The Lost DeWitt Clinton Blair House - 6 East 61st Street

 

American Architect, October 1901 (copyright expired)

DeWitt Clinton Blair was born on September 6, 1833 in Gravel Hill, New Jersey (later renamed Blairstown in honor of his father).  The son of railroad mogul John Insley Blair, he married Mary Anna Kimball on April 21, 1864.   Two of the couple's three sons, Clinton Ledyard and James Insley, survived to adulthood.

At the time of John Insley Blair's death on December 2, 1899 he owned three railroads and was the president or director in more than 20 others.  His wife had died in 1888 and of his four children, DeWitt was the only one still living.  The New-York Tribune reported on his will later that month, saying that John Blair "makes provisions" for his five grandchildren, along with other bequests.  "All the rest of the estate, real and personal, is bequeathed to Dewitt C. Blair."  

The estate, according to the Democrat & Chronical later, amounted to "more than $20,000,000"--in excess of $610 million today.  The gargantuan amount expectedly prompted a series of suits which lasted until March 1908 when the courts upheld the original will.

Within a year of his father's death DeWitt and Mary Blair began construction on a new townhouse at No. 6 East 61st Street, behind the massive Elbridge T. Gerry mansion on the corner of Fifth Avenue.  Designed by Robert Henderson Robertson in the Renaissance Revival style, the double-wide mansion was faced in limestone.  Architecturally subdued compared to its flamboyant neighbor, its sparse decorative elements were the columned portico above a short stoop, a two-floor rounded bay upholding a balcony, and a single carved cartouche at the fourth floor.  Robertson opted for quiet elegance over extravagant show.

While the Blairs maintained a country home in Belvidere, New Jersey, the same year that they started construction on their city house, they purchased a second country estate in Bar Harbor, Maine.  Avamaya had been built for Major George Wheeler in 1888 and designed by Sidney V. Stratton.  The couple renamed it Blair Eyrie.  It, like the 61st Street house, was the scene of upscale entertainments.  On July 22, 1906, for instance, the New-York Tribune reported, "Mr. and Mrs. DeWitt Clinton Blair, of New York, entertained a small party at dinner at their cottage, Blair Eyrie, on Thursday evening.  Covers were laid for twelve."

The country house was deemed worthy of a postcard in the pre-World War I years.

DeWitt was the head of the brokerage firm Blair & Co. and oversaw the operation of his father's railroad empire as well.  He shared his fabulous wealth on worthy philanthropies, including his alma mater, Princeton University.  His father had had no formal education, having left school at the age of 11.  But following DeWitt's graduation in 1856 he formed a close relationship with the university, endowing the professorship of geology in 1864 and in 1896 funding the construction of Blair Hall, a magnificent Tudor Revival structure designed by Cope & Stewardson.

Blair Hall, Princeton University Archives, Mudd Library, Grounds & Buildings, SP 1

On March 10, 1906 the Buffalo Evening News reported that the trustees of Princeton University announced various gifts, including a significant one from DeWitt Clinton Blair.  The article said he "has agreed to build another dormitory, to extend from the west of of Blair Hall along University Place to the Halsted Observatory."

Jennie S. Loop painted this portrait of DeWitt Clinton Blair in 1897.  via incollect.com

Mary Anna Blair died at the age of 77 on February 12, 1914.  Her funeral was held in the 61st Street residence four days later.  Her will offered a glimpse into the couple's upscale lifestyle.  The New-York Tribune reported, "Ledyard Blair, son, is given all of the family portraits.  Among the articles passing to J. Insley Blair, son, were 'Arab Bandits,' a painting by Al Schreyer, appraised at $3,500; an original Chippendale mahogany table, $500, and an antique Gobelin tapestry, $1,600."  Mary's granddaughter, Marjery B. Clark, received "much of the jewelry," including a $1,500 diamond collar, a diamond comb valued at $400, along with a $2,000 Russian sable stole and muff.

Mary had been generous to charities and to her servants.  Her personal maid received $5,000 (more than $130,000 today), and the butler was bequeathed $1,000.

Perhaps in an effort to sidestep inheritance taxes, that Christmas Dewitt gave each of his sons a present of $7 million.  Less than six months later, on June 3, 1915, DeWitt Clinton Blair died from pneumonia.  In reporting his death, The Wall Street Journal noted, "He was 82 years old, and for the past few years has given little attention to business.  It is believed that his various interests in numerous corporations were apportioned among his prospective heirs prior to his death."  Two weeks later the newspaper followed up, saying "The will of DeWitt C. Blair ahs just been admitted to probate...It disposes of an estate valued at $50,000,000."  That amount would top $1.3 billion today.

The 61st Street house was inherited by John Insley Blair.  Perhaps surprisingly, he leased it to Helena May Mackie, a registered nurse, who converted it to a private sanitarium.  It catered to the upper echelon of society.  Among its patients over the coming years, for instance, were Charles Wickliffe, described by the New York Herald as "a well known member of the Tuxedo Park colony;" and millionaire banker Jules S. Bache.  On February 10, 1922 the New York Herald reported that he "was resting comfortable last night in the private sanitarium of Miss Helena M. Mackie in 6 East Sixty-first street, after an operation performed three days ago."

Then, on February 8, 1929, the Daily News reported that John Insley Blair had sold the house built by his father.  Simultaneously the buyers, the Gerry Estates, Inc., purchased No. 4 East 61st Street, the home of Mrs. Arthur J. Moulton.  "A 40-story hotel, to cost $15,000,000 will be raised on the site."  The Pierre Hotel opened in 1930.

photograph by the author

many thanks to reader Doug Wheeler for prompting this post

The Lost Knickerbocker Clubhouse - 319 Fifth Avenue

In 1882 the Peter Moller mansion was renovated for the Knickerbocker Club--including removing the stoop and moving the entrance to the side street.  from the collection of the Mechanical Curator

Born into a poor farm family in the Kingdom of Hanover (now part of Germany) in 1809, Peter Moller left home at the age of 16 to find work in London.  He landed a job as a sugar boiler in the refinery of Woolsey & Co.  His employer recognized his aptitude, made him a clerk, and when Woolsey abandoned his business in 1837 to emigrate to America, he brought Moller with him.

The enterprising young man did not make the voyage alone.  He had just married a young woman named Sarah.   The couple would have seven children--six sons and a daughter.  Moller briefly left Woolsey to go into partnership with the Havemeyer family, the most well-known of New York sugar refiners, as Havemeyers & Moller.  But when Woolsey & Woolsey burned to the ground just before Christmas in 1849, Moller and two partners, the Howland brothers, rebuilt the old firm as Howlands & Moller.

Remarkably, both of Moller's partners were dead before 1851, the brothers dying within a year of one another.  The firm was reorganized as the New York Steam Sugar Refining Company with Moller as its president.  Peter Moller, who had left home as a penniless teen, had amassed a substantial personal fortune.

Around 1865 the family moved into the new brownstone house at the northeast corner of 32nd Street.  Four bays wide the substantial Italianate style residence was similar to many of the high-end homes along Fifth Avenue, including the William Backhouse Astor mansion, built several years earlier, two blocks to the north. 

Prior to the renovations, the Moller mansion would have been similar to that of William and Caroline Astor at the southwest corner of 34th Street (above)  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The New York Herald described Moller as "of medium build, with a florid and genial expression of face" and called him "earnest and indefatigable."  The New York Times later noted that his off time was his own.  "During business hours Mr. Moller's attention was entirely engrossed with the details of his occupation, and at the close he threw off care, and gave himself up to the hearty enjoyment of the pleasures which his ample means placed within his reach."

For Moller those pleasures centered around trotting horses.  The family spent summers in resorts like Long Branch and Saratoga where his thoroughbreds were a familiar sight.  During the winter months the Moller sleigh was routinely seen among those of other moneyed families in the upper regions of Manhattan. 

On December 12, 1869 The New York Herald reported "The sleighing has been excellent all the week, and on Friday afternoon the road men with their pets were out in full force.  The McComb's Dam road and Harlem lane were alive with the jingling of the merry bells and that peculiarly American institution, the trotting carnival, was in full force."  In listing the many costly vehicles and steeds seen that day, it added "Mr. Peter Moller drove a speedy white horse."

In 1877 Moller retired, after having suffered three strokes.  He continued to focus on religious and charitable causes.  He had founded the Lutheran Orphan Asylum at Mount Vernon, New York in memory of William, described by The New York Herald as "a favorite son."  He was also a founder of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity on West 21st Street.  The New York Herald said of him, "It is said his hand was ever open to the appear of charity and distress."

Moller was dealt a serious blow when Sarah died in their Fifth Avenue house on September 16, 1878.  It may have been his deep grief that resulted in her funeral being held not in the mansion, but at the Evangelical Lutheran Church on 21st Street.  Peter Moller received a second shock that year when his brother, Christian, died in Hoboken.

On February 19, 1879 The New York Herald reported that "Friday night [Moller] was out driving and was in his wonted health and spirits.  Sunday morning, at five o'clock, he was taken ill, and died the following evening, in the seventieth year of his age."  The New York Times reported that he left an estate of about $2 million--more in the neighborhood of $53 million today.

Moller's heirs leased the mansion to Cornelius Vanderbilt II and his wife, the former Alice Gwynne, whose massive mansion at 57th Street and Fifth Avenue was under construction.  The lavish entertainments were typified by an elaborate breakfast and reception on January 2, 1882.  The New York Times noted "The assemblage was composed of the immediate friends of Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt, and numbered about 100," and detailed:

The house was darkened and the gas gave an evening effect.  Not the least interesting feature was the floral display, which was extensive and beautiful.  The reception hall was converted into a conservatory for the occasion.  The balustrade of the main stairway was hidden in smilax, with camelias, heliotropes, and hollies interwoven...From the walls was suspended a unique piece of tapestry representing a Venetian scene, and before this was Stationed Lander's orchestra, which discoursed music from 1 to 3.

At the time of Moller's death, the Knickerbocker Club was located in the former William B. Duncan mansion at Fifth Avenue and 28th Street.  It was formed on October 31, 1871 by millionaires like Alexander Hamilton Jr., August Belmont and John Jacob Astor, members of the Union Club, once the most exclusive social club in the city.

But with the development of new industries and technologies following the Civil War, new-found fortunes were being made by men born on farms and in tenements.  (And in the railroads, like the Vanderbilt family.)  With the influx of the new group of nouveau riche members new ”vulgarities” like pipe smoking and gambling  seeped into the decorous clubrooms.  

Under pressure, the Union Club lessened its rigid entrance rules and expanded the size of its membership.  Offended by the diluted character of their club, several staid members had plotted mutiny and formed their own club with the uncompromising deportment and rules of the old Union Club.   

At the time of Alice Vanderbilt's January 1882 breakfast and reception, the former Moller house had already been sold to the Knickerbocker Club, which paid $200,000 for the property, or about $5.2 million in today's money.  Architect Robert H. Robertson was at work on renovation plans which, according to the Record & Guide on December 8, 1881, would include an extension to the rear which "will be of brick with brown stone trimmings, in conformity with the main building."  

The $50,000 remodeling (nearly $1.3 million in today's dollars) resulted in the removal of the stoop, which was replaced by a projecting one-story bay.  The entrance was moved to the new two-story extension.  It consisted of a deep porch to protect members from the elements while awaiting their carriages.  Stone walls served as the base for a glass-roofed cast iron enclosure.

A liveried doorman strikes an unexpectedly casual post outside Robertson's handsome entrance.  photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The first floor, now located at street level, included the billiard room, smoking rooms, and a café.  The second floor was composed of various-sized dining rooms; while the third floor held the kitchen and servants' dining room.

King's Handbook of New York City noted "The entrance-fee is $300; the yearly dues are $100."  It was a substantial outlay, the entrance fee equaling more than $7,700 today. 

The eligible unmarried members were expected to organize a yearly "bachelors' ball" in the days after Lent.  The event in 1884 had been held in the ballroom of the Metropolitan Opera House and was considered by The New York Times to be "handsome."  The young men had relied on the services of Arthur Leary to handle all the details; apparently with a disproportionately small compensation or gratitude, given the immense task.

A social columnist of The New York Times anticipated the 1885 event, saying "a ball like the one they gave last year would enliven people up considerably."  But, the writer lamented, "I believe Mr. Leary does not take kindly to superintending another such ball as he did last year."   With surprising frankness, the journalist added "The chances are now that the young men would endeavor to put upon the shoulders of others the work they should do themselves."

While the other social clubs continued to attract the young and newly-rich; the Knickerbocker resiliently held on to its old ways.  Its priggish members sat within the elegant rooms on leather chairs, visible to passersby.  Rarely moving, they prompted a bizarre rumor among neighborhood children.

The New York Times wrote on January 23, 1887:

The children of the neighborhood, who play on the sidewalks believe a story that has been told them by some jocular servant to the effect that there are 'stuffed dudes' displayed in the windows of the Knickerbocker Club, from the fact that the members of the club who sit in the windows and gaze on the passing pageant of youth and beauty appear to be inanimate.  No reasoning can dissuade the children from this idea, and one member has promised to take his little girl into the club some morning so that she can see for herself that there is no truth in the story.

Apparently not wishing to offend any of the moneyed members, the article concluded "It may be added that the dude abounds in the Knickerbocker, which is notwithstanding one of the cheeriest and pleasantest clubs in the city, with an excellent cuisine.  Inside as well as outside the club house is one of the handsomest in the city."

Interestingly, it seems that the article did not go unnoticed by the very proper Knickerbocker members.  Only a few weeks later, on March 6, the newspaper reported "Since the 'stuffed dudes' vacated the windows there is no visible signs of occupancy about the Knickerbocker Club."

The celebrated correctness of members' deportment prompted one of them to anonymously write a manual of club dress and etiquette under the title Gentlemen in 1891.   The critique that appeared in The New York Times on March 22 admitted "Presumably, anybody who has gained access to that citadel of clubdom, the Knickerbocker Club, and has energy enough to write a book, is competent to handle the subject."  Nevertheless, it felt "the clubman in question might have employed his literary zeal in another direction to better advantage."

And, added the critic, the writer fell short.  A more detailed treatise on manners "would have done much to divert attention from his grammatical eccentricities, and he might have been spared the pain of reading dozens of columns of satirical comment on himself and his literary child."

Every year while Manhattan's millionaires spent the summer months away from the city, repairs were made on its clubhouses.  In August 1891 the Knickerbocker Club went a bit further and hired McKim, Mead & White to do $5,000 in interior renovations, including new doors and windows.  The following month a newspaper noted "A small army of workmen has taken possession of the Knickerbocker Club house preliminary to making the annual Fall repairs and renovations.  The club will not begin to liven up for a month or so, and the workmen will practically have the clubhouse all to themselves."

photo from Collins Both Sides of Fifth Avenue, 1910 (copyright expired)

The 1892 The Sun's Guide to New York described the Knickerbocker as "The most exclusive social club in New York City...Almost every member is well-known socially, and dozens of Knickerbocker men are famed as millionaires."

The Knickerbocker members were not entirely stodgy and without humor.  On January 23, 1895 The Evening World wrote "The Club is conservative to the last degree.  Nevertheless, it has furnished one instance of record breaking and making.  In an exciting competition a few years ago, one of its members succeeded in going from the club-house to his residence, six blocks away, changing from his ordinary club wear to full evening dress (socks and all) and getting back to the Club, all in the space of twelve minutes.  It is believed this record stands unchallenged."

In 1907 commerce was closing in around the Knickerbocker Club; it remained nevertheless for several more years.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The Fifth Avenue neighborhood around the Knickerbocker Club became increasingly more commercial following the turn of the century.  On February 10, 1912 The Record & Guide reported on a rumor among real estate men.  "The Knickerbocker Club, which has remained tenaciously in the old location on lower 5th avenue, has decided to move, and is now seeking a location, so it is said, on the upper part of the same avenue."

The members had already found that new location.  Two days earlier The New York Times had reported that they had purchased No. 807 Fifth Avenue, the mansion of the Princess Del Drago--formerly the wife of brewer August Schmid."  The "artistic structure" had sat empty for two years.

In place of the old mansion the Knickerbocker Club erected its neo-Federal style clubhouse designed by Delano & Aldrich, completed in 1915.  No. 319 Fifth Avenue was razed by the club, which commissioned Trowbridge & Livingston to design a commercial replacement.  Completed in 1917, it originally housed the Sherman National Bank.

Where stuffed dudes once stared out on the "pageant of youth," workers from nearby offices now nosh on Korean-style barbeque.

The Lost Madison Avenue M.E. Church - Madison Ave at 60th Street

When photographed in 1907, brownstone rowhouses shared the 60th Street block with the church; while modern structures loom in the background.  photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In 1881 Methodist Episcopal Bishop William L. Harris called a meeting to discuss "a place of worship for Methodists in a locality where it was thought a church was greatly needed."  That locality was the rapidly-developing Upper East Side.  The New York Times reported "A number of gentlemen purchased the ground to hold until the society was organized."

It was a remarkable scheme.  The building plot at the northeast corner of Madison Avenue and 60th Street was purchased for a congregation that did not yet exist.  A fund raising drive was initiated and when $150,000 had been amassed in November 1881, "the society was incorporated," said The Times.

That society was the Madison-Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church.  At the time there were just 30 members (the wealth of whom was evidenced by the building fund already accumulated--more than $3.6 million today); but, according to the newspaper "The projectors look for a large membership and feel gratified at the success they have met with in raising funds."

On April 21, 1882 architect Robert H. Robertson filed plans for the church and adjoining chapel.  The cost of the structure was estimated at $125,000.  With the land, the total cost would be $225,000, or just under $5.5 million today.   The cornerstone was laid in July, with construction on the chapel projected to be completed that fall, in time for services for members returning from their summer homes.  It would take a full year to complete the church proper.

As the complex neared completion on November 9, 1883 The Record & Guide expressed its satisfaction with the design, calling it "the most important, architecturally, of recent churches in New York" and "also one of the most successful."  The journal thought Robertson's Romanesque Revival design was "much more domestic than ecclesiastical in character."

In 1889 the church was still surrounded by rowhouses.  A woman navigates crossing the streetcar tracks on Madison Avenue.  Note that the stained glass windows on 60th Street (deemed by the Record & Guide "the best side") are fitted with awnings.  photo by John S. Johnston, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Built of rough-faced brownstone, it was 89 feet wide on the avenue and 125 feet deep along 60th Street.  Robertson's church was decidedly Norman in character.  The Madison Avenue elevation was stark in comparison to many contemporary Romanesque Revival buildings--with their massive arches, heavy carvings, and hefty columns.   But severe gave way to flamboyant in the 128-foot tall central tower.

The Record & Guide said the obvious, "The most noticeable feature in the composition of the church front is the treatment of the tower."  Toward the top of the tower Gothic arches opened (Robertson's single step away from the Romanesque), each containing a bowed balcony.  This was the feature The Record & Guide found "domestic" since, it said, "the belfry of a church not being primarily an observatory--but it is so pretty it is ungracious to find fault with it."

The architect topped it all with a pyramidal cap, ornamented with blind dormers containing flat discs that begged for clock faces that would never be, and corner pinnacles.

Robertson lavished equal attention on the interior.  The New York Times described the treatment as "of whitewood and pine in panes and heavily ribbed."  Capable of seating 750 worshipers, its ceiling rose 53 feet from the floor.  

The lower gallery, at left, was reserved for guests.  from American Architect & Building News, January 5, 1884 (copyright expired)

The first service in the church was held on Sunday, November 11, 1883.  It was one of a week-long series of "special services" that would culminate in the formal dedication on November 18.  By now the membership had risen to 120.  The cost of construction had risen as well, to a total of $250,000 including the land.

A reporter from The New York Times was satisfied with the smaller details.  "The acoustics are excellent, and the low tones of the preacher can be heard distinctly all over the building...The pews are large and comfortable."

On Good Friday 1884 the church was host to a group which might surprise modern readers--the Knights Templar.  The Times reported that 50 members of the Palestine Commandery, No. 18, Knights Templar, assembled at the Masonic Temple at 7:00 and marched in full uniform "with waving plumes and clanking swords" to Park Avenue and 26th Street where special cars were waiting.

The circus was appearing in Madison Square Garden, and "the circus-ticket speculators became impressed with the idea that they were an organization about to visit the circus and descended upon them with offers of the most advantageous bargains."

Once at their destination, the Knights presented an impressive show.  "Upon arriving at the church they formed in the parlor of the edifice and marched in double file up the centre aisle, while the choir sang 'Onward, Christian Soldier.'  Then, while Eminent Sir O. H. Tiffany, D. D., offered an invocation, they stood in a double row facing each other with swords crossed."

Among the well-known congregants were Ulysses S. Grant and his wife, Julia.   Three days after Grant's death on July 23, 1885, members filled the stiflingly-hot church.  The New York Times reported "The Madison-Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church, in Sixtieth-street, was unusually crowded yesterday morning, considering the intensely hot weather."  The congregants were aware that the Rev. Dr. O. H. Tiffany would be speaking on "Personal Memories of Gen. Grant as Former Parishioner."  The newspaper said that during the sermon "a complete silence reigned among the audience.  Several ladies wept, and the whole congregation seemed profoundly impressed."

In 1901 the church announced its new pastor, the 38-year old Rev. Dr. Wallace MacMullen.  The minister had been pastor of the Park Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church in Philadelphia and was deemed "one of the most eloquent pastors in this city."

MacMullen and his family moved into the rectory at No. 46 East 60th Street where, five years later, the pastor discovered that some home repair jobs were best left to the professionals.   For some reason the lighting gas in a room on the second floor was not flowing.  MacMullen suspected that water had gotten into the gas line and set out to investigate.  He asked his 11-year old son, Paul, to accompany him to the cellar and hold a candle while he attempted to blow the water through the pipes.

The following day, on December 7, 1906 The Sun reported "The minister and his son no sooner landed in the cellar with the lighted candle than there was an explosion which knocked both men off their feet.  Rubbish in the cellar took fire at the same time."  Paul ran to the fire house on the same block and the fire was soon put out.  The Sun concluded "Dr. MacMullen will preach on Sunday minus his eyebrows and some hair."

Preachers like MacMullen were uneasy with a modern fad that was sweeping the nation: the motion picture.  In the eyes of many clerics, the theater had always posed a threat to morality.  This new technology, inexpensive and accessible to the masses, was worse.

On December 22, 1908 Mayor George B. McClellan was faced with a conundrum: whether or not to allow moving picture shows to operate on Sundays.  He called together a public hearing on the matter and Rev. MacMullen was there to make his opinion known.  He summed up his feelings about motion pictures in two words "abominable and degrading."

But the minister would have problems much closer to home to be concerned with in the spring of 1911.   On March 13 The Sun ran the headline "Minister's Son Shot Boy."   Paul, now 16 years old, had been arrested and charged "with shooting Robert Polinsky in the right eye with an air rifle."  The eight-year old victim was taken to the German Hospital where doctors said he would most likely lose the sight in that eye.

It all started when Paul was "amusing himself with an air rifle" in the back yard of the rectory.   Robert and a friend were on the roof of his house on 59th Street; the backyards of the two properties nearly back-to-back.  MacMullen's lawyer said it was all an unfortunate accident; but the judge, Magistrate Herbert, was not so sure.  He said "that would be determined at the examination when the other boy is able to appear in court."  Paul father paid the $500 bail to free him, a substantial $13,000 in today's dollars.

One of the most colorful of the Madison Avenue M.E. Church's congregants was Charles G. Gates.  The son of steel tycoon John W. Gates whose estate had been estimated at $38 million, he lived life large.  He was especially fond of hiring "special trains" and ordering the engineer to run them as fast as possible--on one occasion reaching the reported speed of 90 miles per hour.  The Times noted in 1913 that he "had made himself conspicuous...in the last few years for his record-breaking dashes across the continent in special trains."  When a friend asked him why he spent thousands of dollars to arrive a few minutes before a regular train, he replied "Speed is life."

Gates bragged that he spent $1 million every year on tips to waiters and such.  "I can't take it with me when I die," he told a reporter, "and I believe in spending my money."   He spent his money at the gambling tables, as well.  In 1911 he reportedly lost $40,000 gambling.  The Times said that although "he pooh-poohed the story, it was generally credited."

He and his wife, the former Mary W. Martin, lived in an apartment at No. 667 Madison Avenue.  But their domestic life was noticeably souring in 1911 and Mary obtained a divorce on August 5 that year.   A month later, on September 27, he married Florence Hopwood.

In September 1913 Gates boarded his private train car, the Superb, with six companions for an extended hunting trip in Wyoming.  After five weeks in the hills hunting elk, deer and bear, the men returned to the Superb which was on a side track in Cody, Wyoming.  A newspaper reported that it was a "very successful hunt" and "elk heads, bear hides, and other trophies of Mr. Gates's skill with the rifle are now being prepared for shipment east."

On October 29 The New York Times said "On his return from his hunting trip Mr. Gates spent more than $7,000 buying fur coats for friends.  He gave his chauffeur $1,000 and presented to his guide on the trip $10,000 in cash."  They would be the last of Gates's extravagant gifts.

The 37-year old fell ill on the morning of October 28 and was taken to his private car,  Doctors were called and at one point it was planned to connect the Superb to a train headed for Billings; but his condition had worsened to the point that moving him was deemed inadvisable.   Around 1:40 that afternoon he died "of apoplexy," or a stroke.

Gates's funeral in the Madison Avenue M.E. Church did justice to his flashy lifestyle.  The Sun reported "Lilies of the valley, chrysanthemums and orchids predominated in the floral offerings."  Orchestra leader Nathan Franko played the same songs he had performed at the funeral of Gates's father.  The Sun said the services were attended by "many Wall Street financiers and men interested in racing."  Among them were Charles M. Schwab, James Buchanan, and millionaires from as far away as Chicago and Texas.

In May 1915 the Rev. Dr. Worth Marion Tippy took MacMullen's place as pastor.  According to newspapers he was the highest salaried pastor in the Methodist church.  He took the pulpit at a tense time, as war spread across the European continent.

On Thanksgiving 1915 the churches were unusually crowded, The Sun explaining "Pastors generally attributed this to the fact that the dreadfulness of the world war and the good fortune of the United States in being able to keep out of it has stirred the religious feeling of the people and caused great numbers to feel a special reason for giving thanks."

While many pastors across the city waxed militant in their sermons, Rev. Tippy was decidedly more diplomatic, noting that "the outpourings of the Germans about God must not be thought a mockery because they represented the deeply religious spirit of the German people."

Within a few months at least one New Yorker felt the pastor's sentiments did not go far enough.  In the spring of 1916 Tippy received a letter from George Jacobson, who said that the war in Europe could be ended if the ministers in America "would do their duty."  Tippy replied to that letter, but ignored those that continued to pour into his mailbox.

Finally, the letter that came on Thursday, May 18, got his attention.  The New York Times reported "the writer said that if Dr. Tippy did not agree to an appointment to discuss steps to end the war, he would be shot on Sunday as he stood in his pulpit."  The letter got the attention of the police department as well.

That Sunday Jacobson was arrested and Magistrate Murphy of the Yorkville Court had him committed to Bellevue Hospital "for observation as to his sanity."

Tippy was by no means ignoring the European conflict.  Well before the United States became involved and "stirred by the calamity of war," as explained by The Times, he opened the church for relief work.  Scores of women arrived every day to make bandages for the wounded.

On February 19, 1917 Tippy announced that he was leaving Madison Avenue M. E. Church to become Secretary in Charge of Social Service in the Federal Council of Churches of Christ in America.  The New York Times noted that he was taking a $4,000 a year salary cut to do so.   But the progressive-thinking minister had other things, apparently, than money on his mind.

"Mr. Tippy has also been of the belief that the churches of the nation should take a leading part in bettering conditions of labor, in elevating women to an equal status with men, in enforcing a six-day work week, in advocating prison reform, and in turning the churches over to the use of the people for proper recreation purposes," said The Times.

Two months before the end of World War I a somewhat surprising guest speaker took the pulpit at the Madison Avenue M. E. Church.  Bishop Yoshishu Haraiwa gave the sermon on September 1, 1918--one that might have been interpreted more as self-promoting propaganda for his homeland that as religious enlightenment.

"Japan has been grossly misrepresented," he began.  "Japan is not in lust of territory, but any improvement in her army and navy has been brought about because of her desire for self preservation.  Our attitude toward America is and always has been friendly."

Rev. Tippy's replacement was the Rev. Dr. Ralph W. Sockman.  He made his voice heard repeatedly regarding the issues that naturally followed the declaration of peace.   He pointed out in his sermon on May 11, 1919 that "The army and navy of Germany have been taken away from her.  We no longer need fear her in those realms."  But, he warned, the real danger was the commercial rivalry of the trade routes and reminded his parishioners that was one of the chief causes of the war.  He stressed that the United States and its allies needed to control the commerce of the world.

Five years later, at a world-wide conference, he warned against the rearming of the world's military.  "Armies should be reduced from the level of war power to a police power level...There can be no war to end war."  He believed that the only avenue to lasting peace would come "by stopping preparations for war."

Like Tippy, Sockman was progressive in his thinking.  In 1924 he modified the church's long-standing ban "against dancing, attending theatre, cards and other forms of amusement."  He calmed his congregants in his sermon on June 8 saying he "expected no orgy of abuses" and considered the fear that the church would become a center of "dancing and card parties" as absurd.

A month earlier he had condemned the Government's proposed policy of censorship.  "There must be self-mastery before than can be healthy self-expression," he said.  Regulation of what a person could do or see was not a solution.  He recommended teaching people self-control.  And the following year he denounced the very concept of the Scope Trials.  "Some legislators think they can preserve belief in Christian truth by passing laws to prevent the teaching of certain scientific theories," he said.

When this photograph was taken on October 20, 1930, the tower had lost its topmost portion.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

On April 29, 1929 The New York Times announced "in a transaction involving nearly $4,000,000, the Madison Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church has sold its present building and site on the northeast corner of Madison Avenue and Sixtieth Street and purchased a larger site in the same block at the northwest corner of Park Avenue and Sixtieth Street."  The following day the newspaper ran the headline "Office Skyscraper to Replace Church; Campagna Building will Rise on Madison Avenue M. E. Site."

But fate had other ideas.  The church sat vacant and neglected for years; The New York Times explaining that the Campagna development firm faced "delays due to depression and war."  Finally in 1941 things seemed to be progressing when Robertson's striking building was demolished to make way for the long awaited Campagna Building.

But then World War II brought on another delay.  The empty lot was purchased by the Madison-Sixtieth Street Corporation in 1943; but it would not be until 1950 that work finally began on the 24-story International Style building known as 655 Madison Avenue.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

That building survived until the turn of the century, remodeled in 2002 as the 25-story office building designed by Swanke Hayden Connell & Partners.

photo via 655madisonavenue.com

The Lost C. A. Postley Mansion - 817 Fifth Avenue

Postley's addition is seen just beyond the stoop at the side.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

By the mid 1880s wealthy New Yorkers were abandoning "Millionaires' Row" below 59th Street and erecting fine residences on Fifth Avenue along Central Park.   Speculative developers, too, joined the trend and in 1885 Charles T. Barney completed a mansion on the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue and 63rd Street.

Barney had commissioned Robert H. Robertson, with whom he already had a working relationship, to design the residence.  The Philadelphia-born architect was known for his personal take on the popular Romanesque Revival style.  For the Barney project he married that style with the emerging Queen Anne.

Clad in red brick and stone, the completed house was a visual feast of angles and shapes.  While the entrance above a dog-legged stoop was on 63rd Street, the residence took the more impressive Fifth Avenue address, No. 817.  Robertson's signature Romanesque Revival style--appearing only at the second floor--took back stage to Queen Anne.   By simply chamfering the corner above the second floor, Robertson gave the impression of a two-story setback.  A profusion of stained glass transoms, a riot of angles and shapes, and a delightful mountainscape of dormers and peaks at the attic level were all typical Queen Anne elements.

In May 1885 Barney sold the newly-completed residence to Clarence Ashley Postley for $100,000.  But the new owner had even grander ideas in mind for the house.  He immediately brought Robertson back to enlarge it by creating a seamless extension on the plot at No. 2 West 63rd Street.  The $10,500 project brought the total cost of the mansion to what would today amount to about $2.8 million.

Three years after the Postley mansion (right) was completed, the Progress Club opened on the opposite corner.   photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Postley came from a long line of military men.  His great-grandfather was an officer in the Revolutionary War; his grandfather, Charles Postley, was an officer in the War of 1812; and his father was General Brooke Postley, "commander during the Rebellion of the famous Hussar Brigade," as described by historian William Van Rensselaer Miller in his 1894 Select Organizations in the United States.  Miller added that the Postley family traced its New York roots "to its earliest history."

Clarence, too, started out in the military.  He graduated from West Point in 1870 and served in the Third U. S. Artillery, and was an instructor of mathematics at West Point for five years.

In 1874 he married Margaret Vincent Sterling.  The couple would have two children, Elise (known popularly as Elsie) and Sterling.  In 1883, two years before buying the Fifth Avenue mansion, Clarence retired.  He turned his attention to what he most enjoyed, club life, horses and yachting.  His club memberships included (but were not limited to) the University, Union League, Players', New York Athletic, Hamilton Park, New York Jockey, Coney Island Jockey, New York Yacht, American Yacht, Corinthian Yacht, Larchmont Yacht, and Seawanhaka Yacht Clubs.


The family (including Postley's parents) had barely moved into its new home before Clarence addressed a neighborhood problem: the Menagerie in Central Park at 64th Street.  He signed a protest to the Board of Estimate in November 1885 which complained, in part, "The noise and confusion that naturally attends upon public exhibitions of this kind, tends materially to disturb the peace and comfort of those who reside in its immediate vicinity."  (Interestingly, enough, within a few years Clarence would be a supporting member of the New York Zoological Society.)  Other signatures on the petition gave a hint of the Postleys' exclusive neighborhood, among them William Rockefeller, Ogden Mills, James Sinclair, John J. Sloane, Henry Marquand, and Richard M. Hoe. 

Later Harry Brown, in his The History of American Yachts and Yachtsmen, noted "Commodore Postley occupies one of the most palatial residences on Fifth avenue, where his system, order, taste and geniality have established one of Greater New York's ideal houses of the rich, from when flow commerce and prosperity, while his popularity is universal."

Margaret and Clarence appeared regularly in the society columns.  On February 5, 1892, for instance, The Epoch reported "A very handsome luncheon given by a very handsome hostess in an equally handsome house was that last Tuesday of Mrs. Clarence Postley of 817 Fifth avenue...The floral decorations were very beautiful and the favors for each lady consisted of dainty baskets filled with lilies of the valley while to the basket's handle was attached an exquisite spoon with a bowl of rare enamel."

The couple threw themselves into a newly-popular activity in 1895--indoor bicycling.  They joined the "number of prominent society people riding at the Bidwell-Tindham Academy" on 59th Street.  The New York Times reported "Both are delighted with it, and Mr. Postley has become so enthusiastic that he proposes to form a small private club and engage a hall for riding purposes at once."

Clarence Postley in 1900 -- The History of American Yachts and Yachtsmen (copyright expired)

In the meantime Sterling was eyeing prospective brides.  On January 5, 1896 The Times reported that "Stirling [sic] Postley...gave a theatre party last night at Daly's Theatre for Miss Elsie Norton of Albany."  Following the performance, "a supper and informal dance followed at Mr. Postley's house, 817 Fifth Avenue."

Two years later Sterling had made his selection.  On November 13, 1898 the San Francisco Call announced the engagement of Miss Ethel Cook, daughter of Mrs. Horace Nelson Cook, to Sterling.  The New York Times called her a "reigning belle of San Francisco."  Ethel had earlier made headlines when Grand Duke Boris of Russia drank champagne from one of her slippers at a banquet, declaring her "the most beautiful American woman" he had ever seen."

Like his father, Sterling was more interested in clubs and yachting than business.  But his sporting life was almost cut short by a serious attack of typhoid fever in 1900.  He and Ethel lived in his parents' Fifth Avenue mansion, where he convalesced.  On August 24 The Times reported on his slow recovery, saying his condition "has kept Capt. and Mrs. Postley and the patient's sister and wife in town all Summer."  But the newspaper was optimistic.  "When his recovery is complete Mr. Postley, with his wife and mother, will probably go abroad for a few months."

Sterling, of course, did recover.  His father, in the meantime, focused on his yachts.  Earlier that year he had the Colonia refurbished for the second time.  In 1897 he had had it altered to a schooner rig, receiving a bill for $20,000.   Now, on July 8, 1900 the New-York Tribune reported he "has received his new steam yacht Colonia from the hands of those who altered her interior."   And then in August that same year he purchased the steam yacht Alberta.  Outing, a monthly sports and travel magazine, commented "Mr. Postley has won so many cups and other trophies that he now stores them in a burglar-proof safe."

On the morning of January 4, 1901 General Brook Postley left the mansion around 10:30 headed for the Eighth Avenue streetcar.   The conductor noticed the 86-year old man in the crowded car and found him a seat.  He later noted "he appeared to have a chill, as he trembled and pulled his coat collar close about his throat."

Postley suffered a heart attack on the car and died before an ambulance could arrive.  Clarence identified his father's body at the police station, and also explained the two guns in his coat.  "The presence of two revolvers, found in the dead man's pockets, was explained by his son, who said that his father was very fond of going to the theatre, and for that reason had obtained a permit to carry a revolver, as he was often out late.  He supposed that his father had put the second revolver in his pocket, forgetting that he already had one."

The general's funeral was held in the Fifth Avenue house on January 7.  Despite his distinguished military history, there was no fanfare.  The services were private with only a few intimate friends invited.

The expected mourning period was slightly abbreviated for Elsie's debutante entertainments, which began with a reception in the house on December 7.   They continued through the winter season, terminating on March 31, 1902 when Margaret gave a dance.  The New-York Tribune noted "it took place in the small ballroom."

Rather than going to their summer estate in Belle Haven, Connecticut that year, Margaret and Clarence went on an automobile tour abroad.  On October 11 Automobile Topics reported they "recently left Paris for England, taking with them a brand new 16-hp. Panhard-Levassor.  Having exhausted the automobile resources of the environments of Paris, they will try the suburbs of London."

On October 16, 1904 the Postleys announced Elsie's engagement to Ross Ambler Curran.  The wedding took place in the Church of the Heavenly Rest on November 1, followed by a reception in the Fifth Avenue mansion.

The extended family spent the winter season of 1905-06 in Paris.   During Christmas week Margaret and Clarence gained two grandchildren.  Elise had a son, followed a few days later by Sterling's and Ethel's baby boy.

No. 817 Fifth Avenue remained closed for another two years.  Finally, on May 2, 1908 the New-York Tribune reported "Mr. and Mrs. Clarence A. Postley, who have been abroad for nearly three years, are booked to sail from Paris for New York to-day."  The couple had only just returned to the house when tragedy struck.

On May 28 Clarence suffered a fatal heart attack in mansion.  Margaret retained ownership of the house, which was valued at $370,000 (in the neighborhood of $9.3 million today).  But she would no longer live there.  Only a week later the New-York Tribune reported that she, along with Elsie and Ross, had taken rooms in the Plaza "where they will remain until they sail for Europe next month."

Three years later both Sterling and Elsie would make headlines for bizarre marital entanglements.  In January 1911 Elsie divorced Ross Ambler Curran in Paris.  Two months later, on March 12, The San Francisco Call reported that Ethel had divorced Sterling, also in Paris.  The article noted "The reason Ethel Cook got a divorce was because Sterling Postley 'was always hanging about the house.'"

That was not quite the case.  Shortly afterward, Ethel married Ross Curran, her former brother-in-law.  And then things got even more complicated.  In May 1911 Ross Curran's brother, Guernsey, married Elise.  Now Elise and Ethel were once again sisters-in-law.  Newspapers world-wide reveled in the gossipy story.  One headline read "Love Gone Amuck Among Millions" and another proclaimed "The Romances of the Idle Rich Currans."

In the meantime, Margaret leased No. 817 Fifth Avenue to Raymond Hoagland and his family.  The Hoaglands had lived at No. 23 West 52nd Street until selling it in 1909.  The Times called that residence "the largest house on the block with the exception of the Vanderbilt mansions."

Hoagland's father, Joseph C. Hoagland, had founded the Royal Baking Powder Company and garnered an immense fortune.  Joseph Hoagland's massive Newport summer estate, Auldwood, encompassed 175 acres.   In the late 1890s Raymond erected his own cottage, Kristofelt, on Bellevue Avenue just north of Auldwood.  The family also maintained a summer home in Seabright, New Jersey.

While Clarence Postley had been known for his yachts, Hoagland was known for his horses and he was a regular exhibitor in the society horse shows.   He was married to the former Rosa Porter.  Their son, Joseph, graduated from Cornell in 1911 and the following year his engagement to Eleanor Sheldon Prentice was announced.

At the time, the end for No. 817 Fifth Avenue was drawing near.  After several years living abroad, Margaret Postley returned to New York in October 1914, taking apartments at the Ritz-Carlton.  She died there on November 7, 1915, leaving an estate of more than $3.7 million (nearly $74 million in today's dollars) which was divided between Sterling and Elise.

Within months No. 817 and the mansion next door, the former Robert L. Gerry residence at 816, were demolished; replaced by George B. Post & Sons' Italian Renaissance apartment building known simply as 817 Fifth Avenue.

photo via streeteasy.com

The 1899 Park Row Bldg -- No. 15 Park Row

photo by Nyjockboy2

As the 19^th century inched closer to the 20^th, New Yorkers embraced the exciting modern age that gave them the phonograph, electric lights and telegraph.  But the advances in construction, like the elevator and steel-framed construction which allowed buildings to rise ever higher, were causing some concern.

On October 8, 1896 Engineering News reported “The rage for phenomenally high office-buildings still continues unchecked in New York city, and there seems to be at present some rivalry here as to who shall build the highest structure.”  The journal turned its attention to “the highest building thus far designed in New York city,” the Park Row Building.  Slated to replace the old International Hotel opposite the leviathan Post Office, it would rise 26 stories with two four-story towers at the corners.

The steel frame is evident in construction photographs --photograph Library of Congress

“This will be an office building, with stores on the street floor, and a restaurant at the top,” explained the paper.  The office of architect R. H. Robertson had already released water color drawings which depicted a soaring tower that diminished the structures around it.  A building nearly 30 stories tall created a problem for both the architect and the engineer.  Robertson was charged with creating a visually-appealing edifice that required the viewer to unaccustomedly crook his neck backward to take in all in; and the engineer, Nathan Roberts, had to figure out how to support the mammoth weight.  There was also the problem of the plot; what Engineering News called “very irregular.”

Engineering News published the oddly-shaped floorplan on October 8, 1896 (copyright expired)

Robertson attempted to reduce the visual height of the Park Row Building by dividing it vertically into three sections, and horizontally into six.  He drew the eye to the central section by lavishing it with ornamentation.  Balconies, cornices, columns and sculptures broke up the vast surfaces.  The copper-crowned cupolas of the corner towers created the final touch and would be seen by ships entering the harbor and as far away as New Jersey.  Somewhat strangely, Robertson focused attention only to the Park Row façade; leaving the other elevations essentially blank.

More was made in the press about the engineering of the building than its design (perhaps luckily for Robertson—the New-York Tribune would call the structure “hideous but daring”).  Especially noteworthy was the foundation necessary to uphold the 6,316,000-ton structure.  “Many acres of good timber had to be cut to furnish the thousands of great pine piles, many of them forth feet long, that were driven into the sand of the site to support the monster,” reported the Tribune.  

The skyscraper seems to have been mostly conceived by politician William Mills Ivins, who purchased the site.  He then transferred title to a syndicate, the Park Row Construction Company.  Years after its completion New Yorkers would often call it the Ivins Syndicate Building.  But William Ivins’s association with the project would be short-lived.  Millionaire August Belmont held the majority interest in the Park Row Construction Company and he suggested that Ivins retire early on.  It was the first of many incidents of drama that would surround the Park Row Building.

Construction began on October 20, 1896 and would continue for three years—partly because of labor problems and strikes that sporadically stopped progress.  

The Park Row Building diminished its neighboring structures.  To the left is a portion of the Post Office -- photograph Library of Congress

By March 24, 1898 the Park Row Building was topped off and that day an American flag was unfurled from its highest point.  “Several hundred persons watched with eager interest while a professional steeple climber made his perilous ascent to the towering height,” reported The New York Times.  “He climbed the pole with the flag on his shoulders, and, after making it fast, proceeded to paint the staff.  The watching crowd cheered lustily as the National colors unfolded, and continued to gaze at the daring painter as long as he remained in sight.”

As the building neared completion leases were signed.  On Christmas Eve 1898 the Astor House Pharmacy rented one of the ground floor stores.  Somewhat surprisingly, while Park Row was the center of the newspaper industry, many of the new tenants would be from unrelated areas.  On January 20, 1899 the City leased four entire floors to house the Department of Bridges, the Department of Street Cleaning, the Water Department, the Bureau of Encumbrances, the executive officers of the public baths, the Bureau of Public Buildings and Offices, the Commissioners of Public works, and the Bureau of Sewers.

The 391-foot tall Park Row Building opened its doors on July 20, 1899.  The New-York Tribune wrote “A skyscraper of this magnitude will have its own electric light plant; a gas plant; waterworks system; artesian wells; fire department, with hose lines and chemical extinguishers; its own police department too, with detectives watching for petty thieves, pickpockets, beggars and peddlers.”  The newspaper noted that its height is “about seventy feet less than the Great Pyramid of Cheops.”

The skyscraper had cost $2.4 million to construct and was now the tallest building in the world.  Scientific American boasted “This modern building…will accommodate the floating population of a fair-sized country town…There are in the whole building 950 separate offices.”  The magazine estimated the number of persons in the building at any period of the day at 8,000.  “If we assume that on an average five persons would call at each office during the day, for each person employed, we get a total of about 25,000 souls making use of the building at the course of every working day of the year.”

This shot clearly shows the absence of ornamentation in the rear and side elevations -- photograph Library of Congress

It would not be long before the building’s long history of drama began.  The syndicate signed a one-year contract with the Ice Trust to deliver 1,000 pounds of ice daily.  The Trust enjoyed what The Evening World called “powerful connections with Tammany Hall” and assumed it automatically had a long-term deal.

When the contract expired on June 1, 1900 the syndicate put out bids to other ice suppliers.  The Evening World explained that the Ice Trust believed that through its ties to Tammany Hall “it could get the ice privilege without a contract [and] refused to bid.”

But the proprietor of the restaurant in the building, which had its own ice plant, won the contract.  The only tenants he could not supply were the city agencies.  The Ice Trust had a binding contract with Tammany Hall to supply ice to all city departments.  Therefore, starting on June 1, 1900 the Trust dumped 500 pounds of ice on the sidewalk every day.  “In the meantime the city employees have been drinking warm water, and are very indignant,” said The World on June 8, 1900.

Among its hundreds of respectable tenants, the Park Row Building seemed to attract bunko agents and shady characters.  On November 20, 1901 detectives raided Room 711 where brokers Grey & Co. ran a “bucket-shop” scam.  Two years later a massive swindling operation was conducted here by James B. Kellogg, described by The Evening World on March 6, 1903 as “the suave, get-rich-quick concern promoter.”  Kellogg used aliases to rent multiple offices in the building.  These included E. E. Rice & Co. in room 2033, “Colonel Wilcox, in room 2023, and “Charles Pearson & Co., room 2033.  He ran seven other companies from offices here before being arrested.

Then on May 21, 1904 readers of the New-York Tribune were shocked to read of an illegal gambling operation in the building.  “Another surprising raid was in the Park Row or Syndicate Building…which Douglas Robinson, brother-in-law of President Theodore Roosevelt, is the manager.  Twenty prisoners were captured and thirty-three telephones and three telegraph instruments ripped away from their fastenings and carried off by the police.”

Artist J. Massey Rhind executed the sculptural details  Scientific American, December 24, 1898 (copyright expired)

At the time of the raid, the Associated Press had its offices here as did the Legal Department of the New York City Railway Company.  The executive offices of the Interborough Street Railway Company (of which August Belmont was president), and the Metropolitan Street Railway offices were also in the building.

In 1907 politician Percy Nagle’s offices were in the building.  Campaigning was an especially contentious that year and one day in September Nagle was approached in a restaurant by a concerned friend.  He warned Nagle that another politician, Joseph L. Burke, “says he is going to kill you.  You want to look out for him.”  Nagle brushed off the warning.

On the afternoon of September 27 Nagle and some friends were standing in the corridor of the Park Row Building when Burke appeared with a number of men.  The two men exchanged heated words, followed by Burke’s striking Nagle.  A miniature riot ensued in the hallway and one of Burke’s men suggested they “shoot the dub.”

Suddenly Nagle felt the muzzle of a revolver at his neck and heard a loud click.  The gun had jammed.  “Nagle turned white and grabbed the revolver,” reported the New-York Tribune the following day.  “A crowd soon surged around the men and hurried the combatants from the building.”

Edgar H. Holbrook, a life insurance salesman, had either very bad luck or a death wish.  On January 8, 1898 he fell from the New York Life Insurance Building.  He survived that fall.  Now, on Wednesday August 31, 1910 he visited the Park Row Building on business.  The New-York Tribune wrote “It is not known how he came to be either on the roof or the twenty-sixth floor.” 

Holbrook plunged from the 26^th floor, landing on the roof of the six-story building next door.  His body “was so badly crushed as to be unrecognizable.  The man’s terrible death caused many stenographers and other women employes in the tall building to become hysterical.”

In gruesom detail the newspaper said “In the drop of more than 500 feet Holbrook’s body acquired a terrific momentum, and when it struck the top of the elevator shed it crashed through a heavy iron screen, a sheet of heavy glass and some half-inch planking.

“These obstacles were not sufficient to prevent Holbrook’s body from dropping on top of the elevator drum, which was in motion at the time.  The body was so mangled that it became wedged tightly in the elevator machinery and stopped it.”

When the Park Row Building had first opened, Professor Herschel C. Parker of Columbia University, an amateur mountain climber, suggested that the facade could be climbed.  He compared the building to the Matterhorn’s cliffs and ledges.  “They are as awful to scale as the outside of the Park Row Building would be.”

Nearly two decades later the professor’s prediction was put to the test.  On May 26, 1918 41-year old Harry H. Gardiner, who went by the professional name “the Human Fly,” started up the building.  A reporter from The Evening World described him as “an aviator by profession and that being a Human Fly is simply a side line.”  Gardiner’s climb was for the benefit of the American Red Cross.’

Harry Gardiner would be arrested for his skyscraper climbing today.  photo The Evening World, May 27, 1918 (copyright expired)

Fifty-thousand crammed the streets around noon as Harry continued upward.  Harry was annoyed when firemen appeared and unfolded a large leather net.  "But people in the windows above began showering money down into the net—contributions for the Red Cross."

Gardiner was not content with reaching the roof.  He continued up the flagpole until he had touched the golden ball at its tip.  When he returned to street level two hours after he had begun, he told the crowd “I have done my bit; now see to it that you do yours,” nudging the onlookers to contribute to the cause.

Suicides by jumping made the newspapers over the decades; but none would be so publicized—or questioned—as that of known anarchist Andrea Salsedo.  Accused of bomb making, Salsedo was arrested on March 7, 1920 and secretly held in the Department of Justice’s 14^th floor offices.  Nearly two months later he was still confined here, until his body was found smashed on the sidewalk on May 3.

Officials claimed Salsedo feared retaliation by other anarchists.  The Tribune explained on May 4 “It was said that Salsedo had expressed the belief shortly after his arrest and confession in March that he would be killed by persons whose names he had mentioned in his account of the bomb plots.”

His wife was not so sure.  On January 4, 1921 Maria Salsedo filed suit to recover $100,000 in damages.  She said that during his eight weeks confinement he “was beaten, threatened and abused, and that the treatment he received broke him down mentally and physically and finally drove him to kill himself.”  There were others who felt the death was not a suicide at all; but that the anarchist had been thrown to his death.

By 1929 the Park Row Building had lost its luster.  Its title of tallest building in the world was lost in 1908 and by now other skyscrapers surrounded it.  The architectural firm of Clinton & Russell was commissioned to do a facelift of the lower floors.  The ploy succeeded for decades until at the turn of the 21^st century it was once again just an outdated building that was not producing financially.

In 2000 a gut renovation was begun that converted the main building to apartments.  The commodious three-story cupolas were not included in the plan.  Until 2013.  Then they were offered as part of a single massive apartment including the 26^th and 27^th floors, a large private terrace and two balconies.  The price for the unfinished space, reported to be one of the largest penthouses ever offered in Manhattan, was a significant $20 million.

The three-story cupolas are part of the expansive penthouse, which includes an original elevator cage.  NYCurbed.com

The exterior of the Park Row Building is little changed since the 1929 remodeling.  Although no longer the stand-out it was in 1899; it is an important pioneer of the skyscraper age in New York City.

many thanks to reader P. Alsen for suggesting this post