The 1902 The Braender Apartments - 418 Central Park West

 

image via streeteasy.com

Born in Germany, Philip Braender arrived in New York as a youth.  At the turn of the last century, he was a visible player in the development of the Upper West Side.  In 1901 he commissioned architect Frederick C. Browne to design a ten-story "brick flat" at the southwest corner of Central Park West and 102nd Street.  Browne's plans projected the construction cost at $400,000--a significant $15.6 million in 2026.

Completed the following year, The Braender's French Renaissance design was splashed with Spanish Baroque Revival touches.  Clad in gray brick above the two-story stone base, The Braender's turret-like rounded bays and corbeled cornice were inspired from French chateaux and gave the building an exotic charm.  A lacy cast iron balcony girded the third floor and intricate Baroque-style terra cotta ornaments decorated the third, fourth and tenth floors.  At the ninth were balconies "capped with red Spanish tile in strong contrast to the prevailing color," as described by The World's New York Apartment House Album.

The World's New York Apartment House Album, 1910 (copyright expired)

The Braender's H-shape plan created a deep courtyard, which was entered "through a high columned archway, elaborately carved and ornamented," as described by The World's New York Apartment House Album.  Residents entered under a glass and iron marquee into a coffered ceilinged foyer that opened into a veined-marble lobby.

There were typically three apartments per floor ranging from five to twelve rooms with one to three baths.  Rents ranged (by today's conversion) from $1,650 to $3,300 per month.  An advertisement boasted that The Braender was "not exceeded in dignity and architectural beauty by any similar structure."

The World's New York Apartment House Album, 1910 (copyright expired)

The Braender's tenants were affluent and professional.  Among the early residents were Charles Herbert Stoddard and his wife, the former Frances Henrietta Thebault.  An attorney, Stoddard was also the president and director of the Builders' Construction Company.

Also in the building at the time were Carlos Benito Figueredo, Consul General of Venezuela, and his wife Louise Calcafio.  The New-York Tribune called Louise "one of the belles of Caracas."  The couple had one child, Gloria.  On May 5, 1907, the New-York Tribune reported that the Figueredos "celebrated their silver wedding last night at their home."  The article said that there were  a "hundred or more guests at the dance and dinner."

Mrs. A. Guiterrez, a widow, lived here with her daughter, Lola, as early as 1914.  Like all their moneyed neighbors, they summered in fashionable resorts.  They traveled to Winthrop, Maine during the first week of July that year.  About a week later, on July 13, they attempted to walk across the train trestle near the hotel.  The New York Times reported that they "were struck and killed tonight by a train on the Main Central Railroad."  The article said that the horrific incident occurred "in the view of guests on the hotel piazzas and in boats on the lake."

On February 22, 1920, the New-York Tribune reported that the new owner, Frederick Bangerter, had "devised a tenant ownership plan for the Braender."  The plan to convert the building to a cooperative moved forward with lightning speed.  An advertisement a month later urged, "own a select apartment in a palatial home, with all the modern comforts--steam heat, hot water, day and night elevator service, etc., etc."  Fifty of the apartments had been converted while, according to the advertisement, "The income of the remaining 25 apartments pays in full for taxes and all other running costs and charges."

Surprisingly, by the time Wurts Bros. took this photograph, the iron cresting had been removed from the cornice.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

The Braender's most celebrated tenants at the time were the Stoner family.  Dr. James Buchanan Stoner was born in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in 1861.  He was known nationwide for his work against epidemics, starting with the smallpox epidemic of 1888.  He married educator Dr. Winifred Sackville on February 3, 1900 and their only child, Winifred Sackville Stoner Jr. was born in 1902.  (Because her daughter, who would earn prominence on her own, bore her identical name, Dr. Stoner was often referred to as Mother Stoner.)

Winifred Jr. was a prodigy.  Under her mother's tutelage, she was able to speak multiple languages by the age of ten.  At the age of nine, she passed the Stanford University and University of Wisconsin-Madison entrance exams.

On December 26, 1921, the Stoners announced their 19-year-old daughter's marriage to Charles de Bruche.  The couple was married in the Stoner apartment four months earlier, "with none but the family present," explained The New York Times.  The article said, "Miss Stoner wishes to avoid publicity having as a young girl had columns published about her education, the books and the verses she had written and the eight languages she could speak before she was twelve years old, owing to her mother's remarkable system of education."  The newlyweds, said the article, "will divide their time between Paris and New York when they are not traveling."

Winifred and Charles de Bruche were in Mexico the following summer.  De Bruche had told his bride "that he was a composer, poet and member of a noble French family, entitled to call himself a count," according to Winifred Jr.  Less than a year later she told a reporter that she learned "that he was not of noble birth and was not a person of good repute."  De Bruche disappeared and in August Winifred received a telephone call from his friend, Frank Davis, telling her that her husband "had been killed in Mexico City" in an automobile crash.

On September 1, the New-York Tribune reported, "Funeral services for Charles Philippe de Bruche, husband of Winifred Sackville Stoner jr., were held yesterday at 418 Central Park West, the home of his wife's parents."  The ceremony was, apparently, more accurately described as a memorial service, since there was no body.

Dr. James Buchanan Stoner died on July 22, 1925.  In reporting his death, The New York Times recounted his long history of fighting epidemics throughout the United States.  It noted, additionally, that he was a relative of President James Buchanan.

The Braender's heavily-veined marble lobby remains virtually intact.  image via cocoran.com

After Winifred Stoner de Bruche married Louis Hyman, her mother continued to occupy The Braender apartment.  In 1925 she was a member of the Citizens' Committee for Music and published the monthly Mother Stoner's Bulletin, which outlined the Stoner philosophy of education.  In 1925 she founded the League for Fostering Genius.

On August 21, 1927, a reporter from The New York Times visited Mother Stoner's apartment for information about her daughter's divorce from Louis Hyman.  She said that she hoped Winifred would join her "to carry on the work of helping young genius."  And indeed, the mother and daughter initiated "a genius hunt covering all the United States and most of the Western Continental Europe" that month, as reported by the newspaper.

Mother Stoner explained to the reporter that there "are six classes of people:

Idiots, she said, were like jellyfish and common weeds; destructionists were often clever but dangerous, like the boll weevil and poisonous weeks; morons were like pigs and vegetables; the hyper-morons (or norms) were those with 16-year mentalities with whom the world is largely filled...The only two classes worth preserving were the geniuses, she said...and the progressionists or builders.

(She explained that progressionists included "men who constantly seek to make their business more efficient."  They included "newspaper men, bankers and highway robbers.")

The following month, on September 20, 1927, The New York Times reported, "'Mother' Stoner returned from Philadelphia yesterday to her home at 418 Central Park West.  She reports that she discovered six geniuses and 300 talented children during her Philadelphia stay."  The article added, "Winifred 2d is now in Paris, looking for geniuses there, her mother said."

Now divorced, Winifred Jr. moved back to 418 West Central Park West.  She received an arcane telephone message in November 1929, "suggesting that she go to the lobby of the Hotel Ansonia."  She did and saw her long-dead husband, Charles de Bruche there.  The New York Times said that he "was living at the Hotel Bretton Hall."  On December 12, the newspaper said she had filed suit to annul her marriage because she "finds herself still the wife of De Bruche."

This photograph of Winifred Jr. may have been taken in the Braender apartment.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

In 1931, Winifred Jr. married Earl Winston Harrison and moved to Los Angeles.  Later that year, on November 10, Winifred "Mother" Sackville Stoner died in her Braender apartment at the age of 49.  In reporting her death, The New York Times listed her books, which included Natural Education, Mother Stoner Nursery Rhymes, Arithmetic Through Play, Games With Aims, and Castles in Spain.  

Somewhat overshadowed by the Stoners in the building were prominent residents like Dr. Maurice H. Harris and his wife, the former Kitty Green.  Born in London in 1859, Harris was ordained a rabbi in 1882.  He had been rabbi of Temple Israel since 1885.  On February 8, 1925, the congregation hosted a tea and reception in appreciation of his 40 years of service.

Dr. Sergius Ingerman lived here as early as 1934.  That year he sent a telegram to President Franklin D. Roosevelt that said in part, "We implore you to use your influence to bring about the cessation of the mass executions in Soviet Russia."  Born in Russia in 1868, Ingerman was a specialist in eye diseases and a member of the American Academy of Ophthalmology and Otolaryngology and the New York Academy of Medicine.  

Dr. Sergius Ingerman, from House of Wisdom

More importantly, he was highly active in the socialist movement and a founder of the Russian Social Democratic Society.  His wife, Anna Amitin, died in 1931.  Their only child was Dr. Eugenia Ingerman.  Interman remained in The Braender until his death in 1943.

That year the building was sold to New York Savings Bank, which reconverted it to rental apartments.  The New York Times reported that it "was remodeled by the bank into eighty-eight suites."

Among the residents at the time were Dr. Walter L. Hervey, a retired member of the Board of Examiners of the Board of Education, and his wife Antoinette Bryant Hervey.  Antoinette was described by The New York Times as the "dean of women photographers in New York."  

A graduate of the Clarence H. White School of Photography, Antoinette Hervey made a 25-year photographic record of the construction of the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine.  In doing so, she sometimes climbed the scaffolding high above the ground to get her shots.  In 1938 she donated her 3,000 prints to the Cathedral and a duplicate set to the New-York Historical Society.

John Thompson and his wife lived in a sixth-floor apartment here in the mid-1960s.  Thompson was a director of the Fairfield Foundation, which promoted international cultural exchanges.  Through that institution, the couple became acquainted with Nathan Nakasa, a 25-year-old Nigerian journalist who arrived in America in 1964 as a Neiman Fellow at Harvard University. 

Nakasa was an outspoken critic of Apartheid.  In his homeland he had edited The Classic, a literary magazine, and was on the staff of the magazine Drum of Johannesburg.  While here he wrote two pieces for The New York Times Magazine.  In 1965, after his one-year fellowship, the South African Government refused to allow him to return home.

The writer, who was living on Lenox Avenue, was understandably depressed.  On July 24, 1965, The New York Amsterdam News wrote, "Told of Nakasa's mood, Mr. and Mrs. John Thompson of 418 Central Park West, asked him over to their apartment Tuesday."  The article said that they talked about his troubles "at length" and attempted to ease his mind.  But shockingly, at around 9:10, Nakasa rushed to a window and jumped.  He died instantly.

Tonal composer Ben Weber lived here within the next decade.  Born in St. Louis in 1916 and never married, he came to New York in 1945.  Among his compositions were the Symphony on Poems of William Blake, the Violin Concerto, the Consort of Winds and the Concert Aria After Solomon.  The celebrated composer died of a heart attack in his apartment at the age of 62 on May 11, 1979.

photograph by Jim Henderson

Nine years before Weber's death, The Braender underwent an alteration.  It was likely at this time that the spectacular cornice was removed and ninth-floor balconies stripped off, leaving the once picturesque structure sadly denuded.

The 1903 Hotel Somerset - 150 West 47th Street

 

The exuberant gable and handsome portico have recently been removed.  postcard from author's collection

The "apartment hotel" trend swept Manhattan toward the turn of the last century.  The hybrid residential buildings offered the amenities of hotels--like maid and valet service--with the long-term leases of apartments.   In 1902 architect Frederick C. Browne began plans for what the Real Estate Record & Guide would call "a late addition to the list of apartment hotels" at 148-152 West 47th Street for developer Henry L. Felt.  

But Browne's plans would never be executed, at least not completely.  While excavations for the foundation were under way, Felt sold the property to Street, Wykes & Co., which hired architect Clarence Luce to redo the design.  In the opinion of at least one contemporary architectural critic, partners Hunter Wykes and Charles F. Street should have kept the original.

Completed in 1903, the 12-story Beaux Arts style Hotel Somerset was faced in red brick above a two-story rusticated limestone base.  A portico of four free-standing columns with Scamozzi capitals upheld a stone-balustraded balcony.  Stealing the show was the massive, three-story Flemish Revival style gable that all but hid the mansard behind it.  Four full-length engaged columns rose to an overblown, broken pediment.  

Meant to draw attention, the gable did just that.  Writing in The Architectural Record in 1903, the often acerbic critic Montgomery Schuyler called it a "pompous sham" and said the Hotel Somerset was "the most ridiculous" of recent New York City structures.

The newly-completed building in 1903.  The Record & Guide, January 17, 1903 (copyright expired)

Nevertheless, the hotel catered to an upper-crust clientele.  Prospective long-term tenants were required to provide references, and  the names of those who were accepted appeared regularly in society columns.  On January 27, 1904, for instance, The Commercial Advertiser announced, "Mrs. Walter Scott of the Somerset, 150 West Forty-seventh street, gives the last of her January at homes to-day."

The residents of the Hotel Somerset, both long-term and transient, enjoyed amenities like a writing room, an elegant dining room and a rooftop café.   In 1910 the white collar residents had professions like physician, "manager," and broker.  And its proximity to the theater district drew members of the entertainment industry as well.

The trellis-roofed café.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Jules Von Tilzer and his wife, the former Estella Steinberg, lived here by the summer of 1906.  Von Tilzer was one of the six brothers who made up the Harry Von Tilzer Music Publishing Company on West 28th Street.  The couple had "a domestic spat," according to The Sun, on May 27 that year.

According to Estella, she had gone to see Peter Pan at the Lyric Theatre with friends who were about to sail for Europe.  After the play, they stopped at Sherry's restaurant.  It was around midnight when she got home.  Jealous, Von Tilzer flew into a rage and stormed out.

Cast iron lampposts stand guard, and a lacy iron-and-glass marquee stretches forth from the portico in this early photograph.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

When he had not returned home four days later, Estella went to his office.  And there, The Sun said, "such lively things happened that the woman, who is young and attractive, was taken by a policeman to the Tenderloin station house."  Their conversation turned heated--to the point that Von Tilzer's white silk shirt was torn from his back.  When a secretary, Daniel Dody, rushed in to intervene, Estella broke her parasol over his head.

Dody called a policeman and asked him to arrest Estella for assault and disorderly conduct.  They traveled to the station house in the hansom cab that had been waiting for her at the curb.  There Dody told of Estella's violence and Estella pooh-poohed it all, exhibiting her parasol and saying, "Look at this little sun umbrella.  You couldn't hurt a fly with it."  And as to ripping her husband's shirt from his body, she explained she never meant to do so.

"It was a little, thin silk thing, too expensive for a music publisher to wear.  My husband struck me when we had some words and I grabbed at him to save myself."  

In the end, Dody dropped the charges on the condition that Estella never enter the office again.  She agreed, saying, "I've promised not to go to the office, but that promise does not prevent my going in the street.  I'll be outside the office sometimes."

The main dining room.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Actor and playwright Robert Drouet and his wife, the former Mildred Loring. were residents.   Born in 1870, he had joined a theatrical company at the age of 16.  He was as successful as a playwright as an actor.  Among the plays he wrote, the best known which were Fra Diano and Doris. 

Actor-playwright Robert Drouet was just 44 years old when he died. The Players Blue Book, 1901 (copyright expired)

Mildred Drouet and her mother traveled to Chicago in the summer of 1914.  On the night of August 16 Drouet went to bed at about midnight, leaving word at the desk to call him at 8:00.  The next morning, according to The Sun, "A number of telephone calls had been unanswered, and when the manager of the hotel went to Mr. Drouet's room to investigate the actor was found dead in bed."  He had died of heart failure.

The tranquility within the Hotel Somerset for its permanent residents may have been upset in October 1914 when the Boston Braves baseball team checked in.  But if the young men had ever been a bit rowdy, that all changed following their game against the Brooklyn Dodgers on October 6.  The team was almost assured of playing in the World Series that year, but during the game their star "hard-hitting third baseman," J. Caryle "Red" Smith, splintered the bone in his right leg while sliding into second base.

The New-York Tribune reported, "It was a glum, sorrowful group of Boston players who sat down to their dinners at the Hotel Somerset last night.  Where all had been mirth and enthusiasm all was sombre and suppressed."

Taken in 1904, this photograph show elegant draperies, tall ceilings and an Oriental rug.  photograph by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

On April 11, 1919 Edward Van Bode checked into the hotel.  He had no luggage, a fact that should have raised suspicions in the management.  The 60 year old bachelor, who was the son of General Von Bodemer of the British Army, fell to his death from his eighth floor window two days later.  Despite what seemed to be obvious, the New-York Tribune noted, "There was nothing in his room to indicate suicide."

Another playwright to call the Hotel Somerset home was Edward Henry Peple, here by 1920.  Best known for his farces and comedies, among the popular plays he wrote were The Prince Chap, A Pair of Sixes and The Littlest Rebel.

In 1923 actress Beverly Sitgreaves moved in, having returned from Europe.  On December 30 The Morning Telegraph explained, "After an absence of nearly five years, she has returned to her work as actress and teacher.  In 1919 a cable from Sarah Bernhardt called her to Paris and finally resulted in a tour which eventually carried her around the world."

Beverly Sitgreaves as she appeared while living at the Hotel Somerset.  The Morning Telegraph, December 30, 1923 (copyright expired)

After being the houseguest of Sarah Bernhardt for three months, she played in London in a revival of Arms and the Man, "under the personal direction of Bernard Show," and then appeared in Australia.  At the time of The Morning Telegraph's article, she had just finished an engagement with Ethel Barrymore.  In addition to her stage work, Sitgreaves coached thespians.  The article said she preferred one-on-one instruction, which she "practices at her residence, the Somerset Hotel, 150 West Forty-seventh street."

Also living here in 1923 was lecturer and author Mrs. Sophie Almon Hensley.  She published her first collection of poetry in 1889 and went on to write other poetry collections, and books and essays such as Women's Love Letters and Love and the Woman of Tomorrow.  She lectured on literary topics, and was President of the Society for the Study of Life, secretary of the New York State Assembly of Mothers, and founder of the New York City Mother's Club.  She was also the associate editor of Health: A Home Magazine Devoted to Physical Culture and Hygiene.

Sophie and her husband moved to Jersey, England in 1937.  They were forced to relocate to Canada when the Nazis occupied the Channel Islands in 1940.

The Arts & Crafts style Reading Room in 1904, outfitted in oak and leather furniture.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In the meantime, the Hotel Somerset continued to attract residents involved in the entertainment industry.  In 1925 vaudevillian actress "Princess" Rajah lived here.  She suffered a major loss that year when she her purse was picked.

Early in the morning of March 23 she was standing in a subway car with two female friends.  Her handbag was suspended over her arm.  The New York Times reported, "She noticed two men standing near her, the car being very crowded, and said that one of them was reading a newspaper which he thrust close to her face."

As the train pulled into 110th Street, she noticed her pocketbook was open and she closed it without much thought.  She and her friends debarked at the Times Square station and went to a restaurant near the Hotel Somerset.  When she opened her purse there, she realized the chamois bag with her jewelry was gone.  The diamonds and other jewelry were valued at $20,000--more than $300,000 in today's money.

Cartoonist Ellison Hoover lived in the Hotel Somerset in the 1930's, as did vaudeville entertainer David Genero (he had won the American cakewalk championship in 1891) and writer Edward Goldbeck and his singer-actress wife Lina Abarbanell.

Soprano Lina Abarbanell, from the collection of the New York Public Library

Goldbeck wrote in both German and English and was a former columnist of the Chicago Tribune.  Lina Abarbanell was a soprano who performed in light and grand opera.  In 1909 she introduced the title character of Madame Sherry at the New Amsterdam Theatre, which ran for 231 performances.

Another author and playwright, Jane Maudlin Feigl, moved into the Hotel Somerset early in 1934, following the death of her husband Colonel Fred Feigl on December 10, 1933.  The New York Times had described her husband as a "former publisher and well known in military circles."  Jane had  already mourned the death of their son Lieutenant Jefferson Feigle for years.  He was the first American artillery officer killed in action in World War I.   The loss of her husband added to her enormous grief.

A relative described Jane as being "very miserable and unhappy," following her husband's death.  The New York Times wrote, "Because of her moodiness, Captain George G. Feigl...her brother-in-law, had been a frequent caller."  Her depression was severe enough to require her being hospitalized in the Fifth Avenue Hospital for several weeks that spring.

On June 5, 1934 Captain Feigl dropped by Jane's 12th-floor apartment.  Unable to get an answer to his knocking, he enlisted the help of manager John Smith, who opened the door with a passkey.  The New York Times reported, "Mrs. Feigl was lying in bed, and along side her was a bottle believed to have contained an acid."

In 1953 the Hotel Somerset was remodeled to a transient hotel.  There were now a restaurant and store on the ground floor, 18 hotel rooms on the second through twelfth floors, and 6 each in the new penthouse, unseen from the street.

photo via cityrealty.com

That configuration lasted until another renovation, completed in 1980, converted the Hotel Somerset to apartments, nine each on floors two through twelve, and four in the penthouse.  In 1997 the details of Clarence Luce's gable were shaved off and the portico was removed, destroying the building's 1903 personality.

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The Hotel Hargrave -- 106-112 West 72nd Street

On January 6, 1903 Walter Stabler delivered an address to the Real Estate Class of the Y.M.C.A. on "The Development of the West Side."  In it he outlined the rather stumbling progress of developers in what was, in the mid-19th century, "one vast stretch of farm land."   It was not until the early 1880s, he pointed out, that real development took hold.   Only a few years after those rows of houses were erected many of them along the avenues and major streets were demolished as a new trend arose: residential hotels.

In George L. Felt commissioned architect Frederick C. Browne to design a 12-story hotel at Nos. 106 through 112 West 72nd Street.  The property ran through the block where four brownstones, completed in 1884, faced 71st Street.  Most likely inspired by the Parisian-type structures that had earlier begun arising along Broadway, Browne turned to the popular Beaux Arts style.

West 72nd Street retained its residential nature when the Hotel Hargrave was completed.  On Columbus Avenue the elevated railroad can be seen.  from the collection of the New York Historical Society.

Completed in 1902, the Hotel Hargrave was a bit more restrained than its larger and grander Broadway counterparts--there were no heroic sculptures nor fruit-burdened garlands, for instance.  Its brick and stone facade, however, did not disappoint.  The rusticated stone base rose three stories to an iron-railed stone balcony supported by pairs of ambitious stone brackets.  The six-story central section featured two curved copper-clad bays that culminated in frothy, carved cartouches.  Another full-width balcony introduced the upper section, dominated by a double-height copper mansard.

The Hotel Hargrave extended, partly, through to 71st Street.  When Henry L. Felt leased the new building to the Hargrave Hotel Company in March 1902, the paperwork noted that it included "the 16-foot house in the rear."  The management company, which agreed to pay $730,000 in total during its 21-year lease, had been organized specifically to run the hotel.  The New-York Tribune noted the group "is controlled by a number of wealthy club men and one of the largest wholesale manufacturers of furniture in the city.  It is to be fitted up elaborate, and will be rented as a high grade hotel.  It will be managed by a man who at present runs one of the most prominent clubs in New-York."

That manager was George Brown, who advertised the Hotel Hargrave as "New York's most accessible hotel," boasting the "six lines of transit, including Elevated and Subway express stations" nearby.  Unlike the residential hotels which were essentially high-end apartment houses without individual kitchens, the Hargrave was a "modern, high class family and transient hotel with superior appointments."  The distinction made it clear that travelers were welcomed as well.

The least expensive accommodations cost $2 per day--about $57 in today's dollars.  Brown marketed the hotel's amenities saying it offered "superior appointments," the restaurant service was "excellent," and "fine music a feature."

Thefts in turn of the century hotels were a constant problem and Brown apparently tried diligently to screen his potential employees.  When 18-year old Louis Messier applied for a bellboy position early in 1903, he seemed the perfect fit.  The young man came from a good Massachusetts family and he had graduated from a college in Montreal.  The New-York Tribune noted that he "presented good recommendations."

It was not long before police were searching for a hotel thief.  Among the guests robbed was George H. Pursur, who discovered $1,050 in jewelry missing from his room.  On February 23, 1903 two detectives entered Messier's rooms at No. 248 West 45th Street.  With Messier was 22-year old telephone operator John Cullen.  The officers found $3,400 in stolen jewelry in Messier's pockets and dresser drawer along with pawn tickets for almost that much more.

With Cullen's arrest his telephone operator position became available.  It may have been Rene Depierre, working in that position the following year, who filled the spot.  It was a job that nearly took Depierre's life on August 26, 1904.

At around 3:00 that afternoon, after connecting two rooms, he placed his hand on the metal portion of the transmitter.  According to the New-York Tribune, he "instantly fell to the floor, writhing in pain."  George Brown rushed to aid him, while bellboys ran for doctors. 

The Sun reported that Brown and other employees "saw that his arms were burned and swollen and that his face was purple."   The New-York Tribune added, "While waiting for the ambulance Depierre had an acute nervous attack, in which he constantly bit his finger nails, and the combined strength of the manager and a guest could not keep him from doing so."

All the while he was unable to speak and contorted his body as if in great pain.  His condition became more exaggerated at the hospital.  After a long period of continuous "massage treatment" he finally returned to normal.  Depierre remembered that after making the connection he felt a "terrific shock" and felt "as if red hot irons" were being thrust through his body.  After that he remembered nothing.

The hotel electrician searched for the cause, but could find nothing wrong with the switchboard.  His theory was a bit bizarre.  He told a reporter that "the telephone wires, which run underground to the hotel, may have become crossed with the Columbus avenue trolley wires, also underground."

An early postcard shows the original glass marquee and shallow stoop.  To the west, four-story brownstone homes still stand.

The Hotel Hargrave contributed in part to the women's movement in 1905 when it was the scene of the organization of the Women's Eastern Golf Association on December 13.  The club continued to meet in the hotel for years.

The success of the Hotel Hargrave prompted Frederick C. Browne to be called back in 1905 to enlarge the building.  The extension, completed in 1907, filled the entire 71st Street property.  There were now 300 guest rooms, 200 baths, a restaurant, four electric elevators and its own electric and ice making plants.


Burglaries continued to be a problem; but one guest handled an incident with amazing calm.  Samuel Fessenden was State Attorney of Connecticut and his family home was in Stamford.   The family closed the house for the winter of 1906-07 and moved into the Hargrave. 

While the family was at dinner on the evening of Saturday, February 16, the telephone rang.  Fessenden's daughter, Helen ("well known in Connecticut society," according to the New-York Tribune) left the table to answer it.  Just as she entered the darkened room a dark figure holding a revolver stepped out of a corner and ordered her not to make a noise.  He demanded that she turn over her jewelry.

Helen calmly explained that the family was in mourning and there were no jewels.  But she walked to a dresser and took two dollars from her purse, saying she was sorry that was all she had.

"Confound it, that's just my luck!" growled the burglar in hushed tones.  "This place looked good to me, and just because I am up against it and need the money there's nothing doing.  I won't fall for two bones, so here's your money back, and now, show me the way out."

Helen led him to the fire escape but before he left she "remonstrated with him on the error of his ways," according to the New-York Tribune.  When she was sure he was gone, she returned to the dining room and informed the family.  With the danger behind her, the reality of what had just transpired hit the feisty socialite.  "Miss Fessenden was much unnerved by the incident, but soon regained her composure," said the newspaper.

To the east of the hotel was Park & Tilford's high-end grocery building.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Living in the Hargrave at the time was Gustav J. Fleischmann, president of the Fleischmann Realty and Construction Company.  Their mansion at No. 18 West 86th Street, which the would share his Gustav's partner and brother and their parents, was being completed.

Only a month after Helen Fessenden's incident, on March 25, Mrs. Fleischmann noticed that a blue velvet jewelry box in her dresser had been tampered with.   Missing were two diamond festoons valued at $6,000--more than $155,000 today.

The couple had hosted a dinner party for 12 guests the evening before.  Mrs. Fleischmann became indignant when police asked about them.  "Please do not refer to that.  They were all friends, just a little party of friends, and they enter in no way into this affair.  So say no more about them."

Police knew for sure that whoever the thief was, he was in a hurry.  He left behind $20,000 worth of diamonds pearls and other gems in the same drawer; including a $15,000 diamond necklace which had been only a few inches away from the lost festoons.

Suspicion fell on the Fleishmanns' two maids and the three hotel servants who had been in the apartment to clean.  The police were confident it was "an inside job," and noted that Mrs. J. Floyd Jones had recently been robbed of a $500 pearl necklace.

Annie Cronin, a 25-year old Hotel Hargrove maid, who had been hired in October, was arrested on what today would be considered rather flimsy grounds.  One of the Fleischmann maids told Detective Price "she saw the Cronin woman standing near Mrs. Fleischmann's dressing table Sunday morning."  The New York Times admitted "This is the only evidence so far against Annie."

If indeed Annie Cronin was responsible for the robbery, she was far less professional than the burglar who made off with $5,000 worth of Martha H. Armitage's jewelry in January 6, 1908.  Called by police the Rope Ladder Hotel Thief, 21-year old James Lakin was arrested on February 24.  The daring robber was wanted for robberies and burglaries both in New York and Boston for his four-month crime spree.  He entered hotel rooms by dropping a rope ladder from the roofs.

Lakin confessed to the Armitage theft.  In reporting on the arrest, The Sun mentioned "Mrs. Robert Tainer of the Hotel Hargrave was robbed of a quantity of valuables on February 16, but Lakin said he had no hand in it."

Terror filled the hotel on November 22, 1911 when a massive explosion occurred on the corner of 72nd Street and Columbus Avenue, just feet away.  A shanty had been erected there by sewer workers to hold dynamite.  Because the sticks had become partially frozen, they were being "toasted" to thaw them out.  The resultant explosion rocked the neighborhood, killed one man and injured several more.

The New York Times reported that the Hargrave "was the scene of intense excitement...Manager McGrath was in the lobby when he saw his windows go to pieces."  Almost all of the windows were blown out.

The telephone operator, Agnes Costello, "plugged every room in the house and gave a hasty assurance...that no one in the building was in danger," wrote The Evening World.  But guests were nonetheless shaken.  Rubber manufacturer E. L. Goodlove was shaving at the time.  "The shock threw his razor blade against his throat and inflicted a slight cut," the World said.

And John A. McCarthy, here from Albany, was blown into his bathtub by the force of the blast.  The New York Times lightened the mood by reporting "He was not hurt and showed his appreciation of the help accorded him by turning on the water and finishing his bath.  It was the first time, it was said in the hotel, that a guest had been assisted at his bath by an explosion of dynamite."

Perhaps the most infamous guest of the Hotel Hargrave was the former President of Nicaragua, General Jose Santos Zelaya.  In November 1913 when he arrived in New York he was wanted by the Nicaraguan government for the murders of Sixto Pineda and Domingo Toribio.

According to officials, Zelaya was "plotting to return to power in Nicaragua."  He and his son, Macias, went to the Hotel Victoria, then slipped away to the Waldorf-Astoria.  Discovering that he was being followed, he quietly checked into the Hotel Hargrave on November 20.

The New-York Tribune reported on November 25 "The Secret Service men followed the party to the Hotel Hargrave, and it was thought that the former dictator was trapped.  But Zelaya has friends in New York."

After staking out the hotel for some time, officials saw no trace of the fugitive.  The Tribune reported "At the hotel desk it was learned that General Zelaya had not been seen about the hotel since Saturday night.  It was though that he might have left the place on Sunday.  The baggage, the clerk said, was still in the house, but the hotel was being closely watched by Secret Service agents."

It was later discovered that Zelaya had been spirited out of the hotel in a trunk.  He was finally arrested in a friend's apartment on West End Avenue.   The Nicaraguan Government dropped its charges and allowed him to be released from The Tombs as long as he went to Spain.

In the years just prior to World War I the Hotel Hargrave was still upscale.  An advertisement in October 1916 noted that it catered "only to a Discriminating Clientele."   A two-person suite of parlor, bath and bedroom cost $3.00 per night, or about $67 today.  The same size apartment, rented full time in 1922, cost the equivalent of $2,475 per month today.

Prohibition brought frustration to many, if not most, Americans.  One of those was Hotel Hargrave resident Harry Schloss, who attempted to take matters into his own hands.  On July 10, 1924 The New York Times reported "The blockage against rum-runners in the estuary of the Shrewsbury River resulted yesterday in the seizure of 144 bottles of liquor found in a trunk and packing case that were being loaded on a truck from a steamboat, the Mary Patton."  Customs Inspectors told reporters that the trunk was consigned to H. Schloss, Hotel Hargrave."  Harry could not be found when agents followed up at the hotel.

For years the widow Evelyn A. Mossman and her son, John, had lived a secluded life in the Hargrave.  An invalid, she never left the apartment and spent no money.  Reportedly she had no jewelry and only $25 worth of clothing.  But the eccentric recluse was by no means indigent.

After she died in her apartment on November 19, 1925 a counsel for her estate discovered that banks and corporations had been searching for her for years.  "Mrs. Mossman's securities were so widely scattered and so neglected that many stocks had been called in long before her death and dividends on them had ceased," reported The Times.  "Many bonds had unclipped coupons which had matured far back."  Because she never turned in retired stocks or collected interest on bonds, institutions had been trying to find her.

After two years of unraveling Evelyn's tangled affairs, her estate included more than $1.1 million in securities, nearly $200,000 in bank accounts, and almost $67,000 in mortgages.  It was estimated that son John would inherit approximately $1.35 million--about 18 times that much today.

The Great Depression and changing taste negatively affected the Hotel Hargrave.  Fussy Beaux Arts hotels had lost favor to modern Art Deco structures.   Instead of the upscale suites of two decades earlier, a 1937 advertisement touted wicker-furnished rooms as "comfortable living at reasonable rates."

A faded star living here at the time was Helen Lackaye.  Born in 1883, she was known for her roles in such plays as Neal of the Navy in 1915, and The Knife in 1918.  She appeared as late as 1928 in Revolt at the Vanderbilt Theater.

Helen Lackaye -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

Helen was in private life Mrs. Agnes Helene Ridings.  On October 19, 1940 she was returning home from Pennsylvania on a Baltimore & Ohio train.  She became ill and was given first aid from a train attendant; but just as the train approached the Jersey City Terminal Helen died.

Helen Lackaye would not be the last of memorable names from the theater to live in the Hotel Hargrave.    In the fall of 1951 actor James Dean arrived in New York.  According to his biographer Peter Winkler in the 2016 The Real James Dean, "Sometime later after meeting and beginning an intimate relationship with dancer Elizabeth 'Dizzy' Sheridan, they rented a tiny, dilapidated room at the Hargrave Hotel."

By the time of this mid-century postcard, a shop had been carved into the former lobby.

As the Columbus Avenue-72nd Street area underwent a renaissance in the 1970s, the bleak hotel got a make-over.  On October 28, 1973 Robert E. Tomasson, writing for The New York Times, said "West 72d Street, a major commercial thoroughfare that has undergone a marked rejuvenation in the last few years is losing its last major eyesore, the 12-story former Hotel Hargrave near Columbus Avenue."

Purchased a year earlier by Sackman Enterprises, it was undergoing a conversion to 183 apartments, ranging from studios to two bedrooms.  A subsequent renovation, completed in 1989 converted the building to 66 condominiums.

While the ground floor has been somewhat altered and a beauty and hair care shop glaringly insults the once-proud French structure, the intact upper floors of the Hotel Hargrave are reminders of a time when the jewels of monied residents were constant temptations for robbers.

photograph by the author

Cloaks, Underwear and Smuggled Liquor -- Nos. 30-32 West 24th Street

In 1910 the block of 24^th Street just west of Madison Square had seen three major transformations.  A fashionable residential neighborhood in the first decades of the 19^th century, it had declined by the 1880s as part of the notorious, crime-ridden Tenderloin District.  And now its old low-rise buildings were being replaced with modern loft structures as the block was engulfed by the Mercantile District.

The five-story brownstone-fronted house at No. 32 West 24^th Street was once the home of George Washington Kip (whose family name survives in the Kips Bay neighborhood).  Its neighbor at No. 30 had been converted in 1894 for The Pen and Brush club; a group of professional women writers and artists.  The end of the line for both vintage houses was near.

On New Year’s Day 1910 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that architects Frederick C. Browne and Randolph H. Almiroty had formed a partnership, Browne & Almiroty.  It noted “Mr. Browne has had a large practice in loft and office buildings…Mr. Almiroty has been for many years with John H. Duncan, the architect of Grant’s Tomb, and has been identified with many of New York’s finest private residence and business buildings.”

Possibly their first commission involved replacing the old brownstone houses at Nos. 30 and 32 West 24^th Street. On March 29 the Marmac Construction Co. purchased the buildings from Mrs. Ruth Livingston and announced intentions to erect “a 12-story mercantile building on the site.”

Construction was completed in January 1911.  The neo-Gothic style had grown in favor for commercial buildings within the past few years and would culminate in 1913 with Cass Gilbert’s Woolworth Building.  Browne & Almiroty turned to the style for Nos. 30-32 West 24^th Street, using limestone, brick and terra cotta to create an impressive yet utilitarian structure.

The two-story stone base featured Gothic elements like quatrefoils, protruding gargoyles and crockets.  The uppermost floors were flanked by hefty faceted piers containing blind Gothic arches. 

Two winged creatures stare defiantly at one another below the heavy tone band where a terrifying spread-winged creature holds a shield.

Marmac Construction immediately leased the store to the Mosaic Tile Company, while the upper floors filled with apparel manufacturers.  Marmac was not interested in being a landlord, however, and in January 1912 sold the new building to Chicago investor Jacques L. Boisse.

Among the tenants in the building in 1913 were Schutzer, Dessau & Luchs, manufacturers of “cloaks and suits.”  The firm employed 20 men and two women.  Also here was Gill & Renther, which made dresses.  Its employees included 10 men, 10 women, and two “children” between 14 and 16 years old.

The firms shared the building with large “costumes and lingerie” manufacturer George, Henry & Rosenbaum Co.  The company employed a workforce of 95—12 men and 83 women.

The building served both as factory space and wholesale showrooms for some tenants.  Such was the case when A. & S. Cohen moved in in 1915.  American Cloak and Suit Review the “firm makes a line of ‘fine suits.’  Their price range is from $10.00 to $20.00.”  The suits were indeed “fine.”  The $20 wholesale price would translate to nearly $500 in 2016 dollars.

The Review added “They are showing their Spring and Summer models in their new quarters, which are very splendidly appointed, both as to factory facilities and equipment, and the well arranged showroom.”

Another new tenant that year was The Victoria Undergarment Company, Inc.  In reporting the move, The Corset and Underwear Review said the “manufacturers of nightgowns and envelope chemises, have joined the uptown movement.”

The Perfect Patent Folding Box Company took over the store and basement in 1916; while the upper floors continued to house apparel firms like the Wear Well Ladies Apparel Co., Hopewell Dress Co., and S. Freiman Bros, Inc., “manufacturing furriers.”

Although garment manufacturers like the Kirschner-Hendler underwear company continued to sign leases into the 1920s; the apparel district was moving northward.  A new type of tenant was emerging, like Albert Guggenheim, importer of olive oil.   Guggenheim was embarrassed when his name appeared in local newspapers upon his return from Europe in May 1928.

Guggenheim had traveled home in a first class cabinet on the Cunard liner Aquitania.  While liquor flowed freely in Paris, London and Rome, such was not the case in Prohibition Era New York.  And when Customs agents searched Guggenheim’s baggage at the New York pier they found three quarts of liquor concealed there.  Certainly to Guggenheim’s dismay, the officials smashed the bottles.  He was fined $15.

In 1933 Morris & Bendien, Inc. was in the building selling wholesale novelties.  That year it offered 60 assorted jigsaw puzzles for $3.00; “each picture a masterpiece.” 

As 1933 drew to an end so did Prohibition.  Albert Guggenheim saw more potential profits in liquor than in olive oil and formed the Kienzler Distilling Corporation on December 17, with himself as president.   Even before the corporation was official, Guggenheim was wasted no time.  On December 4, the day before Prohibition was abolished, the Government auctioned “Scotch, rye, champagne, and cordials now resting in cases, bags and demijohns at the army base in South Brooklyn,” according to The New York Times.  The liquor had been “seized by the government during the last few months of prohibition” from steamers arriving in New York Harbor.

While United States Marshal Raymond J. Mulligan received “half a dozen bids for the liquor,” he dismissed all but two.  One of those came from Kienzler & Co., which bid $19 a case and $7.50 per gallon.

The following year Kienzler & Co. applied for a trademark for its own whiskey and gin.   Perhaps Albert Guggenheim should have stayed in the olive oil importing business.  Not quite four years after he started Kienzler & Co., the firm declared bankruptcy on October 25, 1937.

Like Morris & Bendien, the Elka Toy & Novelty Mfg. Corp. hawked cheap novelties here by 1951.  Among its carnival-type items were “adorable fur kittens and dogs” which it advertised as “made entirely of ‘Ball of Fluff’ genuine rabbit fur.”

By 1958 Nos. 30-32 West 24^th Street was known as “The Army Reserve Building.”  It was here on September 18 that the Interstate Commerce Commission began an inquiry as to the cause of a Jersey Central commuter train’s plunge into Newark Bay, killing 50 passengers.

The building was also used for the Federation Employment and Guidance Service’s “sheltered workshop.”  Here, under the auspices of the Vocational Rehabilitation Program, the Government provided “light factory work” for unemployed disabled job seekers.  Manufacturers were encouraged to use the workshops for simple piece work, like the assembly of costume jewelry.

The neo-Gothic tracery of the eastern entrance survives.  Winged gargoyles stare menacingly while a glimpse of the simulated vaulted foyer ceiling and the Gothic arch beyond had be seen.

Today a café occupies the ground floor where mosaic floor tiles were sold in 1911 and the upper stories continue to be home to light manufacturing and office space.  Although the service entrance at No. 32 has been butchered; the neo-Gothic detail at No. 30 survives. 

photographs by the author