By Bob Singleton, Executive Director, Greater Astoria Historical Society
Bodine Castle, once at 43rd Road and Vernon Blvd, was a massive creation, built of granite, with towers and gates mimicking an impregnable fortress, and was, without a doubt, the most eye-catching of the Victorian homes that once lined the waterfront. Inside, a sparkling imported French chandelier, visible from the street, held court over the dining room.
The mansion, built in the spring of 1853 by John H. Williams, was connected to the city street grid with the address at 43-16 Vernon Avenue. The main section was built of rough blocks of granite quarried nearby (perhaps on Roosevelt Island or Burden’s Quarry in modern Queens Plaza). The roof was covered with sheet copper. This large, impressive castle captured the imagination of generations of travelers and journalists particularly, who were fond of ascribing a mysterious antiquity to the place. Stories were told that the architect was supposed to be a mysterious Frenchman who fled the collapse of Napoleon’s Empire.
The true story was that it was built by John A. Bodine, who was born in Columbia Co., New York in 1818, and came to New York City to make his fortune as a wholesale grocer. He was quite successful and was a member of the Board of Trustees of the Long Island City Savings Bank at its founding in 1876. His building spoke of a world of power, prestige, and confidence.
At 43rd Avenue and 10th Street, about two blocks from Bodine Castle, a munitions manufacturer rented a building. Some distance off was the powder magazine from which they drew their supplies. Because of the intense January cold, a hot belly stove was placed in one corner of the little room at 43rd Avenue and 10th Street.
Somehow, highly combustible powder encountered the stove and exploded. The blast reportedly vaporized the building and sent shards of glass into the adjoining mansion’s dining hall, shattering its expensive French chandelier.
After the incident, the dining hall became the mansion’s library. The chandelier was never replaced. The catastrophe aroused a brief flurry of indignation in Ravenswood but was soon forgotten. But some say that at midnight on All Hallows’ Eve, the voices of those who died can yet be heard chanting far into another dimension, in the dim distance from 43rd Avenue and 10th Street.
