The 1903 Hotel Bretton Hall - 2350 Broadway

In 1902 developer brothers James and David Todd commissioned the fledgling architect Harry B. Mulliken to design a minor structure--a one-story wooden tool shed on West 114th Street.  It may have been a test of sorts, one which Mulliken apparently passed.  The following year Mulliken and his new partner, Edgar Moeller were working on three substantial hotel commissions for the Todds, the Hotel York at Seventh Avenue and 36th Street, the Aberdeen Hotel at 17 West 32nd Street, and the Bretton Hall Hotel, which would engulf the entire eastern blockfront on Broadway from 85th to 86th Street.

The Todd brothers had purchased the undeveloped Bretton Hall site from Le Grand K. Pettit.  They took out a $1.25 million building loan toward Mulliken's total projected construction costs of $1.55 million--just below $47 million today.  The architect's plans called for "187 suites, with 506 rooms, 231 baths, and 385 toilet rooms."

As construction neared completion, the Todds leased the property to hoteliers Anderson & Price for 21 years.  It appears to be Anderson & Price who named the hotel.  They additionally ran the newly-opened Mount Washington Hotel at Bretton Woods in the New Hampshire White Mountains.

Completed in 1903, the Bretton Hall Hotel sat on a three-story base of rusticated stone.  Nine floors of red brick, limestone and terra cotta rose to an elaborate iron cornice that sprouted frothy ornaments.  Mulliken's insertion of seven-story stretches of quoins and stone-faced bays gave the structure verticality and visually relieved the heavy mass.

The newly-completed hotel had no storefronts and an exuberant galvanized iron cornice.  Not the 86th Street subway entrance hugging the side of the building (left)  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The New-York Tribune commented on the behind-the-scenes technology necessary to operate the resident hotel.  "The building has an electric plant, four engines, four boilers, four dynamos, a cold storage, laundry and kitchen plant."  The article added "It also has six elevators and a United States mail chute."

Unlike transient hotels, resident hotels like Bretton Hall leased suites to long-term tenants.  They enjoyed the amenities of a hotel--barber shop, dining room, maid, hallboy and messenger service, for instance--along with the relative permanence of an apartment building.

On November 1, 1904 Mrs. John Jay Tonkin of Oswego, New York, moved into a suite with her 11-year old daughter, Rosamond.  The Evening Telegram explained that they were "driven from their luxurious home on Lake Ontario by dread the child would be stolen."

John Tonkin was well-known as an iron manufacturer and philanthropist in Oswego.  For more than two years his family had been terrorized by threats of Rosamond's kidnapping and worse.  The Evening Telegram said "It is believed the man is an artist, for many of the letters were illustrated with sketches of the girl and of the fate which it might be expected she would meet if she fell into the hands of her pursuers.  Tortures and death by pistol and poison were pictured with such hideous vividness that they, as much as the threats, undermined the health of the fond mother."

Even with Rosamond (whom The Evening Telegram described as "tall and well developed for her age") and her mother now secretly ensconced in Bretton Hall, no chances were taken.  The Tonkin coachman accompanied Rosamond to school on 70th Street near Riverside Drive.  It was the only time she was permitted outside, "as she was kept indoors at other times through fear, and had become pale."

Four months after Rosamond and her mother moved into their apartment, the threats had stopped.  And so in March 1905 "Rosamond was permitted to trundle a hoop on the sidewalk in front of Bretton Hall."  On each occasion the doorman, Charles Lytle, was instructed "to keep his eyes constantly upon her," reported The Evening Telegram.  But "Something called him into the house for a moment one day and when he returned to the sidewalk he saw the child in conversation with a man and walking near Eighty-sixth street."  Lytle ran after them, grabbing Rosamond, at which point the man rushed away.

Later Mrs. Tonkin received a letter demanding $50,000.  The writer promised that if the money were not paid, Rosamond would be kidnapped.  Instead, John Tonkin offered the $50,000--about $1.47 million today--to anyone who could identify the man.  Handwriting experts were called in.  With their whereabouts now known, Rosamond's mother took her back to the family house in Oswego.  Undeterred by the intensified hunt for him, the extortionist sent a new demand on June 8:  "Dear Sir:  Unless we have $100,000 before June 10 at noon we will take your Rosamond.  You had better call off your detectives.  Remember June 10 at 12.  Mr. The Three."

(As a side note, the threats eventually stopped and Rosamond was married to Ensign Forrest U. Lake of the U.S. Navy a decade later in 1914.)

In the meantime, the meeting rooms of Bretton Hall were used by clubs and organizations.  Only the well-to-do could afford automobiles and motor yachts and in November 1904 The New York Motor Club was formed in Bretton Hall.  At its inaugural meeting on November 17, the purposes submitted by the Committee on Constitution and By-Laws were "to encourage the interest of motoring on land and water."  

But one member shouted out, "Why not add in the air?"

For years inventors had struggled to perfect a flying machine and, as a matter of fact, the Wright brothers had successfully flown their biplane for 59 seconds the previous December.  The suggestion prompted a heated debate which, according to The New York Times, "waxed hotter and hotter."  Nevertheless before the meeting adjourned the purposes of the club had been amended to "promote motoring on land, water and in the air."

A month later, early on the morning of December 14, 1904, the "engineer" (one of the staff tasked with minding the heavy equipment)  went to the basement to "start the engines and dynamos," as reported by The Evening Telegram.  "He found the cellar filled with four feet of water.  Barrels and boxes were floating about.  Hundreds of dollars' worth of machinery had been damaged."

A large water main had broken and burst through the 86th Street subway station wall, "hurling aside the wall of the subway as if the bricks were merely chips of wood."  The flooded subway was crippled throughout most of the day and traffic was closed on Broadway until around 1:30.  The Evening Telegram said "One of the places which suffered most was the big Bretton Hall apartment house."

Residents looking forward to a warm breakfast that morning would be disappointed.  The kitchen, also in the basement, was out of commission.  But the inconvenience to the 175 families living here went much beyond that.  "The hotel is without elevator service or electric lights and no heat can be supplied until the cellar is cleared.  No meals can be served, and the patrons are forced to seek out refectories elsewhere."  And because four $5,000 boilers were destroyed, the entire building was without heat in the December cold.

Society women routinely gathered in the dining rooms of New York hotels for tea and luncheon.  But they were unwelcome without a male escort after 6:00.  At the dawn of the women's rights movement, some well-to-women had had enough.  One socialite complained to a reporter "To be sure, it might be that the man in the case was only a messenger boy brought in from the nearest telegraph office for the express purpose of complying with the letter of the law," but being seated without "a mere man" was impossible.

To fight back the Equity Suffrage Club was formed in Bretton Hall in 1908.  It was composed, according to one account, "of both men and women" and its first attack would be a boycott of those hotels following the system.

In February 1909 Anderson & Price purchased the hotel they had been leasing since its opening.  In reporting on the deal, the New-York Tribune remarked "It is one of the largest exclusive apartment hotels in this city."

For years the residents would appear in society columns and on the membership lists of exclusive clubs.   Typical of them were Alden M. Young, the senior partner of Young & Warner and a director in two dozen corporations, and his wife.  The Evening World called him "well known in club and fraternal circles, having been a member of the Union League Club, the Railroad Club, the Recess Club, and Odd Fellows and Royal Arcanum."

The ballroom of the hotel was often the scene of society weddings, as well.  On January 30, 1911, for instance, Eva Arnold, daughter of Standard Oil Company official Edward D. Arnold, was married to Earle Wayne Webb here.  The New York Times mentioned "The presents, which numbered 250, filled three rooms of the first floor of the hotel."

It was apparent the following year that Anderson & Price were now accepting some transient guests.  And the arrivals on October 7, 1912, may have been a bit unnerving to strait-laced residents.  The Sun reported "In splendid physical condition and confident of victory, the Red Sox arrived here from Boston at 6 o'clock last evening and went to Bretton Hall."

Nevertheless, the long-term residents continued to be both well-heeled and well-known.  Among them in 1913 was Henry L. Brittain, treasurer of the H. L. Brittain Company on Park Row.  His ground-breaking firm manufactured "moving picture machines for the home."  He was also treasurer of the Granite Spring Water Company, the Anchor Metal Novelty Company and the Simplex Camera Company.

On January 2, 1913 the New-York Tribune reported on a significant turn of events for the wealthy businessman.  He had traveled to Britain regarding the settlement of an estate.  According to dispatches received by the Tribune from London, Brittain "was robbed of documents that related to an estate valued at $5,000,000."  Brittain told investigators he "does not expect to recover the lost documents which were stolen from his kit bag," but offered a $250 reward, nevertheless.

Brittain was among the last of the long-term residents.  Anderson & Price advertised Bretton Hall in 1914 as "New York City's Largest Transient Uptown Hotel."  The ad touted "exceptionally large, quiet rooms with baths...All the comforts of the better New York Hotels at one-third less price."  A sketch of the building clearly showed that the cornice was still fully intact.

But two years later that condition was slightly different.  An advertisement in the New-York Tribune on December 3, 1916 called the Hotel Bretton Hall the "largest and most attractive uptown hotel" with single rooms and a bath priced at $2.50 and $3 per day, and suites at $4 to $7.50.  The most expensive accommodations would be about $177 in today's money.  But the photograph showed that cornice had been toned down, possibly in an attempt to keep the building looking up to date.

Anderson & price had quietly altered the cornice by the time of this 1916 photo. New-York Tribune, December 3, 1916 (copyright expired) 

Despite the change from resident to transient, Bretton Hall continued to be a location for society weddings.  Such was the case on June 26, 1916 when Esther Ford, the daughter of State Supreme Court Justice John Ford, was married to John Cassan Wait here.  Ford had also served in the State Senate in 1895.

Well-dressed patrons were, perhaps, unaware of labor problems with the waiter's union when they sat down in the Bretton Hall dining room on the evening of June 16, 1919.  But Price & Anderson were well informed and prepared for problems.  The New York Times reported that the 50 waiters, "stood at their posts, appraising the guests as they entered for the meal.  According to one of the guests, there was an air of expectancy about part of the waiters, and this was explained when a whistle blew."

Immediately upon hearing the whistle, the waiters formed a line and "with military precision departed."  The well-timed strike was planned to cause the most upheaval as possible.  But Price & Anderson were well ahead of the potential disaster.  The New York Times wrote "But just as the last of the strikers went through the door fifty substitute waiters came in another.  So far as the guests were concerned the walkout merely served to show that most of the strikers had learned correct marching while in the service."

A much more disturbing incident brought Bretton Hall back into the newspapers in November that year.  Frank A. Skelton and his wife were residents of Montreal, but had taken rooms in Bretton Hall for the winter.  On Saturday night, November 22 the couple went to the theater.  When they returned about midnight, "they found everything topsy turvy," said The New York Times.  "Drawers from dressing tables, desks and bureaus were scattered on the tops of the tables, and clothing had been thrown upon the floor by the visitors in their search for jewels.  Two jewel cases had been emptied and left open on one of the tables."

The thieves were successful in their search.  They had made off with "about thirty diamond rings, watches, necklaces and other valuable pieces of jewelry."  The loss was estimated at about $290,000 in today's money.  Mrs. Skelton refused to confirm that number, saying merely "Some of the pieces were so old as to be considered treasures; others were new, made of diamonds and platinum, and were of unusual design.  The loss was heavy."

Living in the hotel "in luxurious fashion," according to The New York Herald, at the time was Mrs. May Jennings Bennett, a 32-year old widow widely known in religious circles.  She was vice-president of the Women's Foreign Missionary Society and was active in the work of the Fort Washington Presbyterian Church.  As so, it was most likely a great surprise to many when police knocked on her door on October 3, 1919 to arrest her.

Mrs. Jennings, through her church work, came in contact with many moneyed women.  At teas or lunches in her Bretton Hall apartment she would mention that she was embarking on real estate projects--purchasing old houses in order to replace them with modern apartment buildings.  After she had interested her victims in the potential, she would even take them to the see the properties, none of which she actually owned.  She then collected thousands of dollars in "investment" from her unwitting dupes.

May Jennings's defense was even more startling.  When a journalist visited her jail cell on January 10, 1920, she said "I admit I played the part of a crook, but my downfall is due to the psychic divine control a man, formerly a Presbyterian minister, has had over me for the last year.  That man conducts mystic ceremonies up near Central Park, and during all the time I was robbing my friends and acquaintances of thousands of dollars, I was under a spell cast over me by him."

Her trial was held on January 21.  She pleaded guilty and offered her curious explanation.  Judge Mulqueen was not swayed.  "I am convinced you are a common and base swindler," he said before announcing her sentence of nine years in prison.   When her lawyer pleaded for leniency, the judge reminded him that he could have imposed the maximum penalty of 40 years.  "I think she is being treated leniently."

An even bigger jewelry heist than the Skelton robbery happened two months later. Mr. and Mrs. Charles MacManus of Rye, New York, took rooms on the fourth floor here in the spring of 1920.  On March 30 Mrs. McManus placed her jewelry in a trunk after dressing for luncheon.  The following evening, when dressing for dinner, she found that someone had been in the trunk.

Missing were about 35 pieces of jewelry.  Their total value, $30,000, would be equal to more than $375,000 today.   The pieces were insured, unfortunately, for only about half their value.  Ironically, the most valuable of the pieces had been in a safe deposit vault and had only been removed a few days earlier for appraisal.

The proprietors of the hotel embarked on a forward-thinking plan for its employees in February 1927--shared-cost benefits.  The New York Times explained "The Hotel Bretton Hall joined its employes in the purchase of a $225,000 group life insurance policy from the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company."  More than 200 employees now not only had a life insurance policy, but an early form of health benefits.  "The plan includes a visiting nurse service, distribution of health conservation pamphlets and provides for the payment of an employe's insurance in full if he becomes totally and permanently disabled before the age of 60."

In June 1929 the owners, Benjamin Winter, Inc., hired architects Springsteen & Goldhammer to make renovations, including converting the southern half of the street level to shops  The New York Times noted that "remodeling of the interior of the 500-room structure is also under way."  The renovations resulted in 150 single rooms, 120 two-room suites, 25 three-room "apartments," seven four-rooms suites and, along with the stores, a bar and restaurant.

An advertising postcard shows the shops in the southern end of the building.

In 1931 another store, much less architecturally invasive, was installed in the northern corner for The Chase National Bank.
The heyday for Bretton Hall seems to have passed by 1939 when a room cost $2.50 per night.  It was a mere fraction of the amount charged in 1916.

The 1931 commercial space, now a Citibank branch, was sympathetically inserted into the base.

In February 1950 the newly-formed Hotel Bretton Hall, Inc., headed by Grace Bordiga, purchased the structure.  In reporting the sale, The New York Times noted "Improvements planned by the new operators...include plans for a dining room so that it can be used for catering purposes and the installation of kitchenettes in some additional apartments."

While still offering 78 hotel rooms, the renovated Bretton Hall now included dentists offices and, on the second floor, the Rutledge Club and offices.  Somewhat surprisingly, the building became a center of the Upper West Side Haitian community.  Decades later, in 1993, Rev. Thomas Wenski, director of the Pierre Toussaint Haitian Catholic Center recalled to a New York Times reporter "Our community was centered on the West Side of Manhattan, mostly around 86th Street along Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue...A number of families managed to congregate at the Bretton Hall."

The ballroom here was rented by campaign of Representative Bella Abzug to watch the election results  of July 20, 1972.  Although the 51-year old Congressional freshman had hoped to rally the feminist vote, she and her supporters were disappointed when it became obvious she had been unseated.

In the early 1980's an organization called the Artists Assistance Services took advantage of the low rents in Bretton Hall to scoop up apartments and offer them to "people in the arts."  New York Magazine cautioned, however, "But there was a little clause attached:  The tenant had to share his living room with a 'cultural activity.'"  And so artist Abby Cahn shared hers with a karate class.  That was a problem, she found out, when the karate instructor refused to let her have any furniture.  And if classes were in session she was not allowed to enter.

Emad Salem, living here in 1993, was a translator and bodyguard for Sheikh Omar Abdel Rahman, known commonly in the United States as "the Blind Sheikh."  Following the World Trade Center bombing that year, Salem made himself available to the F.B.I., who later said "Mr. Salem was central to the arrests of the accused plotters, luring them to make statements that were recorded, helping to test explosives and even renting the house in Jamaica, Queens, where the suspects are accused of mixing the fertilizer and fuel for the bombs."  With Salem's assistance, the F.B.I. was able to wiretap that house.

Following the arrest of the sheikh and his cronies, Salem made a quick disappearance with Government help.  On June 26 The New York Times wrote "Neighbors at the Bretton Hall residential hotel at 2350 Broadway, where Mr. Salem lived, said they saw garbage from his apartment at the trash chute on Wednesday, including a telephone that looked as if it had been ripped from a wall, and pictures of his son and daughter."  Salem's information had also helped derail 12 other targets, "including Grand Central terminal, the Empire State Building and Times Square," said officials.

By now the entire cornice had been gone for years.  The owners embarked on a renovation late in 2006 that initially called for reproducing the lost cornice.  Architect John C. Calderón, however, found that "the cost was prohibitive."  Instead he designed a parapet of red brick and cast stone in an effort to approximate the lower design.  Despite the good intentions, it falls short of a design-completing cornice.

More than a century of changes did not affect the elaborate three-story Beaux Arts entrance.

The completed $1 million renovation resulted in 461 rental apartments.

photographs by the author

The 1903 Hotel Woodstock -- No. 127 West 43rd Street

In 1896 traveling salesman Robert H. Spalding stepped off a train from Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania with his sample case of wood trimmings.  The 31-year-old was taken with the ebullient residential and transient hotels that were rapidly rising throughout the city.   Gushing with Beaux Arts ornamentation on the outside, their interiors dripped with overblown Belle Epoque festoons and frescoes, marble columns and thick carpets.

With gutsy daring, Spalding decided to get in on the trend.   Against all odds (The New York Times later remarked “he had little capital to back him) he successfully constructed the Ganoga Hotel on East 27^th Street.  He sold the new hotel at a profit and immediately commissioned architect Harry B. Mulliken to design the handsome residential Colllingwood Hotel just off Fifth Avenue on West 35^th Street.  The former traveling saleman’s latest project cost nearly $1 million.

The Collingwood had barely opened for business before Spalding and Mulliken were working together again.   Robert Spalding now turned his attention to the Longacre Square neighborhood (later named Times Square), where the new theater district was emerging.  Spalding purchased the land on which the old New-York Racquet and Tennis Club stood at No. 127 West 43^rd Street. 

By the time plans were filed in 1902, Mulliken had formed a partnership with Edgar J. Moeller.  Although Mulliken most likely took charge of the design of the Hotel Spalding, Mulliken & Moeller is given credit.

Demolition of the old buildings was completed and foundation excavation well underway by August 1902.  The neighborhood was still filled with high-stooped brownstones built in the 1870's; many of them now operated as boarding houses.  The construction site would cause neighbors what the New-York Tribune deemed “intense disgust and annoyance” on the night of August 18.

The excavation site, which stretched from No. 127 to 135 West 43^rd Street, necessitated the construction of a 55-foot “timber bridge” over the sidewalk.  At around 7:30 that evening the heavy bridge caved in, breaking a six-inch water main and a four-inch gas main below.  Luckily, although the street was crowded with pedestrians, no one was on the bridge when it collapsed.  But the broken mains soon created a major problem.

“Gas escaped so it could be smelled for blocks, and the police would allow no one with even a lighted cigar or cigarette near the scene, and all the gas lamps were put out,” reported the Tribune.   The gushing water main caused additional problems as it ate away at the soil beneath the street, part of which caved in.  “While people were standing on the edge of the trench the water had been loosening the earth under the street, and a big part of the street pavement gave way and sank with a loud crash into the water.  This caused much excitement.  Women fled in terror, and men disappeared almost as quickly.”

The thick gas seeped into the houses, causing some people to get ill.  Many were seen leaving their homes with suitcases, expecting a massive explosion at any moment.  In fact, the newspaper reported that within an hour the atmosphere was so permeated with gas “that it got to be dangerous to have lights anywhere in the neighborhood.”

Around 9:00 more of the pavement and remains of the bridge gave way, loudly crashing into the water-filled crater.   Many of those in the now-inky blackness thought there had been an explosion “and there was much excitement for a time about the neighborhood.”

Gas workers arrived around 10:00 and groped their way around the gas main in the dark—no lamps could be used.  The main was finally capped and by 10:30 the danger had passed.  Unfortunately for residents, there would be no water or gas service until the next day.

With the regrettable incident now taken care of, construction continued at a rapid pace.  On December 12, 1903 the Hotel Spalding opened “in the customary manner,” according to the New-York Tribune.  The newspaper called it “the latest and most notable addition to the long chain of hostelries in this City.”

An early postcard depicts the surviving brownstones on either side of the new hotel.

“The lobbies and dining rooms were handsomely decorated with flowers and plants, and the house was crowded the greater part of the day with guests and visitors.  Musical entertainment was furnished by the management, besides the usual chefs d’oevres of the culinary department.”

Mulliken’s façade was more restrained than the recent Hotel Collingwood.  There were no sculptured figures or heavy festoons; yet the limestone and brick was nonetheless stylish.  A two-story portico sheltered the entrance and French-inspired iron balconies punctuated the upper floors.  Copper-clad angled bays gave dimension and the 12-story hotel was capped by an ambitious, deeply overhanging spiky cornice.

A postcard shows the portico with its glass and metal marquee.

The interiors, however, were meant to awe.  Polished marble columns appeared in several of the public rooms.  The main Dining Room was lit by an immense stained glass skylight.  Decorated “in the style of Louis XVI," its cuisine and service were touted by management as “as good as it is possible to have them.”  Off the soaring two-story lounge was the slightly less-formal Grill Room, decorated with oaken Jacobean-style furniture and matching paneled wainscoting.

Complementary postcards depict the main Dining Room (note the stained glass skylight), and the less formal Grill Room.  Through the Grill Room's doors the two-story lounge can be glimpsed.

Like Robert Spalding’s others, the Hotel Spalding accommodated not only transient tourists and businessmen; but permanent residents (including Spalding, himself).    Apartments for the long-term residents were provided unfurnished.

There were 300 rooms for transients, consisting of suites of two, three or four rooms with private baths.  An advertisement that appeared one week after the opening promised that “A cosey, home-like effect has been carried out in the furnishings—the walls are hung with attractive pictures, the furniture does not consist of two or three uncomfortable chairs and a centre table, but is of the most luxurious and home-like character, the sort that fills your heart with good cheer.  There are soft, thick rugs and books and bric-a-brac and other thing that contribute so much to the cheerful atmosphere of the place.”

At the time of opening, a single room and with private bath would cost the guest $2.50 a day—in the neighborhood of $70 today.

After checking in in the rather somber wood-paneled lobby (above), guests entered the airy Lounge.

Robert Spalding’s wife did not live to move into the new hotel with her husband.  She died in the summer of 1903.   And one year almost to the day after the hotel’s completion, Spalding died in his apartment here. 

On Friday evening, December 9, 1904, he was “entertaining a quartet of professional singers who were rehearsing in one of the apartments,” according to The New York Times.   The 39-year old suffered a heart attack which caused his death at about 5:00 Saturday morning.

At the time of his death, creditors had been close on his heels.   Quickly the hotel was put into receivership and on January 20, 1905 a petition of involuntary bankruptcy was filed.  The Hotel Spalding owed debts amounting to $700,000.  It was sold in September for $660,000.

Robert H. Spalding’s namesake hotel was quickly rechristened the Hotel Woodstock.   Guests and residents would have noticed no real changes; although the single room rate was raised by 50 cents.

As Spalding had predicted, the site’s proximity to the theater district proved attractive to tourists and theatrical types.  In 1907 the internationally-known stage actress Rose Coghlan was staying here while she rehearsed The Unwritten Law before taking it on the road.  She was understandably upset in October that year when she lost a gold lorgnette on a pearl chain somewhere in the Times Square area.

Rose Coghlan - from the collection of the New York Public Library

Among the permanent residents at around this time was the young Madaline Davidson.  On November 30, 1909 she was met at the hotel by Bostonian H. F. Kersberg who took her to a nearby spot for tea.  Kersberg was an athlete, a member of the Harvard football team which had recently defeated Yale for the first time in six years.

The young couple was apparently paying a great deal of attention to one other and not enough to traffic when they started across Broadway at 44^th Street.  The pair was knocked down by a passing brougham.  Although Kersberg was uninjured, Madaline’s ankle was hurt and she had to be carried into the lobby of a theater.  The football player then flagged down a hansom “and took her away.”

The carriage driver, William Savin, was arrested for reckless driving.  Kersberg appeared in court the next day to defend him.  The New York Times reported “He and Miss Davidson, he said, had been to a hotel for tea, and in crossing the street were chatting and did not watch very carefully.”  Nevertheless, the judge fined Savin $10.

The Hotel Woodstock prospered under its new ownership.  On December 10, 1910 Mulliken & Moeller announced they were working on plans for a 12-story addition at Nos. 137 and 139 West 43^rd.  The Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide reported “The addition will be of the same style of architecture and finish as the present building.”  It added “the old dwelling on the site will be torn down at once.”

The addition successful melded seamlessly into the original structure.   The Hotel Woodstock now offered 375 rooms and 285 baths.  Possibly because the main entrance was now off-center the two-story portico was removed and replaced by a long glass and metal marquee.

The 1910 addition was seamless.  photo by Irving Underhill from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The hotel continued to be home to wealthy permanent residents like Charles P. Dennin, president of O. Dennin & Sons, one of the largest brush manufacturers in the nation, who lived here through the World War I years.

The revamped entrance did away with the two-story portico.

In the years following the war, many hotel operators in the Times Square area were concerned that loft and office buildings were taking over.   Rumors were fueled by Vincent Astor’s closing of his hulking Hotel Knickerbocker in 1920 and converting it to office space.  The Du Pont family not only scoffed at the idea; but increased their holdings in Times Square. 

On May 29, 1920 the Record and Guide suggested “The passing of the Hotel Woodstock…into the hands of the Du Pont interests would seem to show that this syndicate, which controls much hotel space adjacent, believes that the Times Square neighborhood is not going to be captured altogether by loft and office buildings.”

As with all hotels, the Woodstock saw its share of tragedy.  One such case occurred in September 1924 while theater manager Howard E. Weaver’s wife, Katherine, was gone on a visit to upstate New York.  The 45-year-old had been manager of the Henry Miller Theatre; but had recently gone on the road as manager of Merton of the Movies.  While in Detroit he was fired.

Weaver returned to New York and the Woodstock around 10 p.m. on Monday, September 15.  The next morning Peter Rice, a “theatrical man,” went to Weaver’s apartment to discuss his return to his former job.  When no one answered his knocks, he found the hotel’s manager, Samuel Wieder, who had also been a friend of Weaver for some years.

Howard Weaver was found hanging from an electric light fixture in the bathroom.  He had neatly typed three notes.  To his wife he regretted that he had become a “disappointment and a failure.”  He felt that losing his job had made him a burden.  To Wieder he apologized for the “mess he was making;” and the note to Peter Rice read “Am more sick than anyone knows—so what’s the use?  Please forgive me.”

Had Weaver held out a few hours, he would have discovered there was a job waiting for him.

The library featured comfortable easy chairs for reading.

The meeting rooms of the hotel were routinely rented by political and social groups, including the League for Industrial Democracy, several socialist organizations, and the Sunrise Club.  The topic of one of the latter club’s lectures, in February 1931, was “The Sources of Liberalism in Human Nature.”

And of course the banquet hall saw dinners thrown by fraternal organizations, corporations, and groups giving tributes.  On June 28, 1926, for instance, aviator and explorer Richard E. Byrd, Jr. and his pilot to the North Pole, Floyd Bennett, were feted here by the Adventurers’ Club of Long Beach, California.

Other timely issues were hashed out during meetings in the Woodstock.   In May 1937 a compromise was reached between the National Education Association and motion picture producers, represented by Hal Hode of Columbia Pictures.  The following day The Times reported “Cooperation between motion-picture companies and schools in the greater use of films in education was discussed last night by fifty educators."  

Movies, prohibited in the classroom, were defended by Hode.  “Movies do not create conditions—they are a vast mirror of society.” He offered that "the portrayal of evils on the screen led to their eradication by arousing the public."

  

In the 1940s liveried doormen still assisted guests, while inside the rooms were decorated in current war-time decor.  (postcard from author's collection.  photograph by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York)

And on June 9, 1943 William A. Lydgate, editor of the American Institute of Public Opinion, addressed the Advertising Women of New York, Inc. at a luncheon.  He pointed out that with the steady increase of men heading overseas to fight the war, “Women will play a more important role in the 1944 Presidential election than ever before in history.”

The reputation of the Hotel Woodward as a respectable place to stay was not lost on two women living in the City Infirmary of North Adams, Massachusetts.  Flora Dampier, 64, and Emily Brown, 62, decided to tick one item off their bucket lists around this same time.  The women earned extra money by making quilts and bedspreads and when their “vacation fund” was sufficient, they headed to New York City—with an escort, of course.

A New York Times journalist visited the two women in their rooms on May 18, 1944.  “Mrs. Dampier, resident of the infirmary for forty-one years, proudly patted her new hair-do and smoothed the pleats of a new gray dress as she and Mrs. Brown prepared to go to dinner with their chaperone, Mrs. Delia Gorman, matron of the infirmary, who accompanied them here.”  The writer noted that Emily Brown’s plain black dress “was set off by a white lace collar which she made herself in preparation for the trip.”

The two elderly women had carefully planned their trip—wanting to see the Statue of Liberty, Radio City, the Empire State Building, Chinatown and Times Square.  And they were living high on their quilt money.   “Both had steaks for dinner last night and both have directed that they be served breakfast in bed during their stay,” said the article.

But Emily’s and Flora’s agenda was not merely about sightseeing.  High on their list was “to go to a night club and see the dancing.”

Mid-century brought about further updated decor.

While some once-grand Times Square hotels became little more than flop-houses after mid-century; the Hotel Woodstock tried desperately to cling on.  In the 1950's it hosted weekly social dances for college students and in 1962 was the scene of a major jazz dance in the ballroom.

But by 1975 the time-worn hotel seemed lost.  The rusticated limestone base had been slathered in layers of paint.  Now outdated and dreary, it was described by one person as “dismally gray and decrepit.”  That year Project Find, a nonprofit agency that houses, counsels and feeds the elderly, leased the hotel.  Four years later it purchased the building.   Architects Hardy Holzman Pfeiffer Associates initiated the $405,000 renovation that included a refurbishing of the façade, including stripping off the paint.

Still called the Woodstock, the venerable hotel has lost its stately portico and its crown-like cornice.  Today it is operated by the city for low-income residents.  Despite the changes, the integrity of the grand hotel, built by a traveling salesman when Times Square was just coming to life, survives.

non-credited photographs by the author

vintage postcards from the author's collection

many thanks to Marc Mentzer for requesting this post