The Lost Charles T. Yerkes Mansion - No. 864 Fifth Avenue

photo from the Auction Catalogue of Collection of Charles T. Yerkes, New York, 1910 (copyright expired)

When Charles Tyson Yerkes decided to leave Chicago for New York City in 1895 he had everything he wanted—a staggering fortune and successful career as a financier and street railroad titan.  Three years earlier he had donated nearly $300,000 to the University of Chicago to build the Yerkes Observatory in Wisconsin which included the world’s largest telescope.  The only thing he could not achieve was acceptance into high society.

Charles Tyson Yerkes -- Catalogue of paintings and sculpture in the collection of Charles T. Yerkes, New York, 1904 (copyright expired)

Yerkes had started out in the brokerage business in Philadelphia, where he also began developing traction and street railways.  As his fortune increased, the married Yerkes noticed the 16-year old Mary Adelaide Moore.  Mary, called Mollie by her friends, was one of nine children of a chemist and before long was Yerkes’ mistress.

Charles Yerkes was more ambitious than scrupulous and in 1871 was sent to prison for embezzling $400,000 in city money.   His teen-aged mistress faithfully visited him there, earning her the nickname “prison angel” by the prison officials.  Yerkes discovered upon his release that both his and Mary’s reputations among society were irreparably ruined—he was seen as a scoundrel, she as a home wrecker.

He divorced his wife and in 1880 took Mary to Chicago where they married.   Mary failed utterly as a hostess, partly because of Yerkes’ merciless business tactics.  By 1896 when the Yerkes New York mansion was nearing completion at No. 864 Fifth Avenue the robber baron had taken a new teenaged sweetheart.  Emilie Grigsby was exactly the age that Mary had been when he met her—just sixteen.  When Yerkes and his wife moved to New York, Emilie would not be far behind.

The mansion on Fifth Avenue was called by a Chicago newspaper “a palace.”  Designed by R. H. Robertson, the brownstone pile rose five stories and stretched 100 feet along Fifth Avenue—four times the width of an average rowhouse—and 153 feet along 68^th Street.   The Yerkes mansion announced that he and Mary had arrived.   The house was called “not only one of the handsomest in New York, but it is one of the most extensive.”

The house next door and the lot behind the mansion would become art galleries--photograph by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York -- http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GG3PPFF&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603

The outer entrance doors were framed in bronze and the inner doors were platinum-plated bronze.   Upon entering the vestibule, the visitor was surrounded in marble of various shades and colors.  The walls were clad in polished red marble.  Pilasters separated panels of different colored marble, the floor was inlaid black and sienna marble and even the ceiling was marble in “a richly coffered design.”

The two-story entrance hall, like the vestibule, was completely constructed of marble.  “Just beyond the door are two columns with pilasters of rich purple marble, with Ionic capitals of white marble and bases of Istrian marble,” as described by Barr Ferre later.   Yerkes apparently felt that marble was reflective of success and taste and even the Drawing Room was clad in the stone.  “The walls, from floor to ceiling, are wholly encased in Cipollino marble,” said Ferre.

The entrance hall.  Mary Yerkes would address reporters from the second floor here in 1905 --Auction Catalogue of Collection of Charles T. Yerkes, New York, 1910 (copyright expired)

The grand marble staircase rose to the second floor loggia and “serves as a monumental approach to the Italian Palm Garden,” wrote Ferre.  “It is a spacious and delightful place, having the true character of an indoor, or winter garden…All of this interior is of white marble, save the cornice, which is copper.”

As with most lavish homes of the 1890's the Yerkes mansion held period rooms.  The music room was Louis XV in style with frescos by Will H. Low.  The dining room was Elizabethan with highly-carved quartered oak walls and a vaulted ceiling.  There was an East Indian Room, an Empire Room, and a Japanese Room—a near requirement of the time.  The library was finished with antique 16^th century paneling.  

The main bedrooms, dressing rooms and bathrooms on the second floor were sumptuous.   The fireplace of the Charles’ bedroom was black onyx and the “adjoining Dressing-Room is trimmed with rosewood and has a gold-leaf frieze and ceiling.  His bed had once belonged to King Ludwig of Bavaria and sat upon a dais with two steps covered in green velvet.  The Bathroom has a polished marble floor and wainscot, above which is a gold frieze and ceiling with a silver cornice.  The bathtub and basin are of marble and a shower is enclosed within a marble screen.” 

Mary’s oval boudoir was pronounced “one of the most charming [rooms] in the Mansion.”   Her bed had belonged to King Leopold of Belgium.

Below ground were the billiard room, a bathroom for guests, and the wine cellar.  The walls of the billiard room were covered in leather with patterns formed by brass-headed nails.

Although he had failed in Philadelphia and Chicago, Yerkes attempted to push his way into New York society.  He dressed Mary in the most expensive fashions and jewels.  But again she fell short.   Wealthy New Yorkers already knew of their reputations and Mary’s heavy drinking and clumsy manners added to the problem.   She made public scenes, once interrupting a play by loudly announcing that the “Lady Teazle” on stage was incorrect—the actress was wearing pink whereas a portrait in her husband’s collection proved that Lady Teazle wore yellow.

Mary’s fury over her husband’s flagrant affair with Emilie Grigsby intensified when he built her a magnificent Park Avenue mansion not far away.   The younger woman was banned from the Fifth Avenue house where Mary more-and-more lived in isolation.  According to The Evening World, “Mrs. Yerkes barred her doors to Miss Grigsby the moment she discovered the truth, and the estrangement of husband and wife dated from that moment, although to the outer world they continued to appear as before.”

While Mary drank and sulked, her husband collected.   The house filled with irreplaceable artwork and statuary as he spent freely at the auction houses of Europe.  The valuable items in the mansion were tempting targets for accomplished sneak thieves.   One of them was the cultured and educated Elijah C. Harvey.

The New York Times described Harvey on May 12, 1899 as “a mulatto, thirty years old, who is a graduate of an educational institute at Andover, Mass., and who afterward studied for the ministry.”    As spring weather that year induced housekeepers to open mansion windows, Harvey took advantage of the opportunity.  He would brazenly climb the brownstone stoops and enter the homes through the windows.  On the morning of May 3 it was the Yerkes parlor he entered.

For months the East 67^th Street Police Station had been receiving complaints from residents of “a burglar who was making extensive depredations,” said The Times.  Just two days before the Yerkes break-in, the night watchman at the George Crocker mansion at 64^th Street and 5^th Avenue had nearly captured the crook.

Now this morning housekeeper Mrs. Margaret Fitzpatrick walked into the Yerkes parlor just in time to see Harvey slipping out the window with a silver basket valued at $1,000.  The openwork basket was easily identifiable; on one side was Mary’s monogram and on the bottom her full name: Mary Adelaide Yerkes.

Two days later when Harvey was detained by Policeman Cornelius Glynn, the burglar put on his best cultured act.  “Is it not possible for you to be mistaken in your identification?  I never committed a felonious act in my life,” he said.  “I protest against this outrage.  You must have something more than mere surmise on which to take me into custody.”

When that tactic did not seem to be working, Harvey pulled a razor and lunged at the officer.  He was arrested and among the pawn tickets in his pockets was one for the silver basket which he pawned for $30.  “Nearly all the articles were pawned in the name of Yerkes,” reported The Times.

Even though Charles and Mary were essentially estranged—he spent most of his time in hotels—he kept her in high style.  When Emily Grigsby acquired a new Columbia Hanson automobile in 1903, Mary got a custom vehicle.  “One of the handsomest of the electrics ever built is the special Victoria, owned by Mrs. Charles T. Yerkes, of No. 864 Fifth Avenue,” said Automobile Topics.

By 1904 Yerkes’ art collection had become so great that it required a separate building.    The millionaire purchased the mansion next door at No. 860 Fifth Avenue and filed plans to convert it to a gallery.  On April 21 The New York Times reported that “The house will be converted into a one-story building, 40 feet front, 100 feet deep, and 41-1/2 feet high, with a façade of carved brownstone and brick.  The interior is to be finished in carved marble, decorated with ornamental columns to harmonize with the Winter garden which it will adjoin.  It is to have ornamental doorway opening into the present picture gallery.”

Two art gallery annexes, one to the rear on 68th Street, and one replacing the mansion next door at No. 860 held Yerkes' massive collection -- photo Library of Congress

Architect Henry Ives Cobb designed the annex which cost $20,000—or about $425,000.  Shortly thereafter a second gallery was added to the rear of the mansion on 68^th Street, also designed by Cobb.

The gallery was a virtual museum -- Auction Catalogue of Collection of Charles T. Yerkes, New York, 1910 (copyright expired)

Yerkes would not enjoy his new art galleries for long.   Before the 68-year old traveled to London in 1905 with Emilie Grigsby he discovered that Mary had found a paramour—a 29-year old fortune hunter named Wilson Mizner.  Prior to his voyage, Yerkes pressured Mary for a divorce and tried to get her to leave the mansion, threatening to leave her out of his will.  She refused but was left seriously concerned about her security.

While in London Yerkes became seriously ill.  Emilie nursed him for five weeks until he was well enough to sail home.  In the meantime, Mary did some snooping.   Later, in 1909, The Federal Reporter would say “In October, 1905, when Mr. Yerkes was in London, Mrs. Yerkes had his safe in 864 Fifth avenue, the combination of which was known only to Mr. Yerkes…drilled open, and she found in it, among other things…a bill of sale dated Mary 24, 1896, assigning to her ‘her executors, administrators and assigns, all and singular the furniture and household goods together with each and every painting and picture now contained in the house, No. 864 Fifth avenue.”

As long as Charles Yerkes died before he had a chance to change the will, Mary was in good shape.

Yerkes arrived in New York in November and went directly from the steamer to the Waldorf-Astoria.   Had he gone home, he would have found that Wilson Mizner was living in his mansion.  Instead, doctors and nurses crowded into his suite in the hotel and tried to save him.  Rather than asking to see Mary, he repeatedly called for Emilie.  The beautiful young mistress stayed by his side, in obvious despair, while doctors advised “against the visit of Mrs. Yerkes,” according to newspapers.

He died on December 29, 1905 with Mary and her sister in an adjoining room.  Mary briefly considered going into the room to reconcile; then told her sister “It is too late now,” and after his death commented “I think I did right.  He treated me shamefully.”

Charles T. Yerkes’ body was removed from the Waldorf-Astoria in a wicker basket and taken to the mansion on Fifth Avenue where it was transferred into a rich wooden casket.  Mary had the house protected by a team of detectives to keep unwanted interlopers—presumably including Emilie Grigsby—away from the funeral.   Roundsman Sheehan told reporters “We have orders to shoot any one who tries to go up those steps.  And we’ll carry out orders.”

Yerkes's coffin, draped in black velvet and dripping with purple orchids, was carried down the brownstone steps to the hearse by six detectives.  The Evening World reported “Only six carriages followed the hearse, and neither Miss Emilie Grigsby nor any member of her family was in the cortege.”

New York society waited to hear if Emilie would be beneficiary to any of Yerkes’s millions.   But he had died before he had time to change his will and on January 3, 1906 the terms were publicized.  The will, according to The Ottowa Free Trader on January 5, “leaves practically all the vast estate, estimated at $15,000,000, to Mrs. Yerkes and the two children for their life use…After the death of Mrs. Yerkes the family home and its magnificent art collection, supported by an endowment of $750,000, becomes a public gallery.”

The newspaper added “Whatever provision was made for Miss Grigsby…if any, evidently was made by gift before the magnate’s death.  It is reported that Mr. Yerkes, only a few days before his death, gave Miss Grigsby a check for something like $250,000, which was dated ahead, and therefore is worthless, as the magnate died before the date of the check.”

Emilie Grigsby, however, had nothing to worry about financially.  Charles T. Yerkes had left her quite well taken care of.

If Mary Yerkes still had any aspirations of social climbing, they were dashed when the newspapers reported of her marriage to Wilson Mizner less than a month after her husband’s death.    On February 1, 1906 The New York Times said “Mrs. Mary Adelaide Yerkes, the widow of Charles T. Yerkes, and Wilson Mizner were married at the home of Mrs. Yerkes at 864 Fifth Avenue, at 8:30 o’clock on Tuesday evening.”  The newspaper added “Mrs. Mizner is 45 years old.  Mr. Mizner is not yet 30.”

The Times shocked proper readers by saying “Wilson Mizner has been in town for several weeks.  He has bene stopping at the Hotel Astor, and has received many telephone messages from Mrs. Yerkes.  Immediately after the receipt of every message Mr. Mizner went in a cab to the Yerkes residence.”

Mary quickly denied the story until it was no longer of any use.  On February 3 The Sun said “Mrs. Mary Adelaide Yerkes-Mizner owned up yesterday.  Yodled to on the white marble balcony of her house at 864 Fifth avenue by young Wilson Mizner of California, Alaska and elsewhere, she admitted she had fibbed from dread of premature and unpleasant publicity.”

Mizner had promised reporters that morning that his wife would see them.  “In front of the Yerkes mansion at 864 Fifth avenue there were more reporters,” said The Sun.  “The newcomers piled out of their rigs and banked up around the bridegroom, who towered above them.”

Mizner spoke in a street dialect normally unheard on refined Fifth Avenue.  “I am going in to see my wife.  You’ll hear something in fifteen minutes.  That’s on the square.  You can take it from me.”

When the butler begrudgingly admitted the horde of reporters into the Japanese Room, Wilson addressed them.  “Mrs. Mizner doesn’t exactly care to make a formal statement about our marriage, but she does want to let all her fiends know that the marriage took place just as I have said…Now, fellows, just step this way and Mrs. Yerkes herself will appear and confirm the marriage.”

Mary finally appeared on the marble balcony above the reporters.  She wore a silk kimono, apologized for the “miscommunication,” and said she was happy she had married.  “I hope you will all get married, too, if you are not already,” she said.  And then she excused herself.

Mizner told reporters “I suppose some of Mrs. Mizner’s relatives are sore, but you can bet your last dollar Mrs. Mizner is happy.”

Before long it was Mary, more than her relatives, who was sore.  She realized that Mizner was only after her millions and shortly after the wedding she told a reporter “Just another idol shattered.  That’s what all this money has done for me.  Robbed me of all my real friends, made me doubt them all, suspect and fear them.”  She divorced Wilson Mizner in May 1907 and arranged to take back the name Yerkes.

Even with Wilson Mizner out of the house, Mary’s life did not get easier.    Days after the divorce, Joseph D. Redding appeared.  Redding was the lawyer Mary had hired in 1904 when her financial security seemed tenuous.  The lawyer was retained to “obtain for her a share of the property of Yerkes including a share of his bonds, stocks, and all securities.”  He claimed she agreed to give him twenty percent of whatever she received.  Then, the day following Charles Yerkes’ death, he received a letter from Mary dismissing him.   Redding now brought suit against her for his twenty per-cent commission.

Her troubles continued.  Within a month she was riding down Jerome Avenue in her automobile with two other women “when the party ran foul of Policeman Silverbaur,” reported The Sun on June 10.  Mary’s chauffeur, Edward Roshing, was arrested for speeding despite her protesting that they were indeed not going fast.  In order to get home Mary gave her house as security so her chauffeur could be released.

On June 25, 1908 Mary was once again riding in her car chauffeured by Roshing.  Also in the automobile were Catherine Manack and Mary A. Fitzpatrick and Mary’s footman.  As the car entered Washington Square Park from West 4^th Street, 11-year old Dominick Pasquale ran in front of it.

Little Dominick was struck and the footman, Edward Hurley, grabbed the boy in his arms.  “Mrs. Yerkes threw open the door of the tonneau, and, reaching her arms out to the lad, said to the foorman: ‘Give him to me and then drive to St. Vincent’s Hospital,’” reported The Times.  On the way to the hospital Mary comforted the boy “with promises of baseballs and bats and all sorts of other things if he would only be brave and try not to cry.”

At the hospital it was determined that the boy had severe internal injuries.   Mary asked the physician to “do everything in his power for the boy.”

Once again Edward Roshing found himself under arrest and, once again, Mary Yerkes was without a ride home.  She asked Lt. Noble to send a policeman with her chauffeur so he might drive her home before being arrested.  Despite her pleas, she was compelled to send to a nearby garage to hire a driver to take her home in her car.

Mary’s greatest problems were to come.   The will was contested.  Later The New York Times explained “When a division of the estate was attempted, the widow maintained that the Fifth Avenue house and the art collection was her property under deeds of assignment made by her husband.  This was not upheld by the probate courts of Cook County, Illinois, where Yerkes had his residence.”   Mary was forced to give up the Fifth Avenue mansion and the art collection, all of which was sold at auction.

An advertisement in the New-York Tribune on February 20, 1910 listed part of the “very important collection of exceedingly valuable ancient and modern paintings.”  Included were works of art by Rodin, Houdon, Falconet, Boucher and Van Loo.   Antiques included Renaissance and Flemish tapestries, Persian rugs of the 15^th and 16^th centuries and paintings of the great masters.  There were four Rembrandts, four works by Franz Hals, and paintings by Boucher, Breughel, Holbein, Raphael, Rubens Watteau and many others.

The auction lasted for days and newspapers reported the staggering amounts paid for rare items.   A sword owned by Oliver Cromwell and dated 1650 sold for $1,500.  A life-sized bronze sculpture of Diana by Houdon brought $51,000; two Carrara marble sculptures by Rodin were purchased by an anonymous donor as gifts to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

If Manhattan’s elite never passed through the Yerkes doorways for social functions, they did for the sale.  Among the buyers were Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt, Mrs. Cooper Hewitt, Seth Milliken, Mrs. Harry Payne Whitney, Mrs. Herman Oelrichs, and Mrs. Samuel Untermyer.

Charles T. Yerkes fabulous mansion became home to Louis Terah Haggin.  Haggin had started out life as a lawyer; but with the death of his father in 1914 he took over the presidency of the Cerro de Pasco Copper Corporation.   Of his father’s $20 million estate, Haggin had inherited nearly $4 million, which was quickly increased with the directorships in other companies he took over from his father.

The widowed executive lived alone in the massive mansion with his staff of servants.  His daughter, Eila, who was married to Robert Tittle McKee, lived nearby at No. 136 East 79^th Street.   A tireless worker, he was still going routinely to his office in 1929 at the age of 81.

In the middle of March that year, however, Haggin contracted pneumonia.  He was confined to his bed in the mansion for ten days until he died there on March 26.

Prior to July 1937 the Yerkes mansion and galleries had become a garden to Thomas Fortune Ryan's home -- photo NYPL Collection

On December 13, 1925 The New York Times reported that neighbor Thomas Fortune Ryan had purchased the house and galleries for $1.1 million.  The buildings, it reported, were "to be torn down to enlarge the flower garden of Thomas Fortune Ryan...which will probably be the most valuable garden site in the world."   In July 1937 a modern apartment building was erected on the site.

photo by Alice Lum

The 1910 Liberty Tower Buildling -- No. 55 Liberty St.

photo by Alice Lum

Steel-framed construction and elevators changed the complexion of the Lower Manhattan as the 20^th century dawned.   A pioneer of the steel skeleton process was Chicago architect Henry Ives Cobb who designed the 1889 Ownes building.   In 1902 he moved to New York City, firmly making his mark with his 21-story No. 42 Broadway.   Architectural critic Montgomery Schuyler commented about Cobb that he worked “in styles” and for this building he included “Jacobean” influences.

In 1907 Francis Kimball outdid him with his 25-story No. 37 Wall Street--and the race was on.   The following year the 47-story Singer Building was erected at Liberty Street and Broadway—the tallest building in the world.   In 1908, like Cobb, Napoleon LeBrun returned to historic style in his design of the Metropolitan Life Tower which he based on the bell tower of Venice’s St. Mark’s Basilica.   Within only a few years the southern tip of Manhattan had begun sprouting the tall office buildings that would give the city its iconic mountain peaked skyline.

As the Metropolitan Life Tower rose, Henry Ives Cobb would be back.

On November 19, 1908 the New-York Tribune reported on the sale of two familiar nearby properties.     The seven-story Bryant Building, on the corner of Liberty and Nassau Streets, stood on the site of the New York Evening Post building and had been named for its editor, William Cullen Bryant.  Adjoining the Bryan Building on Nassau Street was David B. Freedman’s Freedman Building.    The article said that the purchasers intended to erect “an office building to cost $2,500,000."

The group of purchasers, from St. Louis, commissioned Cobb to design their 33-story building.   The New-York Tribune on January 31, 1909 reported “it is said [he] will produce one of the most attractive structures in the financial district.”

Cobb had several factors to consider.  The footprint of the plot was small and irregular with no sides parallel.  The architect was understandably concerned about the great height of the proposed building and the wind resistance of the slender structure.  Cobb, who was trained both as an architect and an engineer, overcompensated by driving pneumatic caissons 95 feet down into the bedrock.

A century later the overcompensation would pay off.

True to Montgomery Schuyler’s assessment, Henry Ives Cobb worked in styles and neo-Gothic was among his specialties.    He would sheath the entire building, with the exception of a half-story granite base, in gleaming white Gothic-styled terra cotta.

photo by Alice Lum

Cobb’s published plans excited the building industry.  Carpentry and Building said in May 1909 “One of the latest additions to the colony of towering skyscrapers which thickly dot the lower end of the Island of Manhattan, and which are such conspicuous features of the architecture of the metropolis at the present day, is an imposing 30-story office building just planned for the financial district.”  (The magazine did not include in the floor count the three-story, copper-clad pyramidal roof where “tanks and machinery” were to be housed.)

“The ornamentation has been derived from the English Gothic style of architecture, while the color scheme is white throughout, with the roof of copper, which after exposure to the elements for a time will turn a dull green.”

Tongue-in-cheek Gothic ornaments, many essentially unseen from street level, covered the building -- photo by Alice Lum

The magazine noted that “It will be known as the Bryant Building, taking its name it is said, from William Cullen Bryant, from whose estate the site was formerly purchased.”

Adjoining the new building to the east was what the New-York Tribune called “the palatial home of the Chamber of Commerce,” built in 1902.  There was little threat that the grand building would be razed so Cobb was able to treat his Bryant Building nearly as a free-standing structure with windows on three sides.   Architecture and Building noted that “The design, English Gothic, is worked out to give all the light possible in the interior.“

The Chamber of Commerce building allowed Cobb to design his skyscraper as nearly free-standing -- photo by Alice Lum

A year after the plans were filed the building was nearly completed and already the name had been changed.  On February 27, 1910 the New-York Tribune reported that “The flagstaff was placed on the New Liberty Tower Building…marking the moment of the completion of the steel work on the building.  The mason work is now so far completed that the building shows final form.”

Cobb released a sketch of the proposed buildling -- Architecture and Building, May 1910 (copyright expired)

Already the tenant list was growing.  The variety of firms included People’s Surety Company, Johnston & Collins, Standard Salt Company, C. L. Gray Construction Company and the George La Mont & Sons Company.  The Liberty-Nassau Building Company restricted its tenants to “stockbrokers, financial institutions, large corporations, and layers,” and offered to divide the floors to the tenants’ needs.

photo by Alice Lum

Opened on May 1, 1910, Henry Ives Cobb’s building was striking.   The terra cotta finials, gargoyles, tracery and Tudor-styled entrances foreshadowed the magnificent Woolworth Building which would soon steal the spotlight.   Two large murals, depicting Autumn and Spring with William Cullen Bryant as the focal figure, flanked the lobby staircase. 

High-end materials like marble and bronze were used inside -- photo by Alice Lum

The St. Louis-based Liberty-Nassau Building Company had spared no expense and quickly the firm would regret it.

Almost immediately after its completion the building was placed in the hands of a receiver and in March 1911 foreclosure was imminent.  A loan of $1.6 million stalled the inevitable.  The aggregate indebtedness at the time was over $8 million.

photo by Alice Lum

As war broke out in Europe, scandal visited the Liberty Tower Building in the form of German espionage.  Andrew D. Meloy was a promoter of Mexican enterprises doing business from here in 1915.   Among his achievements was the building of a short railroad line in Mexico.  He was also ardently pro-German.

That year Franz von Rintelen joined Meloy in his office, taking the pseudonym of E. V. Gates.  The two were involved in an ambitious German scheme to prevent American arms and ammunition from reaching the Allies.  The conspiracy vigorously aided a planned Mexican revolution lead by Victoriano Huerta by providing finances and arms.  Aware of President Wilson’s deep opposition to General Huerta, the conspirators realized that the U.S. would be obligated to enter Mexico to squelch the rebellion—thereby directing all military efforts away from the war overseas.

The plan unraveled, however, and von Rintelen was arrested in London, imprisoned in the Tower of London, and Meloy was placed under indictment for conspiracy to defraud the Government.

photo by Alice Lum

In September 1916 the Liberty-Nassau Building Company finally lost its building when it was sold in a foreclosure sale to the Garden City Company for $1.8 million.  Despite the ownership problems, the tenant list remained strong.  Not long afterward Doubleday, Page & Co. opened a book shop in the lobby.  “The new shop is in charge of men who ‘know books,’” said The Sun, “and every means is offered to the men of the downtown business district to facilitate book buying.  A feature of the shop is a special showing of war books.”

The Gothic terra cotta details foreshadowed the Woolworth Building -- photo by Alice Lum

In May 1919 the flamboyant Harry F. Sinclair, President of the Sinclair Oil and Refining Corporation, announced the firm’s purchase of the Liberty Tower Building for around $2.5 million.  It would be the first step towards yet another major scandal in the building.  In 1922 Senator Thomas J. Walsh began an investigation of leased Navy petroleum reserves at Teapot Dome, Wyoming.  The sensational findings showed that Secretary of the Interior Albert B. Fall leased the oil production rights to Harry Sinclair without competitive bidding.  Kick-backs from Sinclair made the Secretary wealthy.  They also resulted in prison terms for both men.

The Teapot Dome Scandal was regarded as the most sensational in the history of American politics until Watergate.

While all of this was playing out, Fidelity and Surety Insurance had its New York headquarters here.  In 1921 it named as its Vice President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was simultaneously running on the Democratic ticket as for U.S. Vice President.  Roosevelt, who deemed himself “a hard boiled insurance man,” was guest of honor at a Fidelity dinner at Delmonico’s on January 7 of that year.  The Insurance Press promised “Many prominent persons will attend.”

photo by Alice Lum

Things were less dramatic in what was now called the Sinclair Oil Building towards the second half of the century.  When Harry F. Sinclair leased space in Rockefeller Center in 1935, the building became part of the Rockefeller interests.   In 1945 Leonard J. Beck, a major player in 6^th Avenue real estate purchased the building for $1.3 million; about half of what Sinclair had paid two decades earlier.    A year later he turned a quick profit, selling it to the newly-formed Liberty-Nassau Corporation for $1.5 million.

By 1979 the downtown area had changed significantly.  The 33-story Liberty Tower Building sat in the shadows of newer, higher structures.  That year restoration architect Joseph Pell Lombardi purchased the old building, transforming it to one of the first residential conversions in the Financial District.

photo by Alice Lum

Lombardi reserved the former Sinclair Oil boardrooms for his own apartment, setting up his personal office in Harry F. Sinclair’s old study.

Henry Ives Cobb’s steel foundations, anchored five stories below ground, have been credited with the building's withstanding the impact of the collapsing World Trade Towers just 220 yards away on September 11, 2001.

The architect’s pioneering skyscraper still plays second-fiddle to the Woolworth Building; but its magnificent neo-Gothic design warrants a visit.

Warm golden light seeps through the stained glass of the Gothic styled entrance -- photo by Alice Lum