"The Falconer" -- Central Park

photo by Alice Lum

In 1875, two years after Central Park was officially completed, British sculptor George Blackall Simonds exhibited his The Falconer at the Royal Academy Exhibition.  Simonds was the son of a wealthy family of British brewers; but he was currently living in Rome.  His statue, which was intended for Trieste, Italy, was seen by George Kemp.  The New York merchant was impressed.

Born in Ireland, Kemp had made a fortune in New York and he approached the artist about reproducing the bronze as a gift to Central Park.  Simonds had a second statue cast by Clemente Papi of Florence, Italy, using the lost-wax method which the artist preferred.

The rapid-fire chain of events resulted in The Falconer being nearly ready to unveil only a few months later.  On May 22, 1875 Frederick Law Olmsted inspected the park with the Park Commissioners.  “The lake, walks, drives, rambles, and other features of the landscape were viewed in turn, after which the party proceeded to the site of the new statue of ‘The Falconer,’ near the south bay of the lake,” reported The New York Times the following day.

The site that Olmsted and the commissioners inspected had been somewhat of a thorny problem.  The Times later noted that “Mr. Kemp had some difficulty in obtaining from the Park Commissioners what he deemed a suitable location for the statue,” and the newspaper added its own opinion.  “We certainly do not think that the site on which it now stands is by any means the best that could have been chosen.  Conspicuous enough it certainly is, but it stands so far above the line of sight of the spectators beneath, that all the details, and even the expression of the face, are entirely lost.”

Appleton’s Dictionary of New York would diplomatically say it was “placed on a high bluff.”

Critics grumbled about the lofty positioning of the statue -- stereoscope photo by Augustus Hepp from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York, http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWE07DM3&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=579

The statue was dedicated on May 31, 1875 to general critical acclaim.  The Times said “Among the few really artistic statues that have been placed in the Central Park is that of ‘The Falconer,’ the work of Mr. George Simonds, of Rome, a young English sculptor.”

The newspaper described the 12-foot bronze.  “The figure represents a young falconer in the costume of the fifteenth of sixteenth century  The bird is perched on his left hand, and, with out-spread wings, is about to take flight, the leash, however, being as yet firmly held.  In the right hand is the hood which has just been removed from the bird’s head.  The man’s figure rests almost entirely on the right foot, and is well-balanced and gracefully posted.  The head is thrown back and the face raised toward the bird that is about to soar away skyward.  The attitude of the figure certainly expresses all the eager anticipation and interest that a keen hunter may be supposed to feel at so exciting a moment; but the upturned face is a blank so far as the spectator beneath is able to see.”

The Times again lamented the site.  “The statue should most certainly have been placed at least fifteen feet lower than it is.”

The Magazine of Art found technical fault in Simonds’ depiction of the hunting costume—somewhat surprising considering that the sculptor himself was an avid falconer.  “In ‘The Falconer’…a medieval design, the falcon, well modelled, is properly carried upon the upraised gloved hand, the attitude of the falconer, who has the hood in his right hand, indicating that he is in the act of what is technically termed ‘hooding off.’  The general effect is good, but would be better if the costume were more in accordance with the requirements of the sport.”

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Sixty years after the statue’s unveiling natural growth had nearly obscured it.  In 1937 the entire monument was dangerously close to toppling over.  The Parks Department shored it up and repatined the bronze.

But 1930s taste in art did not fare well for the piece either.  On January 17, 1937 Ruth Green Harris got a critical jab in as she described “the sculptural mélange that is Central Park” in an article for The New York Times.

“Those who know their park can find the ‘Falconer’ a little northwest, on a rise above the path, almost hidden among the trees.  It is advisable to remain standing on the Esplanade and to look at the memory of this engaging boy rather than at the bronze itself, for critical examination might destroy a shrine."

It was not critical examination that nearly destroyed the statue; but malicious vandalism.  In 1957 the falcon was sawed off and stolen.  A new falcon was cast and reattached.  But that, too, would not last.

The 1970s were a dark period in New York City.  As the city teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, crime was at an all-time high and Central Park became synonymous with muggings and rapes.  Monuments and statues were defiled by unrestrained vandals.

Thieves not only broke off the falcon, but the entire arm that held it aloft.  Finally on December 23, 1977 The Times noted that “The Falconer, formerly of Central Park, is now in storage in a dark basement in Washington Heights, minus his falcon.”

The much abused sculpture was resurrected in 1982.  A new arm and falcon were cast and attached and the restored statue was reinstalled in the park.  In 1995 The Falconer was again conserved and repatined.
 

The statue, with its replaced arm and falcon, are back at home in Central Park -- photo by Alice Lum

The 1894 Church Missions House -- No. 281 Park Avenue So.

photo by Alice Lum

On October 9, 1892 The San Francisco Call reported that “The cornerstone of what is said will be the finest church mission-house in the world will be laid on October 3 at the corner of Fourth avenue and Twenty-second street by Bishop Williams of Connecticut, as presiding Bishop of the Episcopal church in America.  For several years the Episcopal Mission Society of America has been planning to erect a home that would surpass anything of the kind in existence.”

The glowing account from the opposite side of the country foreshadowed a magnificent structure the beginnings of which went back decades.  The church’s Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society was founded in 1821 to coordinate missionary activities in the western states.  Later the efforts of the society would turn to Africa and China.

In 1835 the society moved from Philadelphia to New York and in 1864 the idea of a permanent church missions house first arose.  Not until 1888, though, would serious action be taken.  A committee was organized to collect funds and secure a location.  Among the members were six laymen and the society chose well; included were W. Bayard Cutting, William G. Low and Cornelius Vanderbilt.

With their significant clout the men helped amass sufficient funds to purchase the plot and to begin construction.  Cornelius Vanderbilt personally gave $50,000 toward the building fund and J. Pierpont Morgan donated a portion of the real estate.  The site ultimately chosen was the southeast corner of Fourth Avenue (later renamed Park Avenue South) and 22^nd Street, directly across the street from the hulking United Charities Building.

The San Francisco Call noted that “The building site was the most difficult thing to secure, but Mrs. Pierpont Morgan came to the rescue by purchasing the plat of ground eighty feet on Fourth avenue and seventy feet on Twenty-second street and deeding it to the mission society.”

In September 1889 the committee presented the designs of four architects to the Board of Managers of the Missionary Society.  Most likely a concept put forth by the businessmen in the group, the ground floor included rent-producing space.  The New York Times would later comment “The first floor will contain stores, which will be rented only to firms engaged in some business connected directly with church work, probably booksellers.”

Architect Robert W. Gibson was given the task of choosing the winning design—that of Edward Stent which was made public in December of that year.  Stent’s original plans were subsequently altered and enlarged and by 1892 when the cornerstone was laid Stent and Gibson had collaborated on the final design.

In its presentation the committee predicted the cost of the structure to be around $200,000 including the land.  The men grossly underestimated their vision.

The San Francisco Call published the above sketch on October 9, 1892 (copyright expired)

The Call published a sketch of the coming building which it described as “seven stories high and built in a steel frame filled in with brick.  It will be grand in proportions, warm in color and commanding in size.” 

At the time of the cornerstone laying Edward J. N. Stent commented on the design and the increased cost.  “Without exception this will be the finest church mission building in the world.  Its actual cost will be about $350,000…The architecture will be Flemish, with a slight Romanesque tendency.  The first and second stories will be of red granite and the balance will be of buff terra cotta.”

sketch by Albert E. Flanagan, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York,
http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWERU1KR&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=579

Stent predicted that construction would take about one year.  He mentioned the high-end finishes that would be incorporated into the finished structure.  “The hallways will be tiled in mosaics and handsomely colored marbles.”  An innovative system of portable walls would customize interior spaces for specific uses.  “The library and boardroom will be on the south side of the building on the second floor.  There will be a system of screens separating these rooms from the chapel, one of the handsomest in New York.  By removing these screens all the rooms can be thrown into one, thus completing quite a large chapel, with altar, vestibule, pews and organ ready for service.”

True to Stent’s word, construction neared completion in July 1893.  The New York Times predicted it would be finished by Thanksgiving Day.  By now the cost had rise to $500,000—about $11 million today.  Part of that cost went into the magnificent sculptures that would adorn the entrances, and in the finishes.  On July 10 The Times mentioned the mosaics and marbles and added “The stairways and passageways all through the building will be of stone and iron.  For the first two stories the joiner work will be of quartered oak, with the remaining five stories of ash.  The windows will all be of ornamental stained glass, leaded, with leaded transom heads for all the floors.”

Robert Williams Gibson was among the foremost architects of church structures in the state and his influence was obvious.  The New York Times noted “The mission building is a seven-story structure built in the Flemish style of architecture, treated from an ecclesiastic standpoint in minor features.”

Gibson's ecclesiastic touch appears throughout the structure -- photo by Alice Lum

The building was formally opened on New Year’s Day 1894; however the finishing touches to the façade were not installed until January 17.  On that day hundreds of people crowded the corner of Fourth Avenue and 22^nd Street to see the unveiling of the marble sculptures above the entrances.  The New-York Tribune said “The completion of this work put the finishing touches on the exterior decoration of the handsome and costly home of the society, the most striking example of the Flemish style of architecture in the city.”

photographer unknown; from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York,
http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWERU1KR&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=579

The white marble sculptural groupings depicted scenes “which combine both ecclesiastical and historical interest.”  One represented St. Augustine preaching to a group of 6^th century Britons; the other showed the first bishop of the American Church, Samuel Seabury, preaching to Native Americans—which the Tribune called in politically-incorrect 21^st century terms, “Aborigines.” 

photo by Alice Lum

The newspaper noted that “The work was executed from designs by Edward N. J. Stent, one of the architects of the building.”

Now comfortably ensconced in its glorious new home, the various groups comprising the Missionary Society could get on with their work.  On May 8, 1900 the New-York Tribune reported on once such outreach—this one quite close to home.

“The Women’s Auxiliary to the Church Temperance Society supports twelve free iced water fountains in the tenement house district.  The are in operation from May 1 to October 1, and are a great boon to the people.  The increase this season in the price of ice is practically prohibitory to the poor, so that the fountains will be a great blessing even than before.  Two hundred dollars will erect one, and contributions for that purpose will be welcomed at the Church Missions House.”

The Society’s concern for social reform and the well-being of the less fortunate classes was evident.  In 1902 the building would was the scene of a “sweatshop conference” under the auspices of the Sweatshop Committee of the Church Association for the Advancement of the Interests of Labor.  The Tribune reported that “The especial purpose of the meeting was to discuss factory laws now in force and further legislation in that line which is contemplated.”

During the conference, Rev. Mr. Morgan reported on his findings of “one woman who was paid only nine cents a dozen for finishing boys’ knee trousers, and how another woman received only 12 cents a dozen for the same work.”

The group kept constant pressure on legislators and inspectors for years.

In 1902, while the sweatshop conference was in session, New York saloons lured working men with their famous free lunches.  The Women’s Auxiliary of the Church Temperance Society came up with a solution—lunch wagons.  For ten cents workers could get a hot meal without being seduced into the wicked environments of a saloon.

Miss H. K. Graham reported to the group “There is no doubt that many [workingmen] would gravitate to the free lunch offered by the saloons but for these wagons.  That they have been successful from a financial point of view only serves to show that they have met a need and that the average workingman will patronize any place where he can get good, cheap food in preference to taking the so-called ‘free lunch’ at the saloons.”

The Auxiliary covered as many bases as it could.  It established coffee vans for the carriage drivers who had to wait for their wealthy employers at the theater.  “The coachmen’s coffee van is a handsome little wagon intended to provide refreshment for the coachmen and hackmen while waiting at entertainments,” she said.  “The temptation to take a drink at the nearest saloon while waiting in the cold is very strong, and that form of refreshment does not help the coachman to handle his horses with steadiness.”

Other vans were sent out in cold weather with insulated tanks of steaming coffee for motormen of the omnibuses; and they stopped by the scenes of fires as well, providing fire fighters with hot coffee in the winter.

The work of the various groups was such that it was proposed that same year to add stories to the eight –year old building.  In the will of Dean Hoffman the Society was bequeathed $50,000 and the Board announced that “it could not better invest the dean’s money” than to “add three, perhaps four, stories to the Episcopal Church Missions House.”

The proposal, which was publicized on September 30, 1902, never came to pass.  Thankfully.

The intricate decoration reaches into the uppermost portions of the magnificent structure -- photo by Alice Lum

Debutante Ethel J. Wheeler shocked some New Yorkers in July 1908.  A headline in the New-York Daily Tribune on July 21 read, “Miss Wheeler Renounces Social Life for Work at Wuchong.”   Ethel was among the 32 outgoing missionaries heading to China.

“The news of her decision to become a missionary came as a surprise to her friends,” said the newspaper.  She had traveled widely through Europe, had studied art, and was a member of the Art Students’ League.   Hers was not the sort of life decision one expected from a wealthy, well bred young woman.

“She will defray her own expenses and means to devote her money as well as her time to the work,” reported the Tribune.

Her father, the well-known attorney Everett P. Wheeler, expressed his support.  “I didn’t want my daughter to go, but since she is going I want her to make a success of it, just as I would want a boy who was going away to start in business to make a success of it.” 

As for Ethel, she did not see why there was such a fuss about it.  When a reporter asked to interview her, she replied “There is nothing to write about in it.”

Not all the churchmen were as enthusiastic about the missionary work among the Chinese.   A conference in the building on September 23, 1919, “brought out some opposition to the extension of the work to the Chinese,” reported The Sun.  Some clergymen saw more important missions to tackle.

“A lively discussion was precipitated over the problem of establishing missions for the Christianizing of Jews,” said the newspaper.

There was also a great thrust towards the “Americanization” of ethnic groups in the city.  “The campaign is now planned to include Czecho-Slovaks, Mexicans, Welsh, Assyrians, Jews, the Oriental people and some other races.  Dean D. C. F. Bratenahl of Washington raised objection to the work among the Chinese, stating that the effort was wasted, inasmuch as these people cannot become citizens.”

In a stance that is rather shocking to modern readers, the Rev. John L. Zacker insisted “The Jews control the world.  If Christianity is to convert the Jews, it must be attempted at once.”

In 1926 the National Council of the Episcopal Church turned its attention toward a different issue:  birth control.  Congress was considering an amendment to the Federal penal code and Tariff act that would make lawful the sending of contraception items through the mails.

On January 21 a meeting of the Council in the Park Avenue South building resulted in its joining forces with the National Catholic Welfare Council to oppose the action.  Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, The Right Rev. John Gardner Murray wrote in part “This is a challenge to the patriotism of every true American.  It faces our country with a moral crisis of great magnitude.  No one can be blind to the ultimate unhappy results of such information and practices, especially on the minds, morals and health of the younger citizens of our country, to whom we look for future growth and upbuilding of the United States.”

The Episcopal Church groups remained in the building until 1960.  Then, on September 12 of that year The New York Times reported that “The Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States will move its national headquarters from 281 Park Avenue South to a new $3,500,000 building to be constructed on the northwest corner of Forty-third Street and Second Avenue.”  The newspaper added “The old edifice, regarded by many as an interesting example of late nineteenth-century Gothic architecture, is up for sale.  It has long been too small to house the administrative offices of the 3,000,000-member denomination.”

The structure became home to the Federal of Protestant Welfare Agencies which, in 1991, initiated a major restoration and renovation program.   The architectural firm of Kappell & Kostow were given the commission that included resurrecting and restoring the mosaic marble floors that had been covered with vinyl tiles; removing dropped ceilings to re-expose the plaster-ornamented ceilings, repairing the copper and terra cotta roof; restoring the leaded, stained glass windows; and bringing back to its former appearance the wooden wainscoting, doors and trims.

photo by Alice Lum

The restoration, costing about $5.5 million, reclaimed the remarkable building that still commands attention. 

Nos. 3 and 4 Gramercy Park West

Samuel B. Ruggles’ ambitious project of transforming a marshy portion of James Duane’s former country estate into an exclusive residential enclave was well underway by 1844.  By now Gramercy Park was laid out and encircled by a heavy iron fence, and the first planting had begun.  Around the perimeter 66 building lots were plotted; intended for high-end homes of the wealthy citizens who were already abandoning the similarly-designed St. John’s Park to the south.

That year James Harper, Sr. stepped into the office of Mayor of New York City.  Harper, with his three younger brothers, had founded the publishing firm Harper and Brothers in 1817.  (His company would later become Harper & Row and finally, HarperCollins.)  While Harper served his three-year term, the first houses around Gramercy Park began rising.

Among them were Nos. 3 and 4; built as mirror image Greek Revival mansions.  The 26-foot wide homes exhibited all the expected architectural elements of fine residential structures; but they would not have been exceptional without one magnificent detail—their combined porches.

Architectural historians generally agree that the ornate cast iron porches were designed by one of the period’s most important architects, Alexander Jackson Davis.  Intricate, lacy arches supported a roof that stretched the width of the two homes, providing a shady refuge on summer evenings.  Because the houses faced east, by mid afternoon the porches would be fully shaded.  The railings spilled down the shared stoop from a central pavilion that projected slightly forward and stood higher than the flanking sections.

The entrance doors of No. 3 (right) are sadly inappropriate replacements.

At the end of his term as 65^th Mayor of New York, James Harper moved into No. 4 with his second wife, Julia.  With him came the mayoral lampposts.

In the days of the Dutch Burgomasters, two lantern bearers would escort the Burgomaster home at night.  The lit lanterns were then left outside the residence as a sign that Burgomaster was at home and boisterous citizens should not disturb him.  The custom evolved into two gas lanterns which adorned all New York mayors’ residences for life.

John Harper, Sr. died in 1869; but the family continued living on in the Gramercy Park mansion.  In the meantime, next-door neighbor Benjamin Franklin Lee was making a name for himself in legal circles.

Lee was born in New York in 1839 to a family with deep Colonial roots.  He was a descendant of Thomas Lee, one of the settlers of Lyme, Connecticut, who landed in 1641.   On his mother’s side he was a member of the Lawrence family; one of the most well-known and esteemed families of the city.  By the time of John Harper’s death, he had established himself as one of the leading real estate and patent lawyers in the country.

Benjamin Franklin Lee had purchased No. 3 Gramercy Park in 1866.  The highly-successful bachelor lived here alone with his servants until 1871 when he married Mary Ray King.  Like her new husband, Mary came from what The New York Times referred to as “old Revolutionary stock.”  She had the unlikely pedigree of the King family on both sides.  Her father, James Gore King was a banker, descended from John A. King the former Governor of New York.  Her mother was the great-granddaughter of Rufus King, the first American Minister to England.

Benjamin Franklin Lee moved into No. 3 in 1866

The Lees would have four children in the house—James Gore King Lee, Franklin Lawrence Lee, Eliot Lee and Caroline King Lee.  In 1883 Benjamin was appointed professor of real estate and equity jurisprudence in the Law School of Columbia.

Mary Lee’s busiest social season would be the winter of 1894 when daughter Caroline made her debut into society.  It was a particularly difficult debutante year for Caroline to shine—other debutantes that year were the daughters of the Cornelius Vanderbilts, the Anson Phelps Stokes, the J. Hampton Robbs, and the Kiliaen Van Rensselaers, among other socially-elite names.  Nevertheless the receptions and teas at No. 3 Gramercy Park held their own in the society pages.

A vintage postcard captured the tranquil view of the park that the Lees and Harpers enjoyed.

Three years later, on Thursday evening, June 3, 1897 Mary Ray Lee suffered a heart attack in the house and died.  The funeral of the 49-year old woman was held at Calvary Protestant Episcopal Church, just around the corner, the following Monday. 

Somewhat surprisingly, Benjamin Franklin Lee almost immediately embarked for Europe on business.  He traveled throughout Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Holland, and England to garner “observations of European opinions on political conditions in the United States,” according to The Sun later.

Upon his return in October, he gave reporters a grim assessment of the state of things.  “My view of the present situation is that it is a very grave one…I found that the spirit of unrest which here takes the name of Bryanism was to be found to an alarming degree in Europe.” 

Lee attacked William Jennings Bryan mercilessly.  “The forces of Bryanism are as defiant as ever and are attacking the very foundations of civilization itself.”

By now widowed Julia Harper and her unmarried daughter, Elizabeth, shared the mansion at No. 4.  During James Harper’s administration the massive Croton Reservoir had been completed which brought fresh water to the city’s residents.  In 1899 as the demolition of the hulking Egyptian Revival structure neared, Elizabeth was invited to remove mementos to adorn the Gramercy Park home.

On June 22 The Times reported that “Miss Harper…drove to the reservoir yesterday to select some of the trees and shrubbery, in answer to an invitation sent her by the contractors who are demolishing the place.  Miss Harper selected a number of trees and vines which she will have transplanted in the garden of her home.”

On April 25, 1902 Julia A. Harper died in the house at No. 4 Gramercy Park.  The Evening World mentioned that “The old residence and the residue of the estate goes to the two daughters, Mrs. Julia T. H. Millard of Paris, and Elizabeth Fletcher Harper.”  Julia’s estate of about $80,000 would amount to around $2 million today.

In 1909 a well-dressed woman passes No. 4.  The ironwork is painted white, save for the Mayor's Lamps.  -- Harper's Magazine, from the collection of the New York Public Library

Before long sweeping changes would come to the two matching Gramercy Park mansions.  On March 3, 1907, after a long illness, Benjamin Franklin Lee died in his home at the age of 68.  Within months the mansion had been converted for use by the National Training School of the Young Women’s Christian Association.  Here courses such as “Public Speaking and Parliamentary Procedure” were given.  The school said it “Prepares young women for executive positions in the association.”

The dean of the school, Caroline B. Down, resided in the mansion, as did another associate, Charlotte H. Adams.  The school would operate in the house until 1912.

Meanwhile, in 1909 when Mrs. Caroline S. Harper, apparently a relative, leased her mansion at 5^th Avenue and 46^th Street to Charles Thorley, “a florist,” Elizabeth Harper rented the Gramercy Park residence to her.

While the Harper mansion held out as a private home; No. 3 became a men’s club.  In 1903 The Netherland Club of New York had been formed for men with Dutch ancestry.  In 1912 it purchased from the Lee family the mansion that the Women’s Christian Association been using.

The Netherland Club retained the upper floors as sleeping rooms for members; such as Antonio Surie, Jr. who suddenly needed a place to stay in 1921.  Surie’s wife kissed him good-bye in the fall of 1920 as she left for Europe.  The problem was that Mrs. Surie did not go to Europe; but instead went to an apartment on West 69^th Street.  She stayed there with “a man not her husband,” according to The New York Times.

The man who was her husband found out.  He served his wife with divorce papers and he moved into the Netherland Club while his problems were sorted out.

A postman visits No. 4, still a private residence, in 1935.  No. 3 is home to the Netherland Club.  At some point the Greek Revival cast iron antefix above the porch entrance to No. 4 was lost and replaced by a more Victorian adornment -- photo by Berenice Abbott, from the collection of the New York Public Library

In 1939 the Netherland Club sold the former Lee mansion to architect Eugene Schoen as it prepared to move to its new headquarters in the Holland Building in Rockefeller Center.  Schoen made his intentions for the once-proud home immediately public.  The house, said The New York Times on June 2, “will be converted into small apartments.”  The architect told reporters that “One and two-room kitchen and kitchenette apartments will be made out of the old building and are expected to be ready in September.”

The mansion was divided into two apartments per floor and immediately attracted a list of artistic residents.  In 1941 former silent film actress and author Martha Sleeper moved in.  Author and journalist Elizabeth Jordan was a tenant in the 1940s.  She was editor of Harper’s Bazaar from 1900 to 1913.  She died in the house on February 24, 1947.

Actress and interior designer Iris Whitney was a resident of No. 3.  In 1952 film star John Garfield separated from his wife and a week later suffered a fatal heart attack in Whitney’s apartment.  The already-uncomfortable situation became more so when police arrived to prepare a death report.  Fearing that the men at the door were reporters, Whitney refused to open it.  Reportedly a hour-long standoff resulted in the apartment door being broken down.

Both of the antefixae are gone over the entrance.  The replacement of No. 3 now matches the earlier one next door.

The following year the house next door, like its neighbor, was converted to apartments.  Both of the remarkable homes received subsequent renovations; yet their exteriors remain virtually untouched.  The extraordinary cast iron porches bring to mind visions of summer evenings with the Lee and Harper families gazing out at the tranquil park as nightfall approaches.

non-historic photographs taken by the author

The 1869 Jube Building -- No. 97 Bowery

photo by Alice Lum

John Prosser Jube was only 31 years old when the success of his carriage materials business necessitated a move to larger quarters.   His small operation on Mechanic Street in Newark, often mistaken for a carriage maker, would move across the river to Manhattan.   The business rapidly grew and the John  P. Lube & Company would move from No. 51 Bowery to 83 Bowery before constructing its own headquarters in 1869.

No. 97 Bowery had been the home of William Dally, his wife Cynthia, and sons Tunis and William, Jr.  The Dally family ran a contracting business from the house for years here—Daly was a “builder,” William, Jr. a painter, and Tunis was the small company’s clerk.  In 1868 Jube paid Dally $40,000 for the lot and existing building – over half a million by today’s standards.

The modest home would be replaced by a much less modest structure.

Lube commissioned architect Peter L. P. Tostevin to design an up-to-date factory and store structure on the site.   The neighborhood at the time, once a fashionable thoroughfare of Federal style homes, was now the center of Kleindeutschland, or Little Germany.   Along with dry goods stores, hardware shops and other retail establishments, the bustling Bowery was filling with biergartens, and music and social halls aimed at the heavily German population.

Tostevin designed a handsome Italianate style building with a cast iron façade.  The material allowed for rapid construction—the precast sections being bolted on to the masonry walls—and for affordable ornamentation.  Cast iron structures were highly touted as fireproof; an important consideration to property owners who vividly recalled devastating blazes like the 1865 Barnum Museum fire.

Because some of the cast iron elements are similar to those found on other New York buildings like the McCreery’s Dry Goods Store on Broadway it is safe to assume that the decorative components were chosen from a manufacturer’s catalog.  The building was completed within a year and in 1869 the John P. Lube & Company moved in.

By the 1870s John Jube had retired “and gave up his business to the management and control of his son William M.,” according to the “Geneological and Memorial History of the State of New Jersey.”  The author described John as “a genial, well-informed man, shrewd in business, active in good works, and scrupulously fair and honorable in all his dealings.”  He added that upon Jube’s retirement he had “amassed a fortune.”

Working closely with William were his brothers John H., Thomas, and Albert.  The common confusion as to the exact business of John P. Jube & Company was evident when Thomas was called to testify in a court hearing in 1875.

An attorney asked “Mr. Jube, your place of business is 97 Bowery, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are a carriage manufacturer?”

“Carriage hardware trimmings.”

A fourth son, Charles, drew a salary from the company, but did not work.  Since he was a boy the family had noticed “mental trouble.”  In 1876 his eyesight began failing and his mental condition worsened.  The New York Times said that in 1880 “his sight had become so impaired that he was unable to write, and his father permitted him to draw an allowance that sufficed for his wants and to live where he pleased.  His mental condition did not improve, and where he lodged he was considered either erratic or eccentric.”

Charles rented an attic room in April 1882 in Mrs. Marshall’s boarding house at No. 126 East 25^th Street.  His odd behavior induced Mrs. Marshall to ask him to look for another place to stay  (the landlady reported on his craning of the neck and “a peculiar stare, which made him remarkable” and that he “had an odd, quick gait that distinguished him).   The Times said “He was fussy, and left the house many times daily on errands that appeared to have no object.”

When he took a room at No. 155 Lexington Avenue, he was evicted when he shot a pistol off in his room.  His landlady there said she was unable “to get a satisfactory explanation of the circumstance.”  And so Charles Jube moved on to Dr. Thompson's where he rented another attic room.

At 12:45 in the morning on March 4, 1882, the silence of the house was broken by a gunshot.  A policeman broke open the door to find Jube dead in his bed.  A sheet of paper on a table read “I am going to die.  I am tired of living.”

Although a bulky roof addition can be seen from street level and one bay has been closed for, apparently, an elevator shaft, the cast iron details are crisp -- photo by Alice Lum

Workers in the Jube plant apparently came and went.  The newspapers regularly ran advertisements for workers, especially carriage painters.  On May 12, 1885 an ad in The Sun sought “A carriage painter; one that can stripe and finish.”  On November 21, 1887 a similar advertisement targeted a “carriage painter, good striper, and finisher;”  and on April 7, 1889 the same newspaper advertised for “Carriage painter wanted.”

The question of mental stability tarnished the Jube name once again, in 1894, when son John’s wife, Catherine, petitioned the courts to test her husband’s sanity.  A commission of two physicians was appointed by Justice Patterson of the Supreme Court to examine him.  The Times said, on May 24, “He has delusions of great wealth, and suffers from hallucinations of other kinds.”

Despite the family’s personal troubles, the carriage trimmings business flourished.  Above street level apartments shared the building with factory space.   Forty-two-year old Charles Rodgeor rented a room here until he was found dead on April 19, 1897.

The firm ran the above advertisement in The Automotive Manufacturer in December 1901 (copyright expired)

By the turn of the century the Bowery had degenerated into a neighborhood of brothels, saloons and criminal elements.  In 1910 Philip Mangold lived above the Jube operation.  On January 17 of that year he was arrested with two cohorts, “charged with procuring and selling a female to a house of prostitution,” reported The New York Times.  The men were nabbed during an investigation of “white slave traffic.”

As carriages gave way to motor cars, the Jube company adapted.  Before long a name change would reflect the expanded business:  John P. Jube Carriage Wagon and Automobile Supplies.   The family would successfully operate from No. 97 Bowery until 1931 when it moved to No. 6 Howard Street.

photo by Alice Lum

The building was sold to sisters Mrs. Helen J. P. Haile and Matilda J. Benjamin that year.  They quickly leased the entire building “for five years from June 20, 1931” to Benny Gorbaty and Louis Gorbaty.  The brothers signed a lease at $5,000 a year and The New York Times noted that “The premises are to be used for the sale and storage of office and store fixtures.”

The five-year lease would go on for half a century as the Gorbaty family sold store fixtures and display items from the building.   In 1981, fifty years after signing the first lease, the family moved its business to Queens.

Where the Jubes painted broughams and manufactured carriage cloths, Big Eat opened.  The Cantonese restaurant served “new-wave fusion dishes” in what one magazine called “an almost surreal environment.”  More recently the space became another Chinese restaurant, Full House.

Despite the garish signs, the architectural integrity of the structure survives.  photo by Alice Lum

Tostevin’s proud cast iron factory and store building survives remarkably intact; a reminder of a transitional time on the bustling Bowery.

The Flamboyant Knickerbocker Jewelry Bldg -- No. 574 6th Avenue

Apparently unconcerned with its small stature, the building exhibits its immense architectural ego.

At the turn of the last century, a few of the major players along 6^th Avenue’s shopping district had already defected; moving northward to Herald Square and Fifth Avenue.  But the Ladies’ Mile was still the main retail area and its potential did not escape the notice of Louis J. Seleznick.

On August 22, 1902 The New York Times reported that “Louis J. Seleznick of Pittsburgh, Penn., has leased from G. L. Morgenthau…the building at the northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and Sixteenth Street…The lessee is a jeweler, and will occupy the building after extensive alterations have been made.”

Apparently Gustave L. Morgenthau and Louis Seleznick came to an agreement for a grander project than “extensive alterations.”  On May 23, 1903 the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide announced that Morgenthau would build a four-story brick store on the site.  The plans estimated the final cost at $15,000—about $300,000 today.

The Guide reported that “The Knickerbocker Jewelry Co., are the lessees, and when completed the building will be opened as a unique jewelry store.  The interior will be handsome, the finish and details being quite elaborate.”

It was most likely Seleznick who chose architect Simeon B. Eisendrath who had been practicing in Pittsburgh.  The commission to design the new building at No. 278 Sixth Avenue (later renumbered 574) would be one of the architect’s first New York City projects.

While he had the advantage of a corner site; Eisendrath had to deal with the Sixth Avenue elevated train that ran up the middle of the street.  He turned the challenge into an asset, utilizing the elevated perspective of passing shoppers to his advantage.

Well dressed shoppers and a boy in knickers navigate the street vendors along 6th Avenue's Ladies' Mile.  The 6th Avenue Elevated runs down the center of the avenue -- photo Byron & Co., from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWLJP6U0&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=579#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWLJP6U0&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=579&PN=2

Construction was completed early in 1904 and the resultant jewelry store building was as ambitious as its owner.  Four stories tall, it featured rusticated brick piers on the avenue elevation that exaggerate the structure’s verticality.  At street level, projecting shop windows showed off silverplated hollow ware and jewelry.  The second story—at eye level to passing shoppers on the train—was an expanse of show windows.  Above it all Eisendrath’s design exploded in an over-blown Baroque cornice of molded sheet metal.  The ostentatious, self-confident little building vied for attention with the grand emporiums along the avenue.

The baroque cornice originally extended down the 16th Street side.

Inside, the double-height showroom was 21-feet high, surrounded by a mezzanine gallery.  The upper two floors were designated for offices and showrooms.  When Seleznick threw open the doors to his new Knickerbocker Jewelry store in 1904, he was relatively unknown.

Shortly after its opening, a reader wrote to the United States Investor asking “Will you give us information regarding the Knicerbocker Jewery Co., corner 6^th avenue and 16^th street, New York city?”

The publication’s answer was of little help.  “Comparatively little information is obtainable regarding this company, which was incorporated as recently as November 21, 1903…It is believed by outsiders that it is doing a very fair business, both local and outside, and being located in the shopping district, ought, under ordinary circumstances, to operate successfully.”

Expanses of glass at the second story were intended to catch the eye of passengers on the elevated train.

Seleznick launched a clever marketing scheme soon after opening.  In April 1904 he placed advertisements in the local papers asking readers to vote for the most popular fireman, alderman, policeman and teacher in the city.  “You Can Vote For Your Favorites as Often as You Please,” promised the ad; which added that that the ballots were free and available at the store.

The most popular teacher would receive a solid gold watch; the winning policeman an “extra heavy solid gold watch;” the most popular fireman would “be presented with a genuine mahogany chest of sterling table silver containing 43 pieces;” and the alderman would win a “genuine white diamond ring, weighing over a carat, set in 14k.”

Although there was already a well-known Knickerbocker Building in the city, Seleznick referred to his new Sixth Avenue building as the Knickerbocker Building in his ads.  As much a showman as a businessman, he touted his new business as “The most magnificent jewelry store in the world” – no doubt to the notice of long-established Manhattan jewelry houses like Tiffany & Co., Gorham, and Dreicer & Co.

Seleznick advertised competitive prices and late store hours.  He operated a second store in Brooklyn -- The Evening World, December 7, 1907 (copyright expired)

Perhaps it was another bit of showmanship that prompted advertisements of a sweeping close-out sale in January 1905, not yet a full year after the store’s opening.  An auction was advertised to begin on Saturday, January 21 “and will continue daily until everything is sold.”  The advertisements touted $200,000 “in high grade goods” that included “diamonds, gold jewelry, sterling silver, cut glass, bric-a-brac, watches, clocks, leather goods, etc.”  The company said that “this great sacrifice” would also include twelve showcases, 2 large safes, the office furniture and store fittings.  For the convenience of ladies, chairs would be available.

Despite the 15-year term of the lease, the auction announcement said the sale was “on account of the disposal of our lease.”  Sale or not, the Knickerbocker Jewelry Co., continued to operate its store from the showy little building – at least for a while.

The ornamentation of the elaborate cornice, like rolling, breaking waves, was repeated in the cast panels below.

A few months later Louis Seleznick noticed that his inventory was shrinking.  He suspected that one of his salesmen, 25-year old Samuel Folodarr, was responsible.  When the jeweler accompanied police to Folodarr’s apartment at No. 248 East 13^th Street on June 5, he found his missing jewelry, including 30 watches.  The loot was valued at $1000—a significant $20,000 in today’s money.

Ever the wheeler-dealer, in 1907 Seleznick organized a syndicate which leased all six floors of the 42^nd Street wing of the Bryant Park Arcade Building.  The structure was still under construction at the north east former of Sixth Avenue and 42^nd Street.  The syndicate announced that it would sublease stores and offices in its portion of the building. 

The deal would result in Seleznick being sued by Julius Meyer who signed a sublease for nine stores in the new building on May 1, 1907.  For some reason Seleznick chose to change the spelling of his name to Lewis for the transaction. 

Meyer visited the Knickerbocker Jewelry store and proposed to Seleznick that he should move his operation to the new Arcade Building—a tangled arrangement whereby Selenick would lease a store from his own tenant.

The crafty jeweler indeed leased one of the stores from Meyer; then charged him a commission for finding a tenant.

Seleznick’s decision to move north was a sound one.  By now the Ladies’ Mile was essentially abandoned by the grand retail emporiums.  The neighborhood was being taken over by small factories and shops, many of them affiliated with the apparel and millinery industry.

In 1918 Morgenthau leased the building to Martin Weil “for a millinery establishment.”  By now the projecting show windows at street level had been removed; and in 1925 entirely new shop fronts were installed.  During this renovation the interior gallery mezzanine was removed.

By the 1930s all evidence of the building's high-end past was gone -- photo by from collection of the New York Public Library

Throughout the 20^th century the building served a variety of businesses; none so grand as the Knickerbocker Jewelry store.  Today on the first floor, where well-dressed women carrying parasols shopped for silver tea sets and jewelry, a diner serves hamburgers and scrambled eggs.  Above it all Simeon B. Eisendrath’s exuberant baroque cornice still stands out after more than a century.

non-historic photographs taken by the author