The most secluded (and desired) enclave in NYC
Behind the gates of Grove Court.
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The corner of Grove and Bedford in the West Village is typically not where you find privacy. Whether you’re alongside tourists taking pictures of the beautiful tree-lined streets or (more likely) attempting to get the perfect shot of the Friends building, this intersection is a case study in what the West Village does best: Aspirational living.
But hidden just a few feet away on Grove Street, behind an idyllic wrought iron gate often covered in vines, is another landmark of aspirational living, one that had humble beginnings but is now synonymous with discretion and seclusion. Peer through the gate and there, tucked between an apartment building and the backs of early 19th century townhouses, you’ll see six brick homes around a lovely garden, sheltered from the action of the West Village—the townhouses of Grove Court.
Back in the mid-19th century, before the corner of Grove and Bedford was a social media destination, it was home to the grocery store Cocks & Bowron. In 1848, according to the Landmark Preservation Commission’s designation report, the grocer Samuel Cocks acquired the leaseholds to the yards of 6, 8 and 10 Grove Street from Trinity Church. Samuel Cocks already owned the horse walk alongside No. 10 Grove Street, and that provided street access to this newly patched together plot where he built six townhouses in 1854 for workers, very likely those employed by his grocery store.
As historian Keith Taillon explained to me a few weeks ago, 19th century New York saw a pattern of movement: Manhattan society would migrate uptown, and industry would follow. Workers would then move into the neighborhood to produce for the industry, and the well-to-do would move again. These houses were essentially a product of that uniquely 19th century pattern, which would end in the early 20th century when NYC passed the United States’s first comprehensive zoning package.
When the houses of Grove Court were completed, they did not represent highly coveted real estate. Their details were plain—nothing like the more impressive houses on Grove Street—and their secluded location behind other buildings wasn’t a particular draw. They were just another “backhouse,” a residential structure behind a street-facing building that was common in the neighborhood. Think of them like a 19th century ADU, a way to increase housing density in what was a rapidly growing city. Usually, they are quite diminutive versions of the much fancier street-facing building, but this case involves a quite large, six-structure row. While many backhouses have been demolished over the years, some still stand—there’s one visible just a stone’s throw from Grove Court directly across from the Friends building.
While the moniker of Grove Court didn’t appear until the 1920s, the houses at 10 1/2 Grove Street (it was better for taxes to have them be a single address) did get a few unofficial nicknames. The front garden used to be home to freely roaming pigs, which earned the nickname Pig Alley. Then, as the riverfront economy developed, many tenants became rough and boisterous longshoremen, and the grouping of backhouses became known as Mixed Ale Alley. “One explanation for the term is that the tenants, without money enough to buy a mug of beer, would pour the dregs of several glasses left on the bar or on tables into one container,” explained Tom Miller on his (great) blog Daytonian in Manhattan.
Grove Court as we know it was a product of the early 20th century. “A group of old houses surrounding Grove Court, one of those little known places which add to the charm of Greenwich Village, has been sold by Trinity [Church] Corporation to a syndicate known as the Alentaur Realty Company,” reported The New York Times in June, 1920. “Which proposes to remodel the structures in an attractive manner, with the intention of creating a new home colony there for artists and literary workers.”
At the time, the West Village was a creative haven, as evidenced by the many townhouses in the area that were retrofitted into artist studios with large north-facing lantern windows. What resulted from the Grove Court renovation—besides its name—are details like the fanciful gate, porticos, and new shutters. The townhouses were then sold.
“My mother bought [No. 5 Grove Court] from Trinity Church in 1921,” said architect Alan Robbins to The New York Times in a 1981 article about backhouses. “The house reminded her of Virginia, and the court was the best of all possible worlds, a bit of the country in the city.”
“When they [bought No. 5 Grove Court], the pump in the court still gave clear water from what they think was a branch of old wandering Minetta [Creek],” reported another Times article about the Robbins family’s home at 5 Grove Court, which the family feared was haunted after hearing knocking on the walls around 1 am only to find out that their neighbor was a young Naval officer who liked to bang his smoking pipe out against a party wall.
Although Grove Court had become known for its picturesque charm by the 1950s, it wasn’t immune to the perils of a pre-Landmark Preservation Commission New York City. “Word is out around the neighborhood… that the City Planning Commission is toying with the notion of wiping Grove Court off the map, and some twenty other buildings with it. The report is that the city wants the space for a playground,” Reported The New York Times on December 8th, 1954.
While just the next day, the Times reported that another site was ultimately selected for the playground, thus saving Grove Court from the wrecking ball (could you imagine?), I was struck by how the article described Grove Court, accessed by “an ancient iron gateway.” Please let the record show that this allegedly ancient gate was likely installed ca. 1920. More important, though, is the article’s emphasis on Grove Court’s transportive architecture, likening it to London’s Berkeley Square (lofty!), and its quiet, secluded situation, naming it objectively the quietest place in Manhattan.
“No traffic noises penetrate to the court, none of the city’s hullabaloo. Its nocturnal silences have dimension. Lying in their beds under the ancient rooftops and chimney pots, the tenants get only the heartbreak wail of groping river traffic on foggy nights.”
Having spent 13 years in the city, I always joke that the key to living in New York is to leave regularly. What if returning home, even to the heart of the West Village, offered a respite from this wild city and transported you to an entirely different, dare I say ancient, place and time? “The garden provides an extraordinary sense of refuge from city tensions…There is true serenity here, as much as is to be found anywhere in Manhattan,” reported another Times article from 1980.
Perhaps that’s why Grove Court has lasting appeal, not just for its charming architecture or picturesque garden that sometimes overflows with pumpkins for Halloween. Its unique seclusion has transformed these six backhouses from Pig Alley into multi-million dollar real estate.
No. 5 Grove Court, once the Robbins family home, happens to also be the last house to trade on the open market. It wasn’t sold by the Robbins family—it changed hands a few more times (if my digging on ACRIS is to be trusted) before being sold to a family who fully and sensitively renovated the house. They were profiled alongside No. 5 Grove Court in Architectural Digest in 2003, and they sold No. 5 in September 2012 for a cool $3,400,000.
True to form, the majority of the AD story is about how this charming house is exceptional for its private location and almost England-like vibes1. Looking at the floorplan gives a good sense of just how small these houses really are, which is not all that surprising. The houses of Grove Court were meant to be more practical than impressive. What was a way to shoehorn more housing into an already dense block for the benefit of a business owner has inadvertently spawned one of the most desired places to live in New York City.
But if you don’t have a multi-million dollar budget, fear not: No. 4 Grove Court is broken into rentals, and one apartment came up in 2020, renting for $2,340—a total song, considering today’s rental market. Back when I was first thinking about writing this piece, I asked on Instagram if anyone was connected to a current Grove Court resident. Someone messaged to say they applied for that apartment in 2020, when the New York market was famously quiet and rentals were slow to move. Upon application, they were told the broker had received over 100 other applications, a bit different from another’s recollection of renting on Grove Court in a 1983 article from The New York Times.
In 1948, a young woman arrived in Manhattan from Spokane, Washington. “Take me to the Village,” she said to the taxicab driver.
She roamed the streets near where he let her off and saw a “For Rent” sign on a quaint, red-brick Federal house on Grove Court. She went in, rented an apartment from the mistress of an actor, and lived happily in the Village for several years.
Was anyone else also just filled with a jealous rage? If only it was that easy now!
I love London more than most (I’d move there tomorrow), and while I know there are no shortage of mews townhouses across the pond, I don’t really get London vibes from Grove Court! I get more Philly or Boston vibes, if anything. The mid-19th century brick Federal architecture ruin any chance for UK vibes for me.
Country in the city! J’adore.
Wonderful story, Robert. And impressive research!