Bowery, 1862

In the best tradition of old-timey songs, the history of 315 Bowery is mostly about fixin' to die: "Melancholy Suicide In the Bowery" reads one typical headline from 1881. (Mr. David Bell, age 34, with a bottle of poison.) In 1887, a carpet worker named Alexander Dolle left his home there and threw himself in front of an El train: He got hit so hard that his heart popped out and fell onto the sidewalk below, where it was surrounded by "a morbidly curious crowd." One of the Triangle Shirtwaist victims, 16-year-old Jennie Stellino, slept her last night in 315; so did Bill Rogers, who expired in the front doorway in 1926, only to have his pockets posthumously picked. In 1946 a stranger strode into the building's ground-floor bar, fatally shot a Massachusetts tourist with a single bullet, and without a word melted back into the Bowery.
For a while in the 1890s, the building housed the Old Methusalem Whiskey company, so the address's eventual evolution into an boozy SRO hotel was just as fitting as its drumbeat of melancholia was unsurprising. Just about the only happy news to ever emerge from the address is a Bird Fancier's Annual Exhibition held there in 1862: "First prize, yellow cock, Wm. Mason."

http://www.slate.com/id/2151389