—what's taking you so long?

Heilbut and Kleefeld!

It is accomplished, Ladies and Gentleman.

On Thursday afternoon, there was a lunchtime summit at Brooks 1890 Restaurant to determine if the research efforts of Lost City reader Ian Schoenherr had indeed uncovered the true origins of the old building the eatery has long called home. In attendance were myself, Schoenherr, and artist Sharon Florin, a local artist who has painted the restaurant building, as well as many other Long Island City landmarks.

Much had been pretty solidly confirmed by articles Ian had dug up in the archives of the New York Times, the Brooklyn Eagle, and other newspapers. The address used to function as Long Island City's City Hall in the late 19th century (when it was not yet part of New York), where the local wily officials, like slippery James Gleason, conducted city business. In 1910, it was purchased by Mssrs. Martin Heilbut and Herman Kleefeld, real estate men. During the next decade, it was referred to by several names, including Kleefeld Hall, Kleefeld's saloon, Kleefeld's Hotel and just plain Hielbut and Kleefeld, until the 1920s, when it began to be referred to as the Court Square Restaurant.

The main order of business of the visit was to eyeball more closely the stained-glass canopy above the bar. In the past I had thought the initials etched into the canopy to be "K" and "N." Ian posited that the "N" might be an "H," as in Hielbut. And so we looked.


And we have daylight! Clearly, I need to improve my prescription, because that seeming "N" is indeed an "H." Heilbut and Kleefeld, you are remembered, as I imagine you wanted to be when you commissioned that fine piece of glasswork. Or should I say Kleefeld and Heilbut? The "K" is over the "H," and most news reports mentioned Kleefeld more than Heilbut. I think he was probably the less silent of the two partners.


We were particularly fortunate to have Sharon along, because she is friends with the longtime owner Bill "Brooks" Gounaris. Thus, we were able to share this information, most of which was new to him, certainly the identities of "K" and H." The bartender, too, was eager to learn, no doubt happy that now, when patrons ask about the stained glass, he has an answer to give them. (Gounaris, by the way, is not the original Brooks; he bought the restaurant after Mr. Brooks died, by his own hand, in the 1970s.)


Gounaris, seeing our interest, was good enough to share an old photograph of the area with us (above). He said it dated before 1902. The Brooks building is to the right. The Court House is not the one that sits there today, but the first one, which burned down. Quite a wide open landscape, wasn't it?


He also showed us some ticket stubs from events that took place in the building in 1916. From these we can deduce: the building was sometimes called Court Square Hall; the music was Prof. Parker was very popular in the teens; ladies didn't have to pay as much as men to get into things back then.

Gounaris also shared with me the fact that it is part of his deal with his landlord, the local Bricklayers Union, that the bar area, stained glass and all, never be altered or changed. Good men, those layers of brick!


We ate not in the bar room, but in the larger hall. This gave me the opportunity to admire some of the details in the room, such as the chandeliers and the beautiful, yellow-hued tin ceiling.

The events of the past week have been enormously satisfying. I love getting to the bottom of mysteries and making people aware of the history they have in their hands. The next logical step, it seems to me, is to get a building that is of such obvious importance to Long Island City's history officially landmarked.

Below, by the way, is Sharon's painting of the restaurant.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel?

I am ashamed. For years, I've told myself: "One day, I'm going to get to the bottom of the mystery of 1890 Brooks Restaurant in Long Island City, and uncover its shrouded history." But sloth and inertia took over, and now intrepid reader Ian Schoenherr is having all the "Eureka!"s.

In late October, a reader wrote is to inform me that the Brooks used to be called the Court Square Restaurant for many years. I did some research and found this to be true. With that, the avalanche began. Earlier this month, Schoenherr wrote in with the vital revelations that the building that houses Brooks used to be Long Island City's old City Hall in the late 19th century, and that, in 1910, two men named Martin Heilbut and Herman Kleefeld of Long Island City secured a lease of the old building, "at the corner of Jackson Avenue and Anable Street (demapped, now part of Court Square), adjoining Court House Square." According to old articles, the address (which, annoyingly, was listed under different numbers over the years) was variously referred to as Kleefeld's Hall, and Kleefeld's Saloon.

Great stuff! Still, there were holes in the mystery yet. Most significantly: who belonged to the letters "K" and "N" found in the stained-glass canopy behind the old bar inside? "K" could be Kleefeld. But the "N"?

Did Schoenherr give up? Perish the thought. He dug further:

I found a good, long article on the building when it was sold to Heilbut and Kleefeld and quote a large portion of it below. And while I've seen several mentions of it from the 1910s as "Kleefeld's Hotel" I also found some references to "Heilbut & Kleefeld":

[Regarding the ball of the Owl Bowling Club, of Winfield, held at Court Square Hall, Long Island City] "...About 1 o'clock fifty couples sat down to a course dinner prepared by Heilbut & Kleefeld, the well-known Long Island City caterers...." (The Newtown Register, February 24, 1914)

"...The Long Island City Business Men's Association will be held at Heilbut & Kleefeld's, corner of Jackson avenue and Court Square, Long Island City..." (Brooklyn Daily Eagle, June 11, 1915)

"Heilbut & Kleefeld" also show up as certificate holders in the Annual Report of the State Commissioner of Excise of the State of New York (1912 and 1914).

Then Schoenherr makes a seemingly obvious suggestion, but one that had never occurred to thick ol' me:

All of which makes me wonder - I haven't seen the stained glass with the initials "N" and "K" at Brooks', but is it possible that the "N" is actually an "H"?

Egad! Holmes, you're a genius!

I plan to have lunch at Brooks this very week and take a good long long (and a picture) at those stained-glass letters.

In the meantime, enjoy this article Ian found:

Brooklyn Daily Eagle, May 24, 1910 (page 12)

GLEASON DAYS RECALLED BY LONG ISLAND CITY DEAL

...There is no building in Long Island City, not even the Court House, which has had so eventful a history as the old City Hall, which now passes into new hands. In the latter part of the 80s it was occupied by Alexander Moran, as a hotel. He was prominent in Long Island City politics, and served as a city clerk. The police court and the Common Council rooms were in the building with the hotel. Sessions of the courts and the Council meetings were held there until an act was passed prohibiting police courts from being held in the same building with hotels. Then Moran moved out.

After his removal all the boards of Long Island City and the mayor's office were moved into the building. The ground floor was taken by the city treasurer.

Among the police justices who sat in this building were Stephen J. Kavanaugh, Daniel Noble and Lucius N. Manley.

It was in this building that Patrick Jerome Gleason held the dual position of mayor and alderman, and defied any one to prevent him. Here, also, he barricaded himself after the election of Mayor Sanford, and held the fort for twenty-one days until he was thrown out by members of the police force. It was also from a window in this building that Gleason, after his election in 1896, made a speech that caused him to be sued for libel by former Police Captain Woods, in which the captain was successful, and he got a judgment which Gleason refused to pay, and upon which Woods succeeded in having a body execution issued against Gleason that confined him for a year to the jail limits of Queens County.

At many of the meetings of the old Common Council and the Board of Education there were such lively discussions that fights occurred, in several of which prominent citizens received serious physical injuries.

That Gleason. He was a pip.

Yet Another Breakthrough in Brooks 1890 Restaurant?

Writing in in response to my recent breakthrough in the ongoing historical mystery of Long Island City's Brooks 1890 Restaurant, Ian Schoenherr delivers a hell of a piece of information. Read:

This building seems to answer to descriptions of Long Island City's old City Hall building. The New York Times for May 30, 1902, states: "The old City Hall is a four-story double brick building, covering two full lots, at the corner of Jackson and Anable Avenues. It was vacated about a year after consolidation." Anable Avenue is now the part of Court Square that borders one side of Brooks 1890 Restaurant. And the Times for May 25, 1910, says:

"

Martin Heilbut and Herman Kleefeld of Long Island City have secured a lease of the old Long Island City municipal building, at the corner of Jackson Avenue and Anable Street, adjoining Court House Square.

"The building is historic as the old City Hall of Long Island City, and it was the theatre of action of the late Patrick Jerome Gleason and the other officials of the old Long Island City just prior to consolidation. The property belongs to Dr. James T. Trask [sic: probably Dr. James D. Trask].

"Under the lease, which is for a term of twenty-one years, the Long Island City men get possession not only of this building but of a lot adjoining the same on Jackson Avenue and and another fronting on Court House Square. These lots will be improved by the lessees."

The building also appears to have been known now and then as "Temple Court" and its address is variously listed as 250-52 Jackson, 250-252 Jackson, and 252 Jackson. It was also the sometime home or meeting place of the Queens County Bar Association, the Topographical Bureau of the Borough of Queens, the George A. Just Company, the Village Athletic Club, the Brooklyn Heights Railroad Company, the Queens Boro Board of Trade, the Bureau of Street Openings, etc.

The Queens County Plumbers Union met at "Kleefeld's Hall" at 252 Jackson (c.1925) and the Times mentions an incident at "Kleefeld's Saloon" (December 22, 1914). Perhaps the "K" was for Herman Kleefeld, co-lessee of the property? Then again, the Times article of May 30, 1902, mentions that James Kennedy, "a well known sporting man," was also connected with the place. And "N" is still MIA...

Holy shit! I'll let you know as I find out more about Long Island City's most mysterious old building.

Moreover, I found this shot of the building when it used to be the Court Square Restaurant.

Breakthrough in the Brooks 1890 Restaurant Mystery

History bloggers, myself included, have long been confounded by Long Island City's Brooks 1890 Restaurant, a purportedly old eatery on Court House Square that seems to have no traceable history. Who founded it? What was it like in the old days? What do the "K" and "N" in the stained-glass canopy behind the bar stand for? Nobody knows, not even the current owners.

Well, a reader recently wrote in with a critical piece of information. Before Mr. Brooks (actually Bill "Brooks" Gounaris) bought the place in the 1970s and slapped his name on the joint, the place was called Court Square Restaurant. Armed with that tidbit, I was able to do some new research. Here's what I found. It was called that as early at the 1920s. In 1928, the restaurant was the site of the, um, the Queensboro Kennel Club monthly dog show. Same happened in 1929 and on and on. No DOH back then, I guess. Weird. The Queensboro Kennel Club are spoken of as a very "progressive organization."

OK, it's not much, but it's something. The search continues.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Brooks 1890 Restaurant?"

With Brooks 1890 Restaurant in Long Island City, the "Who Goes There?" feature I write for Eater ventures for the first time into Queens. (Manhattan has been covered fairly well, so far; Brooklyn has been the focus twice; The Bronx and Staten Island not at all. Suggestions are welcome!)

Few old New York restaurants look more like a movie set than Brooks 1890. One can easily imagine Big Tim Sullivan, smoking a big cigar, adjusting his derby, his huge stomach straining against a fine tweed vest, walking through the entrance and down the stairs of the boxy, red-brick building.

For whatever reason, Brooks 1890 has never been as celebrated, or even noticed, as much as its fellows of the same basic era—Peter Luger, Old Homestead, Keen's, P.J. Clarke's. You can barely find much evidence it even exists on the Internet. It has no website, and, in this day of Menupages and the like, there's no copy of its bill of fare on the web. Curious.

Here's what I found out:

Who Goes There? Brooks 1890 Restaurant

On approach, Brooks 1890 Restaurant can look like the Last Restaurant on Earth, so lonely and isolated does it appear on its dark corner of Long Island City’s Jackson Boulevard. But sitting inside, looking at the grand Long Island City Court House, clearly visible through the windows, and watching the commuters emerge from and descending into the 23rd St/Ely Avenue stop of the E and V lines—which lies directly alongside the north end of the building—one can imagine how, decades ago, this dark-wood bar and eatery reigned as the designated chop house of back-room Queens politics.

It still gets its share of jurists and local union officials, but they come mainly for lunch, when the trade is enough to fill out the larger dining room accessible through a door to the left of the bar. (There is a “Jurist’s Special” at lunch.) At dinnertime, the lights are switched off in that room, and the place is quiet as a graveyard, with a few loyal customers eating solo, and a handful of regulars holding up the bar. Traffic dies down so, that most nights, Brooks rolls up the sidewalk around 8 PM (though the management doesn’t complain if some wish to hang out a little longer).

The bill of fare is simple—burgers, sandwiches, Italian dishes, various cuts of meat. Portions are generous and prices are reasonable. The only exotic aspect of the menu is the offer to prepare any meat dish “Brooks style.” This involves the deployment of plenty of onions, oregano and lemon, and is not a bad way to embellish your dish. There’s also a “Bobby Burger” (fried onions, bacon and blue cheese), named after a frequent diner who likes his patties that way.

The bar room has all the Gilded Age touches you’d expect from a joint founded in 1890—tile floor, tin ceilings (painted a unique and engaging combination of ochre and sagebrush), touches of stained glass—but is more snug that is usually the case. The slightly elevated, L-shaped dining area is separated from the bar by a series of dark wooden pillars. The walls are unusually free of the typical historical paraphernalia you see in these sort of places—no plaques or old photos; just one newspaper clipping.

Which brings up to the most frustrating aspect of Brooks 1890 Restaurant. Its origins are an unsolved case, one which nobody working there seems very keen on cracking. Mr. Brooks (actually Bill "Brooks" Gounaris) bought the place in the 1970s and stuck his name everywhere—on the sign hanging from the building, even on the sidewalk outside the entrance. But what went on in the place during the 70 years before that is anybody’s guess. The letters “K” and “N” are part of a beautiful, stained-glass canopy behind the bar. These likely stand for the last names of the founders of the restaurant, but nobody knows who “K” and “N” were.
Did they serve pork chops “K & N Style”? Could be.
—Brooks of Sheffield