Schwartz & Gross's 1917 300 West End Avenue

 

On New Year's Day 1916, the Record & Guide reported that the Paterno Construction Company had commissioned Gaetan Ajello to design an apartment house at the northeast corner of West End Avenue and 74th Street.  "The structure will be equipped throughout with every modern appliance, containing quarters for thirteen families," said the article.  But something went awry.  Ten months later, on October 14, the journal noted that Schwartz & Gross was now working on the plans.

The 13-story building was completed in 1917 at a cost of $250,000, or about $5.9 million by 2024 conversion.  Faced in Flemish bond brick and trimmed in limestone, granite and terra cotta, its Colonial Revival design included a dignified entrance with engaged Scamozzi pilasters and a sweeping arched pediment filled with intricate carvings.  Stone bandcourses relieved the visual bulk of the building, and a parapet with stone roundels took the place of a cornice.

An advertisement in The Sun on September 30, 1917 offered a "high class corner apartment" of 12 rooms and five baths, noting, "building just completed."

The sprawling apartments became home to well-to-do families, like Robert Edison Fulton, a vice-president of the International Motor Company, and his family; Horace M. Kilborn, vice-president of the National City Bank; and Ezra Johnson Travis.

Travis's life story was fascinating.  Born in Greenville, Pennsylvania in 1844, Travis served in the Civil War as a scout before going into cattle ranching in Montana.  Known as "Jot," he was a partner in the pioneering firm of Gilner & Salisbury, which became one of the largest stage coach companies in the West.  It led to his landing Government contracts to carry mail via stage throughout the West.  He later held contracts for transporting mail in Chicago, Philadelphia and New York.  The wealthy widower died at the age of 75 on July 12, 1919.

Ezra "Jot" Johnson Travis in his earlier years.  (original source unknown)

The Spregelberg family were also initial tenants.  The country entered World War I months after 300 West End Avenue opened, and Sidney L. Spregelberg went off to fight in Europe.  Tragically, on August 3, 1918, his name appeared on a list of casualties published by the New-York Tribune.  The young lieutenant had died of disease.

Horace M. Kilborn's apartment faced southwest, overlooking the massive Charles M. Schwab mansion and the Hudson River.  On the evening of May 14, 1920, he was watching the sunset when something caught his eye on the Schwab grounds.  The Sun reported, "He saw a man walk in through the main gate, run to the door and ring several times.  On getting no response the stranger took off his hat and waved it several times, shouting."

The caretaker did not seem to be around, so Kilborn took matters into his own hands.  He went into sleuth mode, going downstairs and following the interloper around for about half an hour.  Eventually, the man went into the watchman's house on West End Avenue and asked Fred Forms for 50 cents.  He told Forms he needed a place to sleep.  Kilborn had heard enough and found a policeman who arrested Frederick Grant Gresham.

At the 68th Street station house, the 38-year-old insisted he was a stock broker with Smith & Co. on Wall Street.  His excuse for being on the Schwab estate was inventive.  "He said he wanted to get advice from Mr. Schwab on how to prevent annoyance of his mother and sister, living in Chicago, by certain persons," reported The Sun.

Among the Kilborns' neighbors were Claude W. Kress and his wife, the former Agatha F. Sheehan.  Kress came from a colonial family, his first American descendant arriving from Germany in 1752.  He was the president of S. H. Kress & Co., a nationwide chain of 5, 10 and 25 cent stores.  

In January 1921, police were dealing with what The Evening World described as "the anarchist bomb plot scare."  Tensions rose after a telephoned tip on January 12 sent Secret Service men on a hunt for a bomb in the Customs House.  The following day a servant in the Kress apartment read the story.  When a package was delivered late that afternoon, she panicked.  The Evening World reported, "C. W. Kress was in the library of his home at No. 300 West End Avenue when his housekeeper brought in what she called a 'suspicious package' which had come by express from Anatol, N. J."  Kress agreed that it was suspect and called the Bureau of Combustibles.

The Bomb Squad removed the package to "a lonely spot at 74th Street and the North [i.e. Hudson] River and opened it," said that article.  Inside were 14 pieces of Dresden china.  The Evening World reported, "'Goodness me,' said the housekeeper, 'I ordered that and forgot all about it.'"

Marcus and Carrie Loew lived here at the time.  Their country estate was in Glen Cove, New York.  Born in 1870 to a poor Jewish family on the Lower East Side, Loew saved money he earned from small jobs and invested it in the penny arcade business.  Eventually he established the Loew Theatres, a leading chain of vaudeville and motion picture theaters.  In 1920, he purchased Metro Pictures Corporation, and later acquired the controlling interest in Goldwyn Picture Corporation.  In 1924 the two would merge into Metro-Goldwyn Pictures.

Marcus Loew lived in the building when this photographs was taken in 1922.  from the collection of the Library of Congress.

Marcus Loew was the recipient of what The Evening World  on May 29, 1922 called "a curious bequest."  The will of millionaire attorney Charles Reinhardt directed his executors "to purchase a 'suitable diamond stud' for him," said the article.

In 1958, actor and singer Harry Belafonte had achieved stardom.  His 1956 album Calypso was the first million-selling LP by a single artist, and he had a starring role in the 1954 motion picture Carmen Jones.  He married Julie Robinson, his second wife, on March 8, 1957.  In his autobiography My Song: A Memoir of Art, Race and Defiance, Belafonte writes, "Julie and I fell in love with a four-bedroom rental at 300 West End Avenue, one of those great old drafty Upper West Side apartments with not only a living room but a library and pantry."  The problem was, when they arrived to tour the apartment, it was suddenly rented.

Belefonte's publicist, Mike Merrick, who was white, went to see the apartment.  "Now the lease was readily conferred," Belefonte wrote.  The singer signed the lease with his own name and it was countersigned by the building manager.  He continues:

Apparently the building manager didn't know who I was.  Julie and I moved our furniture in first, then showed up to take occupancy.  Within hours, the building manager became aware he had a Negro as a tenant.  He passed on the word to the building's owner, who didn't like this at all.

The owner was Ramfis Trujillo, described by Belafonte as the "illegitimate son of the dictator of the Dominican Republic."  He writes, "His own skin color was high-yellow Spanish, but he clearly saw himself as white, and in his building he'd maintained the neighborhood's unwritten covenant against blacks."  With a binding one-year lease in hand, Belafonte had no intention of being forced out.  But he was also clearly aware that his lease would not be renewed.

And so, he set up a dummy real estate company, then worked with other friendly tenants to set up two others.  The dummy companies then began a bidding war to buy the building.  Belafonte put up the $2 million to back the project.  He explains in My Song, "Rental properties were growing less profitable for their owners.  The whole concept of co-ops was just starting to take hold."  And, just as the Belafontes' lease was about to expire, the owner accepted the highest bid.  "As most of the other tenants stepped up to buy their apartments, too, the money I'd invested came flowing back," writes Belafonte.

Harry Belafonte in 1954.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

A hold-out was the couple's next door neighbor, a widow.  A compromise was achieved when Belafonte found her a rental in another building, and then paid her the going price for her apartment (even though she did not own it).  The Belafontes then combined the two--creating a 21-room, 7,000-square-foot residence.

Now that the building was resident-owned, Harry Belafonte explains, "our goal was integration, not reverse segregation."  Among the first new owners was singer Lena Horne and her husband, composer Lennie Hayton, who purchased a penthouse.  Bass player Ron Carter purchased an apartment around the same time.

Belafonte writes, 

Julie and I would live in that cavernous apartment for nearly half a century, raising our children and entertaining a glittering array of guests.  Among our first were Martin and Coretta King...Martin would come to think of it as his home away from home, staying with us on many of his New York trips...Soon, Senator John F. Kennedy would come to visit, seeking my endorsement in his race for president.  Eleanor Roosevelt would come to visit, too, though more often we went to see her, driving north to the family compound in Hyde Park, New York, for some of the most rewarding evenings of my life.

Adding to the list of entertainment royalty like Horne and Belafonte at 300 West End Avenue at the turn of the century were Tina Fey and her husband Jeff Richmond.  On January 7, 2016, 6sqft reported that the couple had purchased a second, ten-room apartment directly above theirs.  The article said they "will likely be taking down some floors and walls to create one large duplex."

After more than a century, Schwartz & Gross's dignified brick building maintains a patrician presence on the 74th Street corner.

photographs by the author