The Lost E. H. Harriman Mansion - 1 East 69th Street

The house before alterations; its entrance was within the portico on 69th Street.  To the right is the carriage house.  The similar mansion to the left was built in 1882, designed by C. W. Clinton.  King's Views of New York City, A.D. 1903 (copyright expired)

Builders Peter and Francis Herter arrived in New York City from Germany where, according to The New York Times years later, Peter had been "the richest builder on the banks of the Rhine."  The brothers established Herter Brothers--a business name that would cause confusion to this day because of the well-known interior decorating firm, Herter Brothers, flourishing at the same time.

The architectural firm of Herter Brothers made their mark in New York by designing scores of tenement buildings; theirs being a bit more ornamented than the norm.  But in 1879 it was anything but a tenement they produced.  On July 3, 1880 The Real Estate Record & Guide wrote "The residence of Mr. David Dows, (Herter Bros., architects) is a double house, fifty feet front."

The massive brick and brownstone mansion sat at the north east corner of Fifth Avenue and 69th Street.  Its entrance on the side street gave it the address of No. 1 East 69th.  Four stories tall plus a full-story mansard (oddly without any windows), the house featured slightly protruding bays at the first floor which supported stone balconies at the second, arched pediments, Corinthian pilasters and a portico with stairs on either side.

Born on November 9, 1814, David Dows came from a family of farmers.   His ancestors had first settled in Massachusetts in 1630.  He left the family farm at the age of 20 to come to New York City.  Hired as a clerk by commission merchant Ira B. Cary, he learned the business, became a partner, and upon the death of the two senior partners, took over the firm, renaming it David Dows & Co.

The New York Times said later "In a comparatively few years David Dows amassed a great fortune, and his firm was both powerful and famous the world over."  He was among the organizers of the Produce Exchange and the Corn Exchange Bank; was a director in the New-York Elevated Railroad and the Metropolitan Elevated Railway; and in June 1878 he was elected five president of the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad.  Dows and his wife, the former Margaret Wercester, had seven children, several of them married by now.

 David and Margaret filled the mansion with costly artworks, perhaps most notably Frederic Edwin Church's large painting The Heart of the Andes.

Church's The Heart of the Andes created a sensation when it was first exhibited.  Metropolitan Museum of Art

Despite their splendid mansion and sumptuous summer estate, Charlton Hall, in Hastings-on-Hudson, the Dows name rarely appeared in society columns; other than to mention that the couple had attended a wedding or other fashionable event.

Charlton Hall -- from the collection of the Irvington Public Library

In March 27, 1890 a headline in The New York Times was far more dire:  "DAVID DOWS DYING."  The article began "At a late hour last night the physical condition of Mr David Dows was not such as to afford the family much hope for his recovery...The worst is feared, and all the family are at the residence of the sick man at Fifth-avenue and Sixty-ninth-street."

Symptoms of the now-retired mogul's illness had appeared a week earlier as a series of chills.  Little by little he worsened until doctors diagnosed him with a "complication of ills the most pronounced being a very severe affection of the kidneys."  The newspaper ended its report saying that the 75-year old was "reputed to be many times a millionaire."

Indeed he was.  Following his death three days later, the newspaper reported "His estate is estimated at $18,000,000."  That amount would translate to half a billion dollars today.

The funeral, held in the Dows mansion on April 2, was attended by some of the most powerful figures in politics and industry.  Among them were the former Secretary of the Treasury, Charles S. Fairchild, John Sloane, Henry O. Armour, Darian O. Mills, Samuel Babcock and Roswell P. Flower (who would become New York Governor two years later).

Margaret remained in the house.  David, Jr., who was living in Irvington, New York at the time of his father's death, moved back into the mansion.  Also living with in the house with their mother were Tracy, who was attending Harvard, and Mary .

Margaret died in her home on February 3, 1909.  Her will left large bequests to numerous philanthropies, including the Children's Aid Society, the New York Homeopathic Medical College and Hospital, and the Daisy Fields Hoe and Hospital.

A little over a year before Margaret Dows's death, Edward Henry Harriman had purchased the plot at the northeast corner of Fifth Avenue and 52nd Street.  But the millionaire banker and railroad executive seems to have had second thoughts about building a mansion in the neighborhood which was quickly being taken over by commerce.  On April 13, 1907 the Record & Guide pointed out that "no plans have been prepared or architect selected for a $2,000,000 residence...It was stated that no immediate improvement of this corner has yet been determined"

The delay might also have been influenced by another ongoing project.  At the time of the article, Harriman and his wife, the former Mary Williamson Averell, were focused on the design and construction of their summer mansion, Arden House, on their 40,000-acre estate near Turner Village, New York.  Designed by Carrere & Hastings, construction had begun in 1905 and would go on for several more years.

The Harrimans had five children, Mary, Henry Neilson, Cornelia, Carol, William Averell (who was known by his middle name and went on to become Under Secretary of State), and Edward Roland Noel.  Prospects of the Harrisons building on the 52nd Street corner came to an abrupt end when, two months after Margaret Dow's death, the couple purchased No, 1 East 69th Street and the abutting house on Fifth Avenue.  The Record & Guide explained that they intended "to unit the two properties into the site for a new residence."

But once again, the Harrimans rethought the idea.  Instead society architect Grosvenor Atterbury and with Julian L. Peabody as associate architect were brought in to update and remodel the Dows mansion.  The plans, filed on June 12, 1909, called for replacing the mansard with a new fifth story (a feature of which, when finished, will be the sun parlor," noted The Times), removing the portico and remodeling the entranceway.  The New York Times added "A new ornamental bay to light the library will be built at the second story and have a window seat.  All the present gas fixtures for lighting the large rooms will be replaced with electric chandeliers and brackets, the wires in various instances being laid in open conduits."

E. H. Harriman emerges from his carriage on East 33rd Street.  In the background is the 71st Regiment Armory.  photo from the collection of the Library of Congress

The renovations cost $40,000--just over $1.1 million today.  The Harrimans were not in New York when The Times article was published.  E. H. Harriman had suffered immense stress over the past year--battling law suits, the government, and labor organizations.  On June 8. 1909 The New York Times reported he had landed in Plymouth, England on the Kaiser Wilheim II and "declined to discuss the question of attempting to float in Europe a $150,000,000 bond issue for his railway linen."  A hint of problems within the article went unnnoticed by most readers.  "He will afterward go to Vienna to consult a medical expert, and intends to spend three months in Europe."

Within two weeks reporters took a closer look at his condition, saying he was in Austria "taking the cure," although his doctors said he suffered only from "a nervous ailment."  Frequent articles appeared in the American papers, always saying he was "resting" but feeling better.   On August 21 The Times reported on his treatment by the Viennese specialists: bed rest, special foods every two hours, sun baths, and "when there is no sunshine, champagne baths are to be substituted."

All the while construction continued on the two homes back home.  On August 11, 1909 The Times reported that Arden, although not yet completed, "would be in shape for [Harriman] and his family to move into early next week when he returns from abroad."  In fact only 12 of the 150 rooms had been completed.

Seen from above, it is easy to understand why construction on Arden House lasted years. photo The Wall Street Journal August 5 2010 

The Harrimans landed in Jersey City on August 24.  Their special train car took the family to Arden where the millionaire was transferred to an limousine which had been specially outfitted with train wheels.  It followed the private tracks up the steep slope and directly into the basement of the mansion.  Accompanying the family was the Viennese doctor who had been treating him.  The estate's 600 employees stood in formation at the bottom of the hill to greet their employer.

It was not until after his death, on September 9, that the Austrian physicians revealed that he had been battling stomach cancer.  The following day Adolf Struempell admitted "I could not, of course, communicate this diagnosis to private inquirers, but I informed Mr. Harriman's American physicians of it and that the conditions did not indicate that an operation was hopeless.  I hastened Mr. Harriman's departure homeward."

The Times reported that his estate was valued at "more than $100,000,000."  It was, in fact, more in the neighborhood of $247 million--a staggering $6.8 billion today.

Atterbury and Peabody's renovations to the former mansard are evident.  photograph from the collection of the Library of Congress

Mary was emotionally devastated by her husband's death.  In his 2000 The Life and Legend of E. H. Harriman, Maury Klein wrote "Crushed by grief, she languished in the seclusion at Arden, the huge estate in the Ramapo Mountains of New York that Henry had not lived to complete.  Then, in January 1910, she confided to friends that she was ready to take up life again."

The village of Turner, incidentally, was renamed Harriman in honor of their most famous resident.

The widow's reemergence into public life came gradually.  On May 5, 1910 The New York Times reported that daughter Mary was engaged to Charles Cary Rumsey; but added "Mrs. Harriman was not prepared yesterday at her home, 1 East Sixty-ninth Street, to make an announcement of the matter, but a formal statement is expected to be made to-day."

The hesitation may have been only partly because of Mary's emotional condition.  There is some evidence that she felt her daughter was marrying below her station.  While Rumsey had had a rather privileged upbringing, he had turned to sculpture rather than business for his life's work.

The Times explained he had met Mary four years earlier at the races.  "Later he undertook some work at Mr. Harriman's new house at Arden.  He was up there a good deal, and so got on intimate terms with the family."  The article noted "At Mrs. Harriman's house yesterday all inquires on the subject of the engagement were disregarded.  Mrs. Harriman refused to see reporters and set out word through her butler that their questions would be answered to-day."  A servant quickly asked the reporter "Has it got into the papers?"

The alterations to the mansion were, of course, completed by now.  Mary brought back Grosvenor Atterbury and Julian L. Peabody in February to update the carriage house.  The plans called for new walls, windows, stairs, and elevator shaft.  The $10,000 in renovations would equal about $266,000 today.

Behind the mansion was the substantial carriage house.  To the left is the garden gate and a slice of the conservatory.  photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

Mary turned her focus to charitable works.  She carefully read each of the "begging letters" that came in, asking for help from her massive inheritance.  She generously supported institutions like the Boys' Club and medical facilities; while, as noted by Maury Klein, "she gave not a dime to any cause that did not interest her personally."

Living with her mother in the Fifth Avenue mansion were Carol, 10-year-old Edward (who was known as E. Roland), and Averell.  The family population was increased in 1911 with the addition of Laddie, a West Highland Terrier.  The luxurious surroundings of the grand home could not compete with the dog's instinctual urges and on November 14, 1912 he made a break for Central Park.

Two days later The Times reported that Mary Harriman had "appealed to the police" to help find the wayward pup.   The article said he was last seen "headed at full speed for Central Park.  Its green stretches are right across the avenue from his home."  Mary worried that "although Laddie is a year old, that night was the first he ever spent out."

Mary was honored when her granddaughter, the first child of Mary and Charles Cary Rumsey, was given the name Mary Averell Harriman Rumsey.  The christening was held in the Fifth Avenue mansion in April 1914.

The following year in September Averell married Kitty Lanier Lawrance and moved his bride into his mother's Fifth Avenue house.  Perhaps not to be outdone by his sister and brother-in-law, he and Kitty named their firstborn Mary Averell Harriman.

Somewhat surprisingly, Mary opened her mansion to the public on May 1, 1916 for an exhibition and sale of Edward Willard Deming's native American themed paintings, bronzes and decorative panels.  The exhibition lasted several days.

In February 1915 E. Roland, then 19 years old, suffered appendicitis.  His mother instructed doctors William G. Lyle and George E. Brewer to perform the operation in the mansion.  On February 26 The Times reported "The young man withstood the ordeal well and is rapidly regaining his health."

Mary Harriman routinely hosted lectures; either in connection with social issues or for her many charities.  On April 4, 1915, for instance, she hosted a "Conference in French by Jules Bois of Paris," and on December 12, 1916 The Times reported that "The Committee for Men Blinded in Battle held a meeting yesterday afternoon at the hoe of Mrs E. H. Harriman...to hear a report by Miss Winifred Holt, President of the Executive Committee in France, who returned here recently for a short visit."

The side of the Harriman house (right) faced Fifth Avenue.  The closer residence at No. 881 Fifth Avenue is the Adolph Lewisohn mansion.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Two weeks later E. Roland's engagement to Gladys C. C. Fries was announced.  The Sun reported "Socially prominent persons in New York are much interested in the engagement."  The last of the Harriman children to marry would be Carol, whose engagement to R. Penn Smith, Jr. of Philadelphia was announced in June 1917.

As the country became embroiled in world war, Mary's focus, like that of so many other socialites, turned to relief work.  On January 7, 1919 the Women's Advisory Committee of The War Camp Community Service met at No. 1 East 69th Street.  A report that afternoon noted that the group had found sleeping accommodations for more than 1 million uniformed men passing through the city the previous year.

Although she was nearly 70 years old, Mary Harriman managed to maintain her social activities.  On January 16, 1920 she gave "a small dinner" for 150 guests in honor of Roland and his wife.  One society columnist noted "It was for young people, chiefly debutantes."

Mary seems to have been frequently visited by her daughters.  Following an appendicitis operation in August 1920, Mary Rumsey recouperated at her mother's home.   On April 4, 1921 The New York Herald reported that "Mr. and Mrs. R. Penn Smith, Jr., who have been passing several weeks at the home of her mother, Mrs. E. Henry Harriman...have gone to their house at East Williston, L.I." and on October 31 that year the same newspaper noted "Mrs. Charles Cary Rumsey is at the home of her mother, Mrs. E. Henry Harriman, 1 East Sixty-ninth street."

The following year, on September 21, 1922 Charles Cary Rumsey was a passenger in an automobile traveling on the Jericho Turnpike.  It smashed into a stone abutment, throwing Rumsey from the car and almost instantly killing him.  Mary Rumsey moved back to No. 1 East 69th Street with her mother.

Mrs. E. H. Harriman in 1927.  photo from the collection of the Library of Congress.

She presented one of her husband's works, a statue of Francisco Pizarro to the Spanish town of Trujillo, where Pizarro was born.  In recognition, the King of Spain ordered that she be decorated with the Royal Order of Isabella the Catholic.  The ceremony took place in the Harriman mansion on June 25, 1930.  Mary was presented the decoration by Don Alejandro Padilla y Bell, the Spanish Ambassador to the United States.

A view from 69th Street towards Central Park shows both the carriage house (in the middle of the frame) and the mansion.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

On the night of November 7, 1932 the 81-year-old Mary Averill Harriman died in the New York Hospital after a brief illness.  Two years later in May 1934 a days-long auction was held of her furnishings, artworks, and silver.  Among the items sold were an early 18th century Aubusson tapestry, sets of George III and George IV silver flatware and a George II silver pierced cake basket.

The house as it appeared in 1932.  The mansion on the southwest corner have been demolished for an apartment building.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The chance of survival for the gargantuan mansion during the 1930's was slim at best.  Yet it survived until 1947 when it and the house next door were demolished to be replaced by Emery Roth's last work--880 Fifth Avenue--which survives.

photo via Streeteasy.com

The Lost Vanderbilt Triple Palace, 5th Ave and 51st Street

William H. Vanderbilt's mansion (left) shared an entrance vestibule with the home of daughter Margaret Fitch.  Emily Vanderbilt Sloane's home was entered on 52nd Street (right) photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the New York Public Library

In 1878 the Vanderbilt family was busy changing the face of Fifth Avenue.  Cornelius Vanderbilt II began construction of his massive brick and limestone palace at the southwest corner of 57^th Street, plans were underway for three mansions for the William Henry Vanderbilt family between 51^st and 52^nd Streets, and the following year William Kissam Vanderbilt’s wife, Alva, would engage Richard Morris Hunt to start work on the “Petite Chateau” on the northwest corner of 52^nd Street.  By the turn of the century this section of Fifth Avenue would be familiarly known as “Vanderbilt Row” or, with a touch of sarcasm, “Vanderbilt Alley.”

William Henry Vanderbilt’s idea was an interesting one.  He would erect three near-matching homes, one for himself and wife Maria Louisa Kissam, and two for his daughters, Margaret and Emily.  (Margaret had married Elliott Fitch and Emily was now Mrs. William Douglass Sloane.)  John Butler Snook is routinely credited with the design of the harmonious mansions, since his name appeared on the plans filed with the Department of Buildings.  He may be getting more credit than is deserved, however.

According to author Wayne Craven in his Gilded Mansions: Grand Architecture and High Society, an executive of Herter Brothers complained to the editors of an architectural journal on April 11, 1886 “It is a matter of record…that Herter Brothers were the architects of [Mr. Vanderbilt’s house]…and are the only persons responsible for the designs, both of the exterior and the interior…We might add that of the two gentlemen named by you, Mr. Atwood was employed by our firm at the time as a draughtsman and Mr. Snook by Mr. Vanderbilt as general superintendent.”

That argument may never be settled; however two years after construction began, the Triple Palace at Nos. 640 and 642 Fifth Avenue, and No. 2 West 52^nd Street, was completed.  Vanderbilt had originally envisioned the grand Italian Renaissance palazzos clad in gleaming white marble.  In the end, the less glamorous brownstone was used instead.  Some historians feel that an aging Vanderbilt changed his mind when he realized that he may not have that many years left to enjoy his house.  Using the easily obtainable brownstone would significantly speed the construction process.

Art and architecture critic Helen W. Henderson had another opinion.  In 1917 she offered that he “stipulated that the material should be white marble, then greatly in vogue; but Vanderbilt owned a quarry of brownstone and the native produce was employed.”

More than 600 construction workers and 60 European sculptors and craftsmen had labored on the triple mansion.  William’s and Margaret’s homes were entered via a common centered courtyard.  Emily’s entrance faced 52^nd Street.  The daughters’ homes, sharing a plot the same size as their father’s, were necessarily about half the size of their parents’ 58-room house.  For occasions of elaborate entertaining, their adjoining mansions were constructed so the drawing rooms could be opened into a single, enormous ballroom.

William K. Vanderbilt's "Petite Chateau" can be seen across 52nd Street to the north (right).  photo by Byron Co. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQ4RZN1&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Unlike William Kissam’s and Cornelius’s chateaus with their towers and turrets and ornamented gables; the houses of the Triple Palace were restrained and dignified in comparison--which is not to say they did not abound with ostentatious decoration.

As the mansions neared completion in 1881 Vanderbilt addressed a potential problem.  He would have no stumbling of dainty feet on the paving stones as high-class visitors moved from their carriages to the entrance.  On August 6 The New York Times reported that “What is claimed to be the largest pavement stone ever quarried in the United States, is now resting upon blocks in front of the main entrance of William H. Vanderbilt’s new house.”  The 25 foot, 2 inch long stone was 15 feet wide and 8 inches thick.  It weighed over 22 tons.  With no seams between his paving stones, Vanderbilt did not have to worry about embarrassing and dangerous tripping.

Tucked away on the 51st Street side was Wm. Henry's glass and metal conservatory.  photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

The families moved into the homes in January 1881; although they would not be totally finished until 1883.  Work on furnishing the mansions and completing the ornamental details would go on around the Vanderbilts’ home life.  By March 1882 Henry and Louisa felt the mansion was guest-worthy and a housewarming party was held.  Two thousand invitations were sent out by liveried messengers.

The guests that night entered through the covered double vestibule with its mosaic-encrusted walls and stained glass ceiling.  They turned left into William’s doorway and entered interiors intended to astound.  Carved woodwork was inlaid with mother-of-pearl ornamentation; the painted ceiling of the 45-foot long dining room was done in Paris by E. V. Luminais; and the Japanese Room was designed by John La Farge.  Herter Brothers, the preeminent furniture and decorating firm of the day, was responsible for the interior design throughout, including the custom furniture and built-in cabinetry.

photo American Architect & Building News, July 5, 1886 (copyright expired)

In December 1883 the art gallery was ready for showing off.  Vanderbilt sent out 3,000 invitations to “an art reception” and on December 21 The Times reported that “More than 2,500 gentlemen promenaded the parlors of William H. Vanderbilt’s house.”  Considering the large number of visitors and the high value of the bric-a-brac in the mansion, Vanderbilt had a crew of 11 detectives roaming the crowd.  It was a good move on the millionaire’s part.

“They recognized one man in the crowd whom they knew came without invitation, and he was shown to the door.  Early in the evening a few ladies made an attempt to join the company.  They were politely ushered out," reported The Times.

An orchestra played while the guests rifled through the Vanderbilt treasures, and in the dining room Delmonico “served up a collation.”  The Times was a bit astonished at the presumptuous free-wheeling of some art students.  “They took down the books from the shelves of the elegant library, poked the blazing logs on the andirons in the private parlors and wandered at will into the richly furnished bed-chambers.  They handled rare and costly specimens of china and bric-a-brac with reckless audacity, looked inquisitively over the photographs and visiting cards, and commented on the collection of family relics in the sealed glass case.”

Vanderbilt had a printed catalog “bound in old gold” prepared for the event and he personally pointed out to guests whom he personally knew the “gems of art in his picture gallery.”  

Vanderbilt's massive fortune of $200 million would amount to about $5 billion today photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

At the time of the entertainment, Vanderbilt’s health had already begun to fail and was under the care of a physician.  “He had no definite conception of what trouble he was suffering from, though his greatest annoyance came from indigestion,” said The New York Times later.  On December 8, 1885 Vanderbilt rose as usual, at 7:00.  He went about his usual business, including a visit to the studio of sculptor J. Q. A. Ward to sit for a bronze bust.  The day continued as normal with Vanderbilt in the best of spirits and seemingly the best of health.

At 2:20 that afternoon he said in his private study chatting with Robert Garrett, President of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company.  “Mr. Vanderbilt was speaking, when suddenly Mr. Garrett perceived indistinctness in his speech.  The next instant the muscles around his mouth began to twitch slightly.  Then they were violently convulsed.  I another moment the great millionaire’s arms bent under his body, he toppled forward, and pitched headlong toward the floor,” related The Times the following day.

“In a moment bells were ringing and feet were flying in every part of the house.  The butler, the footman, and the other servants were hastening breathless from the basement.  Mrs. Vanderbilt and George W. Vanderbilt, her youngest son, were hurrying, pale with terror, from above.  In a minute all were in the study, where Mr. Garrett was bending over his host’s body.  The ruddy firelight did not light up the pallid features now.  The ghastliness of death was upon them.”

Within five minutes of the massive stroke, William Henry Vanderbilt lay dead on his study floor.

Cornelius and Frederick sat overnight in Vanderbilt’s bedroom where the “body of William H. Vanderbilt, the richest man in the world…rested all Tuesday night in an ice box in his bedroom, which is the second story front room of the Fifth avenue mansion.”  Earlier that day undertaker W. H. Billier fastened rosettes of crepe bearing black silk streamers to the electric bells of the Fifth Avenue and 51^st Street entrances.  “The white curtains of all the windows were pulled down, forming a striking contrast to the rain-soaked brownstone walls,” commented The Sun the following morning.

Among the few admitted to the death chamber other than family members was John Quincy Adams Ward.  The sculptor took a cast of Vanderbilt’s face.  “He said it was a very successful one, and that with its aid, and with photographs he would be able to complete the bust without difficulty,” said the newspaper.

As with all up-to-date mansions of the 1880s, there was an Asian-themed room.  In the Vanderbilt house a reeded ceiling and upper walls, Japanese fans and Oriental bric-a-brac created the ambiance.  photo from the collection of the Library of Congress.

On the morning of December 10, while the pall bearers and close friends of Vanderbilt gathered in the parlors, the family assembled in millionaire’s bedroom for a last look and a brief prayer.  Afterward Louisa was assisted to her own suite, too overcome with grief to attend the funeral service at St. Bartholomew’s Church.  The streets had been cleared of traffic and after the coffin was closed and placed in the hearse, “the carriages began to fall in line before the door.”

The order of the 15 carriages that pulled away from the Vanderbilt mansions was directed by social protocol.  “In the carriage first following the hearse were Cornelius Vanderbilt and wife, with George Vanderbilt.  In the second carriage rode William K. Vanderbilt and wife.  The third vehicle contained J. S. Webb and wife, the fourth Mr. and Mrs W. D. Sloane, and the fifth Mr. and Mrs. Twombly.”  And so on.  A detachment of 180 policemen kept the crowds around the church at bay.

Vanderbilt’s will was read two days later.  He had earlier told his family “The care of $200,000,000 is too great a load for any brain or back to bear.  It is enough to kill a man.  I have no son whom I am willing to afflict with the terrible burden…So when I lay down this heavy responsibility, I want my sons to divide it, and share the worry which it will cost to keep it.”  And indeed the will divided Vanderbilt’s massive estate nearly equally among his children.

As for Louisa, she got a life interest in the Fifth Avenue mansion and an annuity of $200,000 and $500,000 “for disposal by will.”  She remained in the house and “At her death the residence and works of art are to go to George W. Vanderbilt, and at his death to his eldest son, or, should he not have a son, to William H.; or Cornelius, sons of Cornelius, according to their survival.”  Vanderbilt was determined that his mansion and its artworks should remain a Vanderbilt house, “it being the purpose of the testator to convey them to a male descendant of the name of Vanderbilt.”  As for the other two mansions, “His daughters are given the houses in which they live,” said The New York Times on December 13.

In 1894 Munsey's Magazine published a charming illustration of the Vanderbilt homes -- copyright expired.

De facto Manhattan royalty, Margaret and Emily entertained lavishly in their abutting mansions.  On March 19, 1892 The Times commented on a dinner party hosted by Emily.  “One of the most elaborate of the Lenten dinners yet given took place last evening in the oaken dining room of Mrs. Eliott F. Shepard, 2 West Fifty-second Street…In the centre of one [table] was a mound of Madame Cuicine roses, and the embroider of the cloth and the tints of the china and the table settings were pink to match the color of the flowers.  A second table was all in yellow, the flowers being daffodils relieved with some lilies of the valley.  The third table was decorated in deep red, and the flowers used were the rich red meteor roses.  The flowers were from Hodgsons’s conservatories.”

As the marriage of William and Alva’s daughter Consuelo to the Duke of Marlborough in November 1895 neared, the Vanderbilt mansions were thrown open to society.  On November 6 The Times said “Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s residence at 640 Fifth Avenue was opened yesterday afternoon, as were also the houses of Mr. and Mrs. William Douglass Sloane and Mrs. Elliott F. Shepard in the adjoining building.”

The newspaper noted “Mrs. William H. Vanderbilt, the grandmother of the future Duchess of Marlborough, has always made a great pet of Miss Consuelo Vanderbilt, who has also been a favorite with her uncles, aunts, and cousins.  All her relatives desire to make her wedding day as bright as possible.”

It would be among the last great events that Louisa Vanderbilt would see.  Exactly a year later, on November 9, 1896, the Vanderbilt mansion was hung with black crepe.  “The residence of Mrs. Vanderbilt, at the corner of Fifty-first Street and Fifth Avenue, where the body lay, was besieged all day yesterday by friends and acquaintances of Mrs. Vanderbilt, but her sons denied themselves to all except close friends,” said The Times that day.

As intended by his father, George W. Vanderbilt took over the massive mansion.  In the meantime, Margaret shut the doors of No. 642 Fifth Avenue for a long mourning period.  It was not until Valentine’s Day 1898 that she began entertaining again.  It was a cotillion for the Sloane’s second daughter, Lila.  “Mrs. Sloane has only just come out of mourning for the death of her mother, Mrs. William H. Vanderbilt,” remarked The New York Times, “and her function of last night was the first to which she has bidden society for a long time.  It was a dinner dance, and the most notable affair of the kind this season.”

Eighty “well-known and fashionable people” filed into the mosaic-paved inner court.  To ensure that they did not mistakenly turn to George’s mansion, Margaret stationed “a retinue of liveried servants…in the Sloane side of this court.”  The Times said they “formed a human path through whose rows of dark plush breeches the prospective revelers might find their way.”  Emily’s and Margaret’s drawing rooms were thrown open “and a better ballroom was thus secured than the Sloane picture gallery would have made,” said the newspaper.

In 1905 George negotiated a 10-year lease on No. 640 with Henry Frick.  According to The New York Times later, Frick “spent thousands of dollars in alterations, eliminating the garden in front and adding a massive entrance.”  The steel man paid $100,000 in rent, “making this Vanderbilt house the most costly private residence under lease in the city,” said The Times.  Frick could afford the rent.  In 1910 he hung Frans Hals’s “Portrait of a Woman” on the wall here.  He paid art dealers Knodler & Co. more than $140,000 for it—about $3.3 million by today’s standards. 

Among Frick's "improvements" was the closing of the open courtyard.  By 1923 when this photograph was taken, soaring business buildings were closing in.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQ4RZN1&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

By now the grand mansions of this section of Fifth Avenue were being converted for business or simply being razed.  When Henry Frick moved into his new white marble mansion further up the avenue, Cornelius III took over No. 640.  By 1927, when his father’s massive chateau at 57^th Street was demolished, there were no Vanderbilt mansions left on Fifth Avenue other than 640.

But Cornelius III and his wife, Grace, stubbornly stayed put.  Cornelius, a brigadier general, was highly interested in military matters while Grace focused on entertaining and charity events.  Eventually surrounded by business buildings, the couple spurned all offers from developers.  And in the meantime, they entertained not only the highest ranks of military and society, but royalty.   

Cornelius "Neily" Vanderbilt was not only a military officer, but an inventor, yachtsman, inventor and engineer.  photo from the Library of Congress

In 1919 the house was crowded with European titles and wealthy socialites as Grace gave a reception with music for the Queen of the Belgians.  In 1927 it was Prince William of Sweden who was the guest of honor at a reception on January 9.  And in 1927 1,000 guests and a “fleet of officers” were entertained in honor of Rear Admiral Charles F. Hughes.

Cornelius Vanderbilt III died on March 1, 1942.  Although he had sold the Fifth Avenue mansion to William Waldorf Astor estate in 1940, he and Grace remained living there until his death.  Now Grace was forced out.  She moved into the William Starr Miller house at No. 1048 Fifth Avenue. 

On November 22, 1945 The New York Times said the mansion “is fast being demolished by wrecking crews preparing for the erection of a commercial building on the site.”  Three weeks earlier the house had been opened for a public auction of the rooms and interior decorations.  Since then buyers had been removing mirrors, paneled walls, chandeliers, inlaid floors, and mantels.

“Paramount Pictures, Inc., paid $3,500 for the carved panels, mirrors and other fixtures of the ballroom, $975 for those of the dining room and $1,250 for those of the study,” reported the newspaper.  Within days the last of the great Vanderbilt houses on Vanderbilt Row was gone.

photo by the author

The 1887 Eldridge Street Synagogue

photo by Alice Lum

When brothers Peter and Francis Herter founded the architectural firm of Herter Brothers (not to be confused with the interior decorating and furniture firm of the same name), they had already been well established in their native Germany. Upon his arrival in New York in 1884 The New York Times called Peter “the richest builder on the banks of the Rhine.”

The Herters set about designing tenement buildings for the waves of immigrants settling on the Lower East Side. A major departure came when they were awarded the commission to design a grand synagogue at No. 12 Eldridge Street.

By the middle of the 1880s, thousands of poor Eastern European Jews were flocking to the neighborhood. The former Head Rabbi of St. Petersburg was one of the founders of the Congregation K’hal Adath Jeshuran and in 1886 he helped plan for a synagogue in which this new population could worship.

In addition to providing a house of worship, the leaders wanted to show the rest of the city that the oft-maligned Jews of the Lower East Side, too, could produce something monumental and beautiful; something in line with the new St. Patrick’s Cathedral or the imposing Gothic churches of Fifth Avenue.

Historians Henry Stolzman and Daniel Stolzman would later point out “The construction of the Eldridge Strreet Synagogue signaled – both to non-Jews, and to the German Jews who were embarrassed by the poverty and ‘Old World’ manner of the new immigrants—that Eastern European Jews, like their predecessors, could also thrive in America.”

Opened just before the High Holy Days in 1887, the synagogue was a show-stopper. The Herters free-handedly melded Gothic, Moorish and Romanesque styles – four horseshoe-arched entrances were reflected by a gallery of similar windows directly above. A mammoth Gothic Rose window dominated the façade and a series of minaret-like towers rose above the roofline.

The highly-carved oak lecture is fitted with a brass handrail -- photo eldridgestreet.org

Inside the space soared 70 feet upwards to colorful stenciled ceilings. The poor congregants, accustomed to dingy tenements and sweatshops, were surrounded by sumptuous brass lighting fixtures, 68 stained glass windows and carved wood. The velvet-lined ark, which could hold 24 Torah scrolls, was constructed in Italy from solid walnut and inlaid with mosaics.

The barrel-vaulted sanctuary with it brass main chandelier holding 75 bulbs -- photo archpaper.com

The officers of the congregation established rules of decorum and ushers were appointed to enforce them. Upon signing the contract for the sale of seats, the congregants acknowledged that they “must adhere strickly to the rules for maintaining peace and order for the service.” Fines were levied for those interrupting the service by loud talking, late arrival, spitting on the floor and “unclean language.”

In order to enforce the spitting rule, dozens of spittoons were scattered about.

Eight months after its opening, the synagogue was the scene of an impressive memorial service for the German Emperor Frederick III. The temple was filled with mourners and the service was conducted in both English and German as Jews, decades away from the Holocaust, grieved the Emperor’s passing.

The synagogue was used not only as a place of worship, but it anchored the Jewish immigrant community – providing food for the poor, small financial loans, care for the sick, and information on finding employment or housing. Turn of the century Jews, however, were constantly faced with discrimination.

photo by Alice Lum

At a meeting in the synagogue on April 22, 1900 intended to protest immorality and vice in the neighborhood, visiting speaker Professor Adler said “I was talking with the Chief of Police recently and he whispered this in my ear: ‘Do you know who is responsible for the bad moral condition of the city? It’s just you Jews.’”

Through it all the Eldridge Street Synagogue thrived. On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur it was necessary to post police on the street to control the throngs who flocked to the temple. By the 1920s the congregation was composed of over 300 families.

The vice and crime in the neighborhood’s that was so strongly derided by the congregation leaders in 1900 continued into the 20th Century. In 1930 thieves broke into the cellar of the synagogue, making off with antique relics and ceremonial silver items valued at over $2,000.

By the middle of the century, however, the synagogue fell on hard times. The Jewish population of the Lower East Side shrank as young members moved away to more affluent neighborhoods and the elderly died. By the late 1950s the beautiful sanctuary was sealed off and congregants conducted services in the basement.

The main synagogue sat unused for 24 years and, with no maintenance, the hand-stenciled walls and ceilings flaked and water seeped into the plaster. The degraded rear rose window was be replaced with glass blocks, rotting interior staircases were no longer safe to use, and pigeons roosted in the balconies.

The remarkable, restored trompe d oeil murals of cloth hangings can be seen on either side of the ark -- photo eldridgestreet.org

The not-for-profit Eldridge Street Project was formed to save the structure. A non-sectarian group, it initiated a 20-year, $18.5 million restoration. With no vintage photographs to document what the rear rose window looked like, a design by Kiki Smith and architect Deborah Gans was chosen to replace the glass block patchwork. The designers drew on the star motif of the stenciled walls and ceilings to create an artwork of spiraling stars.

The replacement rose window by Kiki Smith and Deborah Gans -- photo eldridgestreet.org

When it was re-opened in 2007, the Eldridge Street Synagogue began a new dual life as a house of worship and a museum. The Museum at Eldridge Street offers tours, concerts, lectures, and school programs.

The synagogue, now restored to its former glory, was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1996.

No. 375 Broome Street -- A Tenement with Dignity

photo by Alice Lum

When Peter Herter came to New York from Germany in 1884 he was, according to The New York Times “the richest builder on the banks of the Rhine.” Herter and his brother Francis established an architectural firm, Herter Brothers (not to be confused with the interior decorating firm of the same name), and set about constructing dignified tenement buildings for immigrants in the Lower East Side.

The Herters approached tenement housing differently that most builders and architects of the time. Peter defended the oft-maligned structures saying “flats, apartments, everything of that kind…from the humblest to the grandest, are, legally speaking, tenement houses.” The more acceptable French flats and apartment buildings rented for $20 or more per month; tenements were less expensive, the humble homes of the working class.

Unlike most other tenement buildings, those designed by the Herters were embellished with ambitious ornamentation, their rooms were generally larger and they offered a bit more self-esteem to the lowly renters.

Such a building was 375 Broome Street, erected around 1890. Using red brick, limestone and terra cotta the brothers produced a visually entertaining façade. Four bays wide, each of the six floors is separated by a stone course and the windows treated differently on each story. Rich terra cotta shells within arches cap the third floor windows, pronounced triangular pediments sit above the two outside windows of the fourth floor while shells without the arches ornament those in the center, and most strikingly large Magen David –or stars of David – set in ornate plaques set off the fifth floor.

photo by Alice Lum

The center two bays are recessed slightly for visual appeal. Two slim free standing Corinthian columns stand on carved stone brackets in the shape of classical heads, supporting a robust, deep pressed metal cornice. Within the cornice a large bust of, presumably, Moses looks out onto the passersby.

The Herters designed two other remarkably similar tenement houses around the same time. Historian and author Oscar Israelowitz explains that the Jewish motifs reflected the purpose of housing Jewish immigrants. The AIA Guide to New York City is less sure, offering Jupiter, Michelangelo, Mazzini and Garibaldi as possible alternative identities of the bust and saying that the stars of David are “commonly found in turn-of-the-century architectural ornament with no Jewish connection.”

photo by Alice Lum


The Jewish connection can be argued when one considers that Peter and Francis designed the elaborate Eldridge Street Synagogue around the same time. However the names of the residents reflect a mixture of backgrounds.

In 1896, Elizabeth Orth was living here when, while talking with a neighbor Rocco Bruno, she was insulted by “a tramp” which resulted in a “rough-and-tumble fight on the sidewalk,” according to the press. By 1910 an Italian restaurant occupied the first floor, run by F. Pigniolo, and among the tenants were Mrs. Amelia Morrita with her son Giuseppe and daughter Antonina, and neighbor Angelina Fenadi.

On November 7 of that year Salvatore Ricco was painting the rear of the restaurant when a gas jet ignited his paintbrush, which he dropped into the paint pot causing a conflagration.  The flames swept up the air shaft to the roof and while a passerby ran to nearby Engine Company 55, a policeman worked to evacuate the residents.

The New York Times reported on the problem of getting Angelina Fenadi to safety. She “was so fat that when she tried to get through the fire escape opening on the fifth floor she stuck fast,” said the newspaper. “Policeman Donohue tried to shove her through but the harder he tried the tighter she stuck. He had to remove several of her garments before he could get her through. A fireman took her to the street on an extension ladder.”

The fire damaged the second and third floors, causing an estimated $10,000 worth of damage.

Throughout the 20th century 375 Broome Street carried on the tradition for which it was built – relatively inexpensive apartments for working class renters. Today the ground floor is home to Quan Sushi and Oro Bakery and Bar and while the multi-cultural neighborhood is much changed since the 1890s, the Herter Brothers richly-decorated tenement building remains nearly unaltered.

The Seventh Regiment Armory - Park Avenue

photo by Ajay Suresh

New York's Seventh Regiment was formed in 1806 when outraged citizens demanded retaliation against the British who blockaded the harbor and fired on American ships, killing a helmsman.  At the time, the city had a population of just over 60,000.  The regiment was called into action just six years later when they marched off to serve in the War of 1812.  It was the Astor Place Riots in 1849, though, that changed the fortunes of the group.

Over 20,000 working class rioters, ostensibly protesting against a British actor appearing at the high class Astor Place Opera House but actually striking out against the upper class, filled Astor Place.  Here, surrounded by the homes of New York's wealthy, they lobbed bricks and rocks, breaking windows and causing panic.

The Seventh Regiment responded, firing into the crowd to quell the disorder and driving away what Harper's Bazaar called "the bleeding rioters, demoralized and defeated."  When it was over 25 were dead and 120 hurt.  The wealthy, however, did not forget their champions.  The Regiment not only became a favorite among New York's elite, they enlisted in force, earning it its nickname "The Silk Stocking Regiment."

Just after a new armory was built for them in 1860 on the Bowery, the Regiment was dispatched to defend Washington DC when it was cut off by rebel forces; it was first volunteer unit called into action in the Civil War.

After the war, it became apparent that the elite group needed a new home.  Not only had the population it guarded migrated north, away from the present armory, but armories had become social clubs as well as drill houses.  The monied members wanted a more impressive space in which to gather.

While the city donated the land at Fourth Avenue (soon to be renamed Park Avenue) between 66th and 67th Streets in 1875, the depression at the time precluded public funding for the building.  Private fund raising was necessary.  Money poured in not only from the likes of Vanderbilt, Lenox and Rhinelander, but from regular citizens and businesses who supported the group they regarded as their protectors.

The money for the building was raised; however there was not enough to pay for the outfitting and decorating of the interior.  As the building was being completed, a lavish indoor fair was organized, opened by President Rutherford B. Hayes on November 17, 1879.  Expensive items were sold such as carriages, organs, boats and even pedigreed house pets.  There were entertainments, an art exhibition, and exotic bazaars.

The New York Times reported that a "peculiarity of the Seventh-Regiment New Armory Fair is that every day the crowd is larger, more enthusiastic, and more liberal in their purchases, and more reckless in their patronage of prize drawings than on any preceding day."



photo NYPL Collection

The money was raised and the elite Seventh Regiment gained a Park Avenue showplace -- the only armory in the United States ever built with only private funding.

Designed by regiment member Charles William Clinton, the armory set the bar for armories to come.  A forbidding fortress-looking structure in red brick and gray granite, it had all the features of a medieval castle:  narrow slits for archers, battlements and 6-inch thick oak doors, protected by a huge bronze gate, wide enough to accommodate four men marching abreast.  A tall, slender open bell tower rose high over the entrance.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

James D. McCabe Jr., in his 1882 New York by Gaslight, described the armory as having "the strength of a fortress and the elegance and comfort of a club-house.  The regimental drill room is 300 by 200 feet in size, and besides this there are ten company drill rooms, an officers' room, a veterans' room, a field and staff room, a gymnasium, and six squad drill rooms."

Clinton's drill room took inspiration from the Grand Central Depot which had the largest unobstructed interior space in the country.  Eleven cast iron trusses -- 127 feet from side to side -- supported the vaulting ceiling.

But the administrative rooms were the hallmark of the armory.  They were designed and furnished by firms like Louis C. Tiffany, Herter Brothers, Pottier and Stymus Manufacturing, Roux and Company, George C. Flint, and A. Kimbel and J. Cabus -- the premier interior design firms of the day.

photograph by John Hall

The interiors were the pinnacle of 19th century taste and materials.  Stained glass, tilework, exotic carved woods, statuary, custom designed furnishings, wallpapers and stenciling, frescoed ceilings -- the armory had it all.

In 1909 the slender bell tower was removed and a fourth floor added.  In 1931 yet another floor was added, changing the proportions of the building.

photographs by John Hall

 

The latter part of the 20th century was cruel to the Armory, which was allowed to fall into disrepair and neglect.  In 2000, the World Monuments Fund listed the Seventh Regiment Armory as one of the top 100 most endangered historical sites in the world.  The irreplaceable rooms were in a serious state of dilapidation.

In 2006 the Seventh Regiment Armory Conservancy was formed and managed to obtain a 99-year lease from the state.  By 2009 $100 million was raised as part of a planned $150 million restoration to save the historic building and its exquisite interiors.

An early postcard view of the Board Room.