In 1912 the Fifth Avenue neighborhood around 41st Street was no longer the exclusive residential district of a generation earlier. In 1902 the 10-story Knox Hat Building had replaced the mansion of Colonel Lawrence Kip at the southwest corner of 40th Street while directly across the street the cornerstone was laid for Carrere & Hastings’ masterful New York Public Library.
The Knox Building was an ebullient Beaux Arts concoction
while the white marble Library was a more stately and reserved version of the
style. But now a new fashion was making
itself known. Only a few blocks away, at
No. 110 West 40th Street, the Gothic Revival World’s Tower Building
was rising—a 30-story office building clad in terra cotta. Simultaneously a Gothic Revival masterpiece,
Cass Gilbert’s iconic Woolworth Building, was being erected far downtown. The style would soon appear just half a block
from the Library.
On May 15, 1912 The New York Times reported that two more of
the area’s once elegant homes had been purchased. Judson S. Todd, of the Holland Holding
Company, had purchased Nos. 18 and 20 East 41st Street for $275,000—in
the neighborhood of $6.4 million today.
Todd commissioned brothers George and Edward Blum to design a 20-story
office building on the site.
Known mostly for their apartment buildings, the Blums often
worked in the trendy Arts and Crafts style.
But for the 41st Street project, they would turn to Gothic
Revival. Completed the following year,
No. 18-20 East 41st Street was less elaborately-ornamented as either
the World’s Tower or the Woolworth Building.
But it turned heads, nonetheless.
The Gothic terra cotta elements included graceful arches,
sumptuous floriform clusters and trailing fig-laden vines running down the
centers of the two-story piers above the second floor. In places, the brilliant white glaze was
offset by a background of rich, deep blue tiles. Faceted balconies running 13 stories up the façade
were ornamented with heraldic shields.
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| The newly completed tower was illustrated in American Architect and Architecture on July 29, 1914 (copyright expired) |
An advertisement appearing in the New-York Tribune on
January 4, 1914 clearly announced that this was an upscale office
building. “No Manufacturing Allowed,” it
warned. The ad touted the new structure’s
advantages, including “four high speed elevators” and “light on four sides.”
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| Art Nouveau married Gothic in the sinuous ornamentation. |
A number of medical and educational tenants were among the
first to move in. Dr. E. W. Roberts
established his office in the building; and the two-year old Nitchie Service
League moved in. The League “gives
scholarships in lip reading with the purpose of helping deaf persons to ‘hear
with their eyes,’ and thus be enabled to take their places with the
unafflicted,” explained The Outlook on June 20, 1914.
The Nitchie Legue also ran an employment service for the
deaf, made loans for those in serious financial straits, and “conducts a
club-room and gives entertainments at which persons hard of hearing may meet on
equal terms.”
The Directory of Social and Health Agencies of New York City
expanded on the goal of the entertainments.
“Among many other problems the League is trying to solve, is the one of
bringing light into the lonesome lives of the deaf by aiding them to enjoy
social life by means of teas, receptions, plays, contests, etc., for the
deaf. No limitations as to age, sex,
nationality, race or sect.”
Four years later the School for the Hard of Hearing, run by
the Nitchie League in the building, would find itself with a new group of
students. In 1918 soldiers were returning
to the States having lost their hearing in combat. The school established special classes for
deaf soldiers.
Even more visible in the building were horse racing
organizations. The Turf and Field Club,
the Jockey Club, United Hunts Racing Association, and the National Steeplechase
and Hunt Association all had their headquarters here. For years the rules of horse racing would be
discussed and changed in The Jockey Club’s offices. On April 13, 1916, for instance, rules were
changed relating to the number of races a horse could participate within a day;
the naming of foals (to prevent duplicate names); and a rule quite alien to
non-horse types:
“It was the unanimous opinion of those present that the
amendment to the rule doing away with the allowance of three pounds to geldings
should not be considered retroactive. It
was, therefore, resolved that in future geldings would be entitled to the
three-pound allowance in all stakes which closed prior to the passage of the
rule,” explained The New York Times to readers who understood horse racing.
In 1914 New York City, Queens and New Jersey were still the
center of the motion picture industry.
The newly-formed Motion Picture Board of Trade of America established
its offices here in 1915. Its purpose
was to “further the interests of the motion picture industry in every
legitimate way, giving special attention to legislation proposed or on the
statue books considered unjust.”
Already in the building was the International Education
League which endeavored to spread the teachings of the Church and Social
Service Bureau through motion pictures. The
Duke of Manchester had invested a sizable amount of the $10,000,000
capital. The New York Times, on
September 24, 1914, noted “The Duke expected to sell his stock with ease, and
through his own acquaintances to obtain valuable film rights in Eastern
countries.”
But then war broke out in Europe, upsetting the League’s
plans. “The war caused such a scarcity
of money that it is said not a single share of the stock was sold,” reported
the newspaper. To make matters worse, C.
J. Hite, President of the Thanhouse Moving Picture Company,” said to be the
practical man of the league,” had died just a few weeks before the Times article.
On September 23 the office was closed and the furniture
carted away. It was all too much for the
Duke of Manchester who suffered a nervous breakdown in Philadelphia.
A long-term tenant was the London-based pharmaceutical firm Burroughs
Wellcome & Company. The firm
manufactured “compressed medicine tablets” marketed under the brand name “Tabloid”—a
blending of the words “tablet” and “alkaloid.”
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| A clever item was this traveling first-aid kid -- Flying, September 1915 (copyright expired) |
He told reporters that the fact that just two men (Frederick
Olmsted and Calvert Vaux) could produce the vast project “is a little less than
a miracle.” But, he said, they were “only
human” and “these two young men made, as I see it, two mistakes.”
Caparn offered that the Park should be pointed at the
northern and southern ends, rather than following the grid plan. He felt that modern traffic would not “butt
into it,” but flow smoothly to either side.
He also complained that there was a “lack of shortcuts” for traffic to
transverse the park.
Finally, he wanted to see the Central Park Reservoir
removed. “Central Park ought to be
completed, and this cannot be done so long as the reservoirs are there,” he
said. During the 1920s the historic
integrity of buildings and places like Central Park were, on the whole,
under-appreciated. Looking back it is
somewhat surprising that none of Caparn’s suggestions were put in place.
Perhaps the building’s most unusual use of space was by The
Homeland Company. Beginning in the early
1920s the firm leased several floors in the building. Here full model homes were constructed,
complete with yards. In 1928 Homeland
Company added more space and on May 13 The New York Times announced “In the
several floors which the company now occupies will be found typical models and
pictures of homes which have already been built, together with blueprints and
plans, showing varied types of architecture which ‘fit’ into given locations.
“On one floor will be a typical home with a garden layout,
with walks and shrubs. Around this, will
be landscape paintings of actual homes in their Westchester settings, pictures
of home communities and models of communities, complete.”
On another floor, said the newspaper, customers browsed
among “specimen doorways, staircases, and ornamental windows, built-in home
apparatus, such as bookcases, dresser closets, breakfast nooks which fold into
the wall out of sight, kitchen cabinets, wrought iron hinges, lamps, copper and
brass housefittings and furniture, shades, awnings, types of roofing, hot water
heating devices and showers.”
The following year The Times noted that the Permanent Home
Planners’ Exposition, which had been for three years at No. 441 Lexington
Avenue, would be held at No. 18-20 East 41st Street. Three floors of the building would present
home builders with the latest in domestic architectural ideas.
The 20th floor of No. 18-20 was converted to a
six-room penthouse apartment which, in 1930, was home to motion picture
director Dudley Murphy. On January 15
that year the apartment would be the scene of a mysterious death appropriate
for one of Murphy’s movies.
Designer John M. Barbour shared the apartment with
Murphy. In December 1929 the director had
met Harriet Adler, the estranged wife of a bond broker, at the Algonquin Hotel
where he frequently lunched with the literary group composing “the round table.”
Three weeks later Murphy and Barbour went to the
theater. Upon leaving they ran into
friends who wanted to get a bite to eat.
Murphy joined them and Barbour went back to the penthouse. There he received a call from Harriet Adler
asking for Murphy. When he told her
Murphy was not home, she called back within 15 minutes; and then again. The third time she accused Barbour of being
Murphy, disguising his voice and said she was coming to the apartment at once.
It was after 1:30 in the morning when she appeared at the
door. According to The New York Times
on January 16, 1930, “Half an hour later Murphy entered the apartment. Both men said they offered to escort Mrs.
Adler home. When she insisted upon
staying, they excused themselves and went to bed, according to the stories they
told the detectives.”
At 9:15 Neutrice St. Louis, the maid, let herself in. Harriett was still lying on the sofa and the
men were both asleep. Around 10:15
someone rang the doorbell, which awakened Murphy who, according to The Times, “shuffled
into the living room in bathrobe and slippers.”
He tried to rouse Harriett Adler, but she was dead.
Suspiciously, the police were not notified until nearly
noon. They found a well-dressed
corpse. “Mrs. Adler was wearing a black
satin dress, black mesh stockings and gray kid shoes…Upon one wrist Mrs. Adler
wore a jade link bracelet, and upon the other a platinum wrist watch set with
diamond chips. She wore a diamond ring
upon one of the fingers of her left hand.”
There was one thing that bothered Dr. Harry Weinberg,
Assistant Medical Examiner. “In some
manner the string of pearls had been pressed against Mrs. Adler’s throat until
they left tiny indentations in the flesh.
These ligature marks and a slight discoloration of the face hinted
strongly enough at possible strangulation, Dr. Weinberg said, to make it wise
to ‘avoid guess-work.’”
One detective offered an outlandish explanation that would
relieve the well-known motion picture figure from suspicion. “The only indication of any sinister
circumstances was the imprint of the pearls upon her neck,” said The
Times. “The indentation was not deep,
and Detective Mullarney said he believed the woman, in fainting, had caught her
arm in the necklace and drawn it tightly about her throat.”
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| The lowest floors were obliterated in the late 20th century; but a sympathetic renovation approximates the original storefronts. |
There were still medical firms in the building as the
decades elapsed. In 1940 Theodore Radin,
Inc. was here, peddling cures for a variety of ailments. But on May 17 that year the Federal Trade
Commission ordered the firm to cease representing its medicines as “cures and
remedies for asthma, hay fever, sinus discomfort and bronchial irritations, and
that they are absolutely harmless, no matter how often used.”
The Commission said that the epinephrine and ephedrine in
the firm’s products would cause tissue damage “from anoxemia” over a period of
time.
Through the 1950s Young America Films, Inc. was in the building,
the last instance of the long-standing motion picture industry presence at No.
18-20 East 41st.
As happened with so many structures, George & Edward
Blum’s handsome storefront was annihilated at some point. But before 2012 a sympathetic restoration was
completed. The renovated lower floors
are the result of an admirable attempt to tie them to
the original Gothic design above.
As was the case in 1914, No. 18-20 East 41st
Street is heavily occupied by medical offices.
The striking Gothic Revival façade is worth a detour down the mostly-overlooked
block.
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