Built in 1890 at a reported cost of $40,000, the original building at 258 St. Nicholas Ave. was a storage warehouse owned by the O'Reilly family. Designed by architect Cornelius O'Reilly himself, the warehouse dominated the landscape of West Harlem, establishing what the Landmarks Preservation Commission referred to as "a prominent visual terminus on the vista" in a 1980's survey of Harlem's historical sites. The New York Times later reported that the O' Reilly family sold the building in 1959, once the Dwyer company was using it as a furniture warehouse. After the sale, the building reportedly fell into disuse, ultimately reverting to the City of New York for taxes.

Photos taken before its demolition portray the nine-story building in all its glory - staggered walls of yellow stone with red and orange brick surrounds setting off the doorways and parts of the roof. A sharp angled bay window on the street corner rose over the building to a turret. Aaron Donovan, of New York transportation blog Startsandfits.com, described the building as a reminder of "a time, before the automobile made buildings things to be whizzed passed at 40 miles per hour, that people cared enough about the places where they lived to decorate them so lovingly." But the same photos also show a rusty metal frame rising from where the roof once stood, and cinder blocks covering the now broken windows. By the early 1980s, the warehouse had been neglected for years, making it dangerous for families in the neighborhood.

The developers intend for the modern complex to be "an exhilarating reinvention of the original," as described in their prospectus. To this end they've attempted to retain some elements of the historic architecture in the new structure. Although the warehouse was completely demolished before the new foundations were laid, sketches of the completed building depict hexagonal windows on the corner, nearly identical to those of the original construction. The architects have also adopted a similar red brick design. The exposed walls of yellow stone are replaced wholesale with sheets of glass to let more light into the lofts, but a portion of the original facade remains intact and, as site supervisor Frank explains, will be "stitched" into the new front of the building. In another nod to the original design, the planned complex is the same height as the warehouse, with a new tenth story roof deck for residents in place of the original courtyards.

But, for all the planning that has gone into it, renovations on the site have been slow-going over the last 20 years. Blue scaffolding has walled off the corner of 123rd Street and St. Nicholas Avenue since at least the beginning of 2002. Earlier attempts at renovation led to disaster when 90 people, including police officers from the nearby 28th precinct, were exposed to fumes from a chemical fire in April 1985, reported the New York Times. Then, in April 2002, with Cross' men hard at work, tragedy struck again. Construction worker Modesto Olivo Sr., 53, tumbled to his death from the seventh story to the basement when the floor collapsed above him, The Associated Press reported.

This last incident was a turning point for the development. Cornelius remembers, "The building had been an eyesore for years, and when it collapsed unexpectedly, everyone felt something needed to be done." Efforts to landmark and register the building as a historic site, begun in the 1980s, were quickly abandoned. After a series of legal actions and emergency demolition of the entire structure by the City of New York, Johns says work on the condos began again at the beginning of 2006. The site supervisor says that work is now going "full steam ahead" and is expected to finish by June 2007. Johns adds that the building, marketed largely by word of mouth alone, is already selling itself.

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Arnold Torrence, 43, owner of Althea's Lounge next door to the new development, starts his evening behind the long wood bar, setting out his Coronas in a row and slicing lemons. He moves over to the plasma screen at the other end of the bar, fiddling with the volume until the CBS news anchor's voice is just drowned out by the R&B music blasting from his stereo. He's getting ready for his buddies - regulars at the bar who refer to it fondly as their own version of "Cheers," where everybody always comes in with a good attitude, patron Noah explains as he chats away to Torrence about his lunch.

Ask Torrence about his new neighbors, though, and he has nothing much to say until Don W., a third generation Harlem native, takes over for him. Between gulps of his Silver Patron, Don explains that he's got nothing against change or development. He thinks they're "wonderful things." But he's very concerned about the generations of Harlem families that are being "eliminated" by the movement. He worries that the change will "push people out by force" instead of allowing them a "good chance" to stay if they wish. Torrence agrees with Don, but, referring to the new condos, eventually adds, "It'll be good for business." Herein lies the double edged sword of what some label Harlem's Second Renaissance, while others - namely, Harlem historian Michael Henry Adams - decry it as a "hurricane of greed," responsible for displacing hundreds of black Americans from the neighborhood. On the one hand, there is the dislocation of long time residents, and on the other, an improved economy that supposedly works in everyone's favor.

But, John Cross seems to have dodged this criticism of his project by making some key choices about how his building is built and targeted. Not only has he attempted to retain some of the original elements in its construction, but the construction of a non-profit theater space in the building in deference to Harlem's artistic heritage truly involves the community in the building, Cornelius says. She admits the loft concept is new in Harlem - a neighborhood largely made up of four story turn-of-the-century townhouses. But, she explains, this could set an example for other developments in the neighborhood by encouraging projects that serve Harlem's re-emerging arts community. The thought certainly seems timely, what with the re-opening of such legendary jazz venues as Minton's Playhouse, located a few blocks from the new building.

Perhaps most importantly, Cross took the ultimate step of putting together a team of locals to help him fulfill his vision. According to Cornelius, Cross himself is from Harlem, as is Johns, his chosen real estate agent. This carefully molded team flies in the face of other projects in the area which reportedly did not use any African American firms in their work.

In addition, the prices for individual condominium units are across a broad spectrum - from $377,000 for an alcove studio to $1.3 million for the penthouse - Johns says. By opening up the condominiums to the market instead of setting income caps or other similar measures, Cross ensures a mix of people and uses for his space. Cornelius explains, "A lot of people don't fit in the market of low income and would like to remain in or move back to Harlem, and those opportunities should be afforded to them as well." This is precisely what is happening, Johns says. She explains that a number of the buyers are longtime residents of Harlem - mostly attorneys, doctors and entertainers - who would like to live in a loft space but stay in the same neighborhood.

Cross' building is coming into it's own in area finally, as the BBC puts it, "on an upswing." And his careful and considered development of the Dwyer Warehouse seems to have charmed even his most reluctant neighbors. For whoever you talk to, even those not officially hired to market the condos, will give you the hard sell if you ask about them. Torrence's nephew, Eric, will advise you in all solemnity that you'd better buy your unit now, before the prices go up once they're built. Cornelius will tell you that the condos are "well worth it." The charm of his third attempt is still going strong for John Cross, whose many years of hard work on this historic site are finally starting to pay off.