The Lost Lyceum Theatre - Fourth Avenue near 23rd Street

 

photograph by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

William Y. Mortimer leased a 50-foot-wide parcel on the west side of Fourth Avenue (later Park Avenue South) between 23rd and 24th Streets in January 1884 to Philip G. Hubert, Charles W. Clinton, and Michael Brennan for 21 years at a yearly rental of $4,000.  The trio hired the architectural firm of Hubert & Pirsson to design a theater on the site for the American Theatre Company.  Theatrical managers and producers Steele Mackaye, Gustave Frohman, and Franklin Sergeant were the main forces behind the newly formed group.

The three-story structure was completed in 1884 at a cost of $50,000 (about $1.6 million in 2024).  In his 1903 A History of the New York Stage, T. Allston Brown mentioned that it was faced in "finished brick, with freestone trimmings."  Hubert & Pirsson's somber Romanesque Revival stood in stark contrast with Peter Ponnet Wight's exuberant, Venetian Gothic style Academy of Design next door.  The New York Times flatly described the architecture of the Lyceum Theatre as, "nondescript."  

But the reserved facade belied the wondrous interiors.  Calling the Lyceum "richly appointed," The Sun's Guide of New York noted, "the interior decorations were made by the Tiffany Glass and Decorating Company," and the Memorial History of the City of New-York said the theater "is quite unique in its decorations, which are mainly of artistic colored and jeweled glass."  Tiffany Glass & Decorating worked closely with Thomas Alva Edison, a close friend of Steel Mackaye, in the design.  It would be the first New York theater to be lit entirely by electricity.  "No other theatre in New York resembles the Lyceum," said The Sun's Guide of New York.

There were other innovations, as well.  "It is the only theater in the city without a family circle," noted The Memorial History of the City of New-York.  Of note was the orchestra "frame or box."  When the overture began, the stage curtains opened to reveal the orchestra.  At its completion, "the musicians were hoisted on the automatic elevator clear into the flies, where the bottom of the car made the top part of the proscenium frame," explained the article.  

Steele Mackaye had always intended that the building would also house an acting school.  It was a brilliant scheme, affording him first pick of talented newcomers.  On August 3, 1884, The New York Times noted, "Mr. Mackaye's ability in the line of promoting undeveloped dramatic taste is already well understood."  On the same day (while the building was still under construction), the Morning Journal reported, "Within a fortnight, the new Lyceum Conservatory will begin operations with its first class of one hundred pupils."

Reporters were given a tour of the theater in March 1885, a month before opening night.  The critic from The New York Times was far from pleased.  He said that that upon entering, "the stairs right and left are so quiet, with their wood finished in old English style, that one is unprepared for the coming orgy of Oriental decoration."

Admitting that the design of "Mr. Louis C. Tiffany, the decorator, is in the main a pretty one," the critic went on to pan the sumptuous, colorful auditorium, saying in part:

It takes time to adjust one's faculties to the variety of decoration offered...and you hardly know whether you are in Ceylon or Connecticut.  One has but to raise the eyes to the great cluster of colored globes lit by electricity, and feel one's self once more in the Mosque of Teef-haneh at Afrasiab, so beautifully iridescent are the soft hues that stream therefrom.  They hang like the suspended ostrich eggs in the Tomb of the Prophet.  But one is not safely landed in Mecca before the abstracted eye glides unwarily upon a strictly Hindu bit of decoration, and thus in a moment one is carried 1,000 miles from Araby into furthest India.  Looking back about the front of the gallery, however, one is quickly restored to our own New-York, for who but Mr. Louis C. Tiffany could have dribbled melted lead so frantically over pieces of parti-colored glass like those blue bull's eyes with electric lights behind them, plastered against the brown satin background?  Let us confess, it is a jumble.

The Lyceum Theatre opened on April 6, 1885 with Mackaye's new play Dakolar.  (Admission to the 661-seat venue ranged from 75 cents to 2 dollars.)  The New York Times critic was as uncomplimentary to the play as he had been to the auditorium's décor.  He said it fell far short of what "this public had the right to expect in the first production of the much-trumpeted Lyceum Theatre."

Less than a month later, on May 1, The New York Times reported, "the lines of the Lyceum Theatre do not appear to have been cast in pleasant places, and the creditors of the house are now engaged in looking upon it with rather anxious eyes."  Among those creditors was Louis C. Tiffany.  "His contract for decorations amounted to $50,000, of which $42,000 is still unpaid," said the article.  (The outstanding balance would equal $1.37 million today.)  The article said, "It was expected that Mr. Steele Mackaye's play 'Dakolar' would crowd the house nightly.  The public, however, has not responded."

Louis C. Tiffany & Co. sued the American Theatre Company in July, quickly followed by a suit by Franklin H. Sargent, one of the founders and the instructor of the Lyceum Theatre School.  He claimed $10,000 in unpaid wages.

Actress Helen Dauvray took over management of the theater for two seasons, during which she starred in One of Our Girls, which ran for 200 performances.

Helen Dauvray (seated) and the cast of One of Our Girls in the Lyceum Theatre. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

On May 3, 1887, Daniel Frohman, brother of Gustav Frohman, one of the original founders, took over.  Under Frohman, the Lyceum Theatre became one of New York's foremost venues.  In 1892, The Sun's Guide to New York described it as "a richly appointed, carefully arranged house, and a fashionable place of amusement," adding, "The theatre is noted for the rich and tasteful scenic settings, the handsome dresses of the actresses, and the refined character of the plays."

Daniel Frohman's company included stars like E. H. Sothern, Maude Adams and Richard Mansfield.  Upon taking over the Lyceum Theatre, he made a change that elated many theater-goers.  The Record & Guide reported, "Manager Frohman has made quite a hit in trying to induce the lady patrons of the Lyceum Theatre to remove their bonnets before taking seats that would obstruct the view of those sitting behind them.  A good many ladies have complied with the request, and the matter has excited so much discussion in social circles as to make it a very good advertisement for the theatre."

Like One of Our Girls, the play Lord Chumley was a hit.  Written by David Belasco (who worked for years with Frohman here) and Henry Churchill de Mille, it starred Maude Adams and E. H. Sothern.  On August 21, 1888, the drama critic of The New York Times began his review saying,

It is so nice and refreshing to find a play which can be spoken of in an ecstasy of adjectival gushfulness that I feel inclined to toy with it and gloat over it, like a cat does over a newly caught mouse, before I begin to discuss its merits.  Strict consideration for the feelings of others, however, prompts me to restrain myself.

A scene from Lord Chumley.   from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The play suffered a tragedy a few weeks later.  Charles B. Bishop played the role of Adam Butterworth in Lord Chumley.  Although he was not feeling well on October 8, 1889, he went to the theater as normal.  The New York Times reported, "He was in good humor and pleasantly greeted his associates...He was prominent in the first scene of the play, and was ready at the wings waiting for his cue.  When it came, he went on gayly, and acted the scene through as brightly and spiritedly as he had ever done."

After exiting the stage, he staggered down the stairs to the stage manager's office and fell to the floor.  In less than ten minutes he was dead.  The curtain closed mid-act, and a few seconds later E. H. Sothern notified the audience that Bishop was dead and that the play would not continue.

On December 31, 1901, the New-York Tribune reported that Richard Mortimer, son of William Mortimer, had sold the property to William E. Hebberd.  Although the Tribune's reporter was assured, "It merely means a new ownership, that's all," the journalist noted, "There have been rumors recently that the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, of New-York, intended to get the property in order to enlarge its holdings in the block bounded by Madison Square, Fourth-ave., Twenty-third, and Twenty-fourth sts."

 from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Indeed, less than two months later, on February 6, 1902, the newspaper reported, "Title to the Lyceum Theatre property, in Fourth-ave...was recently obtained by the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company...It was then announced that this was the Lyceum's last season, at the end of which the building would be torn down."

Demolition of the building began on March 20, 1902.  The Metropolitan Life Insurance Company's new building engulfed the 23rd Street blockfront from Madison Avenue to Fourth Avenue, eradicating a score of structures including Wight's magnificent Academy of Design.

The Metropolitan Life Insurance Company building, seen from Madison Avenue.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Two years later, Metropolitan Life Insurance Company expanded again, filling the rest of the Madison Avenue block with a soaring tower and, in the process, razing another masterful building (one which also had Tiffany interiors), Stanford White's Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church.

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The Chelsea Hotel - 222 West 23rd Street

photograph by Velvet

In 1869 construction began on the seven-story Excelsior Buildings stretching from No. 216 through 226 on the south side of 23rd Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues.  Completed in 1871, it was part of a corrupt Tammany Hall scheme that would be called the Armory Frauds.  Although the city had twelve National Guard regiments, the Excelsior Buildings was one of 24 armories rented by the city.

On February 18, 1878 The New York Times reported that the structure was "totally destroyed" by fire.  The site sat vacant for four years until, on November 11, 1882 The Record & Guide announced "It appears that a new extensive apartment house is finally to be erected on the south side of Twenty-third street...by a co-operative association to be known as the Chelsea apartment house.  The location is that formerly occupied by the old armory that was destroyed by fire...The apartments in this building will be divided into suites of from three to nine rooms."

The architectural firm of Hubert, Pirsson & Co. filed plans in January 1883 for a brick "flat for forty private families" with construction costs of $300,000--about $7.9 million today.  It would be a cooperative, or "Home Club," building.  

The Record & Guide explained how Home Clubs worked.  "A number of gentlemen of congenial tastes, and occupying the same social positions in life, meet together and agree upon a suitable site for, and the erection of, an apartment house."  They next formed a "stock company" with a president and officers.  Each stockholder received a 50-year lease with renewals, and "a fixed rental is established for each apartment to meet the current running expenses, such as coal, gas, janitor, bell-boys, taxes and interest on mortgage."  The journal pointed out that Philip Hubert of Hubert, Pirsson & Co. "was the original projector of this entire system."

The team was, as well, on the cutting edge of apartment house design, having come up with the "mezzanine plan" or split level floor plan, for instance, and were far ahead of other architects in terms of ventilation and amount of sunlight in the units.

Their Queen Anne style Chelsea Hotel incorporated the latest in architectural trends and conveniences.  Tier after tier of cast iron balconies with French doors adorned the red brick 23rd Street facade.  They were ornamented with heavy cast sunflowers--a common Queen Anne motif.  Windows had geometrically patterned stained glass transoms.  The mansard roof was punctured by dormers and chimneys and interrupted by soaring end gables and a central tower.  It was, according to at least one report, the tallest building in Manhattan.

The center gable originally wore a high, pyramidal cap.  photo from the collection of the New York Public Library 

The Queen Anne style was carried on in the interiors.  An intricate central cast iron staircase wound from the lobby to the twelfth floor, its railing continuing the sunflower motif.  Because the building was a cooperative, the apartments were built to the buyers' specifications and boasted fireplaces (one cast in bronze), high ceilings and sound-proof walls.

Cast iron sunflowers blossom along the balconies.

The two top floors were reserved for rental units and the ground floor had commercial space available to bring in extra income for the cooperative.  The plan was that the running expenses would be paid for by the leases, costing the apartment owners nothing.

The sunflowers continue up the inner cast iron staircase. photograph provided by Carlton 

From the beginning residents of the Chelsea Hotel included artists.  Included in the 1886 Exhibition of the American Art Galleries were works by Chelsea Hotel residents J. Francis Murphy, F. K. M. Rehn, C. D. Weldon, Rufus Zogbaum, and Charles Melville Dewey.

John Francis Murphy was a largely self-taught landscape painter.  He and his wife, Ada Clifford Murphy (an accomplished painter herself) had a summer home in Arkville, New York in the Catskills.  

Charles Melville Dewey, whose works hang today in museums like the Corcoran Gallery, the National Gallery and the Pennsylvania Academy in Philadelphia, was a tonalist painter.   Like Murphy's, Dewey's wife, Julia F. Henshaw Dewey, was also a noted painter.

One resident not involved in the arts was Charles Adolphe Pineton, Marquis de Chambrun and d'Amfreville.   Born on August 10, 1831 the Marquis had been sent to the United States during the Civil War as a special envoy.  The Sun later said "He became intimate with President Lincoln, and was present at his invitation at the surrender of Richmond."

On August 26, 1891 attorney George Norris called on the Marquis at his office on Nassau Street.  He found him seriously ill and called two policemen to help remove him.  They arrested him for being drunk, but Norris was able to explain the situation to a sergeant and bring the Marquis home to the Chelsea Hotel.  He died in his apartment three weeks later.

Writers David Goodman Croly and his wife, the former Jane Cunningham were early residents.  Unfortunately, Croly was what might be termed a white supremacist today.  During the Civil War he co-authored a pamphlet Miscegenation, the goal of which was to derail the abolitionist movement and discredit the Lincoln Administration by heightening racist fears.  Croly died in 1889.

Jane Cunningham Croly from the collection of the General Federation of Women's Clubs

Jane Cunningham Croly lived on in the Chelsea Hotel writing under the pseudonym Jennie June.  She was a pioneer feminist, was editor of Demorest's Magazine, founder and editor of the Cycle Magazine and of the Home-Maker Magazine.  On June 6, 1898 The Sun reported "Mrs. J. C. Croly, better known by her nom de plume, 'Jennie June,' is seriously ill at her apartments in the Chelsea."  The 69-year old had broken her hip in a fall on a flight of stairs at the Le Boutillier Brothers' department store.  The article noted "it was at first feared that she might not recover, but she is now reported doing as well as the nature of her injury will admit."  Croly never fully recovered, but did live until December 23, 1901.

Stage and film actors were also drawn to the Chelsea Hotel.  Among the first were Lily Langtry and Sarah Bernhardt.  By 1921 Nita Martan lived here.  The motion picture actress went by the professional name of Manila Martan and was best known for her repeated roles in the Tarzan serials.  She shared her apartment with Jimmie, a squirrel.

Manila Martan poses with an elephant for this publicity shot.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

On November 21 that year the New-York Tribune reported "'Jimmie,' New York's most highly educated red squirrel finds Miss Manila Martan's millinery none too delectable.  His mistress (perhaps you recognize her as the wild girl in the Tarzan pictures) delayed her screen activities with wild animals to teach this clever rodent several tricks, the most unique being to use the phonograph in Miss Martan's apartment at the Hotel Chelsea as a merry-go-'round."

Portrait artist Joseph Cummings Chase lived and worked in the Chelsea at the time.  Among the hundreds of portraits he executed were 142 paintings of generals and war heroes of World War I.

Joseph Cummings Chase works on a portrait of Mary Katherine Campbell, the recently crowned "Miss Columbus" of the 1922 Atlantic City beauty contest, in his Chelsea Hotel apartment.  New-York Tribune, September 24, 1922 (copyright expired)

Also living here at the time were novelist Henry Sydnor Harrison, whose works included Queen, Angela's Business, and Marriage; author Thomas Wolfe (who wrote his last novel You Can't Go Home Again here) and Civil War veteran Charles P. Champion.

Champion was one of the original stockholders in the Chelsea Hotel.  One of the founders of the Union League Club, The New York Times recalled that as a member of the renowned Seventh Regiment he "marched down Broadway to the Civil War in 1861.  After an illness of several months the 94-year old died in his apartment on May 1, 1931.  The Times noted, "Had Mr. Champion lived one year longer he would have completed the occupation of his suite at the Hotel Chelsea for the full term of his original lease, which was for fifty years."

In 1952 the aging structure was converted to what the Department of Buildings designated as a "Class B hotel," with furnished rooms and apartments.

By by 1960's and '70s the Chelsea was where both the celebrated and the infamous lived.  Arthur C. Clark wrote 2001 - A Space Odyssey here.  Arthur Miller lived at the Chelsea for six years and wrote of it, "This hotel does not belong to America.  There are no vacuum cleaners, no rules and shame...it's the high spot of the surreal.  Cautiously, I lifted my feet to move across bloodstained winos passing out on the sidewalks--and I was happy.  I witnessed how a new time, the sixties, stumbled into the Chelsea with young, bloodshot eyes."

There was tragedy at the Chelsea Hotel, too.  Poet and writer Dylan Thomas lived in Room 205 in 1953 and there, after eighteen whiskies, fell into a coma from which he never recovered.  In 1978 Sid Vicious and his girlfriend Nancy Spungeon were living in Room 100.  On October 11 she was found stabbed to death in the bathroom.  Vicious, while under suspicion of murder, died of a heroin overdose shortly thereafter. 

Over the years the management would sometimes accept artwork from struggling artists in lieu of back rent, resulting in the somewhat dowdy lobby and the staircase being crammed with paintings.  Visual artists who called the Chelsea home included Willem De Kooning, Robert Mapplethorpe, Diego Rivera, Christo, Jackson Pollack and Larry Rivers.  Award winning painter, etcher and engraver Alphaeus Philemon Cole lived at the Chelsea for 35 years until his death.  When he died on November 25, 1988 at the age of 112, he was the world's oldest man.

Musicians Madonna, Patti Smith, Alice Cooper, Jimi Hendrix, Joni Mitchell, and Leonard Cohen stayed here as well as actors and directors like Kevin O'Connor, Uma Thurman, Edie Sedgwick and Gaby Hoffman.

The hotel inspired two of Leonard Cohen's songs, "Chelsea Hotel" and "Chelsea Hotel No 2."  He carried on his affair with Janis Joplin here and later said of it "It's one of those hotels that have everything that I love so well about hotels.  I love hotels to which, at four a.m., you can bring along a midget, a bear and four ladies, drag them to your room and no one cares about it at all."

The owners began a renovation in 2007--one that is still ongoing.  On February 28, 2020 Zoe Pappas, president of the Chelsea Hotel Tenants Association told Spectrum News "We, the majority, want this building to be finished."   Seven tenants, however, had sued and a stop work order was imposed.  According to Spectrum News's Michael Scotto, "The owner says the seven tenants have said they would drop their suits and leave in return for a $50 million settlement...The owner says he's not paying $50 million and vows to finish the work."

photograph by Nikk0

In the meantime, the embattled, extraordinary piece of Manhattan's architectural, social and art history is a treasure.

Actors, Composers, Artists and a Spy - 61 - 65 West 69th Street

Sarah J. Doying and her husband Ira E. Doying had an interesting relationship.  Although they lived in Summit, New Jersey, both were highly involved in Manhattan real estate development.  Each worked independently, purchasing properties, hiring architects and builders, and selling the completed projects totally on their own.

Sarah often turned to the architectural firm of Hubert & Pirsson.  They filed plans in May 1886 for a substantial project--six  five-story tenement buildings on Columbus Avenue, three houses on West 69th Street, between Central Park West and Columbus Avenue, Nos. 61 through 65, and three more directly behind them at Nos. 60 through 64 West 70th Street.

Perhaps to reduce costs, the Queen Anne style 69th and 70th Street groupings were identical.  Designed in an A-B-A configuration, their basement and parlor levels were faced in undressed brownstone.  The second and third floors were of red brick, and the fourth floors took the form of steep mansards with high dormers.

Faceted bays at the second floor of the end houses were echoed at the third floor in the center homes--providing a balcony at the fourth floor convenient for sleeping on hot summer nights.  The triangular pediments of the dormers included Queen Anne elements like sunbursts and fishscale shingles.  Each of the houses cost $10,000 to build--just over $270,000 today.

Initially each of the 69th Street houses was purchased by financially-comfortable families.  No. 61 was home to Edward M. R. Robinson.  Following his death in 1893 his estate leased it to well-known theater manager James H. Meade.  Born in Boston in 1830, he had built the Chicago Opera House with David Henderson and had managed stars like Lucille Western, James W. Wallack and Alexander Herrman.   Meade suffered a fatal heart attack in the house on May 10, 1898 and his funeral was held here three days later.

Later that year Meade's widow looked for boarders.  Her ad on November 29 read "Private family offered two beautiful rooms, together or separately, to gentlemen and wives of gentlemen, who would appreciate the table and surroundings of a refined home."

Peter Mallett's family lived at No. 65 at the time.  He was a partner with Edward B. Barlett in the warehousing business Peter Mallett & Co. far downtown.  The firm acted as agents for the Empire Warehouse Company, storing cotton for its customers and collecting rents.

But after Bartlett died on May 24, 1894, serious problems were uncovered.  Barlett had collected a total of $41,814 which he never turned over to Empire.  Mallet suddenly found himself owning more than $1.25 million in today's money to his client.  It caused the ruin of Peter Mallett & Co. and four years later, on August 17, 1899, the New York Journal and Advertiser reported that had declared personal bankruptcy.

All three houses were being operated as boarding or rooming houses shortly after the turn of the century.  Playwright and actor Walter Fletcher and his wife, Louise, moved into furnished rooms at No. 61 in 1901.  Although Walter died on July 10, 1908. Louise remained past 1912.

Rudolf Maller and his wife were among the Fletchers' neighbors in the house in 1905.  The 32-year old Romanian immigrant was a civil engineer.  But on March 25, 1905 his focus was on pretty women.

After rehearsing that afternoon, actress Gladys Chapman was walking along 28th Street towards Sixth Avenue when she noticed Maller "eyeing several parties of women and making grimaces at them," according to the New-York Tribune.  As she attempted to pass him he "seized her around the waist, lifted her bodily, and dragged her back down Twenty-eighth Street," reported The New York Times.  Gladys screamed and kicked, drawing the attention of Sixth Avenue pedestrians and Policeman Willemse.   

Had it not been for the policeman, Maller would have suffered street justice.  The New-York Tribune reported "The appearance of Patrolman Willemse saved the Rumanian a beating from a number of indignant men and women."  At the station house Maller explained "he wished merely to be friendly with Miss Chapman."

The tradition of theater figures that began with James Meade and Walter Fletcher continued with Mrs. A. Isner.  For several years beginning around 1917 she advertised "Evening gowns, afternoon and street dresses, slightly worn.  I have a large select stock of latest models suitable for stage or movies."

Elizabeth Scanlon, who rented rooms next door at No. 63 in 1916, listed her occupation as a motion picture extra.  She was described by the New-York Tribune that year as "a brunette of twenty-three, and has features and a figure which any director could use in the ballroom scene.  Her speech and manner denote education and refinement."  Police, however, had other ideas concerning the source of her income.

As she was leaving the 69th Street house on November 25 she was arrested after having "eluded the sparest store and shop detectives in New York for months."  Elizabeth, it turns out, was also known by police as Marion Clark and "Mrs. Arnheim."  In her "finery-stuffed rooms" investigators found $25,000 worth of goods she had shoplifted over the past five months."  That figure would be more in the neighborhood of $590,000 today.  Newspapers tagged her the "Queen of Shoplifters."  Elizabeth pleaded "My mind's a blank and I don't remember taking anything."

Retired banker Nathaniel G. Macrum shared rooms in No. 65 with his grown sons, Edward K., an organist, and artist George Herbert Macrum, by 1910.  George was a successful painter, whose works were shown in local galleries and the Annual Exhibition of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts.  He was especially known for his romantic depictions of city scenes.

George Herbert Macrum's "Sunset Over Lower Manhattan"  via WorthPoint 

On March 21, 1912 The Sun reported that the 81-year old Nathaniel G. Macrum had suffered a stroke.  He died the following day.

The Macrums' landlady was Mary McCarrick who rented rooms to Dr. Armgaard Karl Graves in 1915.  Graves had been an elite spy for Imperial Germany until, according to him, he had so much inside information on that government that his own life was endangered.  So he changed allegiances and began independently spying on the German Embassy and its officials and passing the information to Americans.

The Sun, November 13, 1916 (copyright expired)

His presence in the 69th Street house prompted intrigue and danger.  After midnight on November 12, 1916 two "mysterious men posing as detectives" tried to get admittance into his rooms, but Mary McCarrick slammed the door in their faces, according to The Sun.  Nevertheless, they somehow got in and when Graves returned he found they had "tossed his things topsy turvy, but had stolen only translations of German letters he had decoded and similar papers."

Broadway composer and arranger Robert Russell Bennett shared ground floor rooms with cartoonist Harold Probasco and poet John Marony in 1917.  Just 23-years-old, Bennett had just had his first success after having arranged the music for Peter Ibbetson (and played in the orchestra, as well).  The cast included Lionel and John Barrymore, and Constance Collier.  His illustrious career would include two Tony Awards and he would work with composers like Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Richard Rodgers, Jerome Kern and George Gershwin.

A tax photograph around 1940 shows the original doors and stoops intact.  via the NYC Department of Records & Information Services

No. 63 was not without its own theatrical tenants.  In the early 1940's actors John Ladd Connor and his wife Marcella Frances Vaughn moved in with Marcella's son from a previous marriage, Robert.  Robert Vaughn would go on to a stellar career in the theater, as well, perhaps best remembered for his starring role in the 1960's television series The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

In 1970 the three houses were officially converted to apartments.  A bit battered today (including air conditioning units carved into the brick facades of No. 61 and 63 and needless paint even on the mansard shingles), they have nevertheless lost little of their charm.

photographs by the author

The Sevillia Apts -- No. 117 West 58th Street

Philip G. Hubert arrived in Cincinnati from his native France in 1849, at the age of 19.  His profession as a teacher of French—which included writing his own textbooks—hardly foreshadowed the important career he would begin in New York years later.

He moved to New York in 1865 and opened an architectural office, soon partnering with James W. Pirrson to form Hubert & Pirrson.  Forward-thinking, Hubert designed a group of eight 12-story apartment buildings on Seventh Avenue, between 58^th and 59^th Streets in 1882; at a time when the concept of apartment living was just taking hold.  The ambitious and somewhat risky project cost nearly $5 million.

Hubert continued to improve his designs for apartment houses.  In 1891 he began work on the Sevillia with financial backing from August O. Hoddick.  A residential hotel, it replaced the two old structures at Nos. 117 and 119 West 58^th Street.  It would be ground breaking in modern conveniences and in fire-proofing.

Following Hubert’s death on November 1911, The Architectural Record remembered that in the Sevillia “Mr. Hubert did away with wooden floors, using a cement composition throughout.”  His aim, the journal said, “was to devise an apartment house so nearly fire-proof that the entire contents of a single apartment might burn to ashes without endangering, or even disturbing the rest of the building.”

The Sevillia would be marketed as being “intended to meet the wants of people who desire to combine the freedom from care of a hotel life with the comforts and privacy of an individual home.”   To this end Hubert designed ground-breaking innovations.  “This was also the first hotel in which each apartment was provided with a refrigerator cooled from a central plant, and in which the tenants were provided with running water, cooled and filtered for drinking.”

Completed in 1892 at a cost of $76,763 (around $2 million in 2017), the Sevillia was refined, if a bit imperious.  The two-story stone base, the first of four sections, was dominated by a gaping arch over the entrance.  A balcony, four bays wide, introduced a handsome three-story brownstone insert that sat within the second section—four stories of brown brick framed with paneled quoins.  Here free-standing columns and matching pilasters below a deep cornice sat on three story-tall pedestals.  

A cast iron balcony stretching the width of the building defined the third section; and the fourth, a three-story mansard level with stacked French-style dormers, sat above a handsome cornice with wreathed brackets.

Incised lines in the brickwork create the illusion of fluted pilasters.

Among the first residents of the Sevillia were George B. Prescott and his wife (whose country place, Elmside, was in Lakeville, Connecticut); and newlyweds Fairman Warren and his bride, the former Clara Stratton.  Financially comfortable at 32 years old, Warren worked in his father’s wallpaper business, Warren, Fuller & Co. at No. 129 East 42^nd Street and was a member of the exclusive Union League Club.

Also moving into the new building was the architect himself.   On December 12, 1894, The Sun complimented Mrs. Hubert for her cleverness in creating invitations to a benefit for St. Mary’s School.  Instead of the expected form, she had composed a poem using quaint Shakespearean spelling.  “A touch of originality often makes a great success of an unassuming benefit sale,” said the newspaper.  “Mrs. Philip G. Hubert of the Sevillia, 117 West Fifty-eighth street realized this principal, and in sending out the following jingle Mrs. Hubert, her friends think, wins the palm for originality.”

In 1905 elaborate electric lamps flanked the entrance and canvas awnings protected the apartments from summer heat.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The Huberts had new neighbors at the time in the form of attorney W. Rodman Winslow and his wife.  The couple moved into a seventh floor apartment in the Sevillia in September 1894.  The New York Times described the Winslows as “well-to-do” and their apartment as a “snug and handsomely-appointed flat.”

The 46-year old Winslow had two offices downtown, one for his legal business and the other for the management of his Advance and Discount Company, which provided “loans on chattels.”  He also owned the Mohican House hotel on Lake George.

A month before Mrs. Hubert was composing her invitations, Rodman Winslow complained of being "run down and dyspeptic."  His doctor.  Dr. Alexander Strong prescribed a tonic; but a far more serious problem loomed.

On the morning of December 2 the Winslows were dressing in their bedroom “which was separated from an alcove sitting room by a portiere,” as described by The Times.  Because the steam heat of the Sevillia sometimes caused the apartments to get stuffy, the upper pane of the sitting room window was lowered a crack to let in cool air.  But that morning Winslow felt a draft.

“Rodman, if you are chilly, close the sitting-room window,” his wife offhandedly commented.  They were the last words she would utter to her husband.

A few minutes later she called, “Rodman, have you closed that window?”

The Times reported “No response came, and she followed her husband, calling his name.  In the sitting room she halted, and a great dread came to her.”   Winslow was not in the sitting room and the window which had been closed at the bottom the night before was open.

“Half divining the awful truth, the wife nerved herself to peer into the court.  A moment later there was a piercing cry of horror and moans of anguish, and neighbors came, to find the wife fainting and the husband dead and frightfully mangled on the flags of the court.”

Apparently, in trying to close the top pane, Winslow had opened the bottom and reached out to push up the upper portion.  In doing so he fell out.  “Residents of the fourth and fifth floors of the apartment house, who were in rooms over the court, heart a frightful cry and a crash when Mr. Winslow fell, and saw him dead in the court.”

Fairman and Clara Warren were still in the building.  About three weeks after the Winslow tragedy Fairman, whose left leg had been slightly crippled his entire life, slipped and broke his right leg.  Now a near-invalid, he stopped going to his 42^nd Street office.  As a matter of fact, he rarely left the Sevillia at all. 

Clara was pregnant with their first child, and Warren fell into what The New York Times deemed “melancholia” over his disability.  Every morning a masseur would arrive to rub his legs; and each evening around 10:00 he would go down to the building’s office to talk to the watchman for about an hour.  Normally, according to building employees, it was Warren who did most of the talking, grumbling about other tenants.

The baby, James Stratton Warren, arrived in April 1895.  Clara had difficulty recuperating, The Sun reporting that “Since the birth of their child, Mrs. Warren’s health has been very delicate."  Because of his wife's health, Warren temporarily took a room on the floor below their apartment.  "He was most solicitous about his wife’s health, and spent most of his time with her,” said the newspaper.

Despite the happy occasion of a newborn son, Fairman Warren's depression over his physical condition did not improve.  He offhandedly spoke of suicide a few times, but no one took him seriously.  The Sun said “There was no reason, so far as can be learned, why he should have done so.  His domestic life was happy.”

Warren’s crankiness worsened as well--to the point of making frightening threats.  When he made his usual visit to the watchman on the night of June 10, he spent most of the time “complaining of the noise the late stayers among the tenants made when they came in.  He told the watchman that the noise which these persons made disturbed his sleep, and that if they were not more quiet in future some of them might get the contents of a big revolver which, he said, he had in his room.”

As it turned out, it was not the late stayers who got the contents of his big gun.  The following morning Warren’s masseur arrived at his room and found him dead on the bed, with a bullet wound in his right temple.  A note stated that he believed he was becoming paralyzed and, “dreading the consequences,” decided to kill himself.  Clara inherited the estate, valued at over half a million in 2017 dollars.

The Sevillia only a week earlier, had been the subject of yet another piece of disturbing press.  On Saturday night, June 2, Dr. J. Alexander Tonner met James A. Anderson in Bryant Park.  After treating Anderson to several beers, the 51-year old physician invited him to what The Evening World called his “high-class apartment-house” at 117 West Fifty-eighth street.”  Once in the apartment, Dr. Tonner showed Anderson ten photographs “of a very obscene nature.”

If Tonner thought his new friend would be titillated by the photos, he was sorely disappointed.  Anderson went to Anthony Comstock of the Society for the Suppression of Vice.  The following day Officer O’Connor arrived at the Sevillia armed with a warrant for Tonner’s arrest.  When he was arrested “another batch of the photographs was found in his possession,” reported The Evening World.

Tonner was held on $2,000 bail and charged with possessing and exhibiting obscene pictures.  In court he pleaded guilty; but in doing so he was unaware that the charges had been upgraded to “immoral practices.”

In sentencing Tonner, Judge Cowing accused him of being mentally ill.  “While there can be no palliation for the crime, it seems to me that some of your medical friends should have interested themselves in your behalf, for I think that you are not of sound mind.”  The judge felt he was being lenient in giving Dr. Tonner two years and six months in the penitentiary, saying the maximum penalty was 20 years.

“On the way to the penitentiary Dr. Tonner told Prison Guard Kelly that he thought he had pleaded guilty only to the charge of having obscene pictures in his possession.”

Most of the upscale residents appeared in the newspapers for much more respectable reasons.  On January 29, 1896 The New York Times advised society that Mrs. C. Vanderbilt De Forrest would be receiving “informally on Sunday afternoons after 3 o’clock for the rest of the season,” for instance.

The wedding of John Alden Philbrick and Elizabeth Van Valzah Wilson (“an unusually handsome girl,” according to The Times) on January 20, 1898 was a “notable” affair.   The newspaper was especially interested in the fact that a photographer had been hired for the reception.  A headline the following day read “Bridal Party Photographed” and the lengthy article said in part “There was a wedding reception at the home of the bride’s mother, 348 West Fifty-seventh Street, at which the bridal party, which formed a brilliant group, was photographed by flashlight, much to the interest of the guests.”

The newspaper noted that Philbrick “and his bride will live at the Sevilla [sic], 117 West Fifty-eighth Street.”

The newlyweds would have as neighbors an elderly couple, Augustus and Martha Gaylord.  On October 8, 1900 they celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary here.  Gaylord had come to New York from Connecticut in 1847, when he was 21 years old.  Because of ill health, he moved to Wisconsin in 1856 and during the Civil War was Adjutant General of the State of Wisconsin.  Following the war, in 1872, he returned to New York and started business. 

The same year that the Philbricks married, Augustus Gaylord finally retired at the age of 72, stepping down from his post as Commissioner of the Ammunition Manufacturers’ Association.  On March 30, 1901 he died in his apartments in the Sevillia at the age of 75.

Another well-known resident was Col. Sanders Dewees Bruce, a direct descendant of Robert Bruce, King of Scotland.  He had earned his rank during the Civil War, during which he commanded the 22^nd Brigade in the Battle of Shiloh.  Both General Sherman and General Grant recommended him for Brigadier General, but he resigned because of heart disease in 1864 and came to New York.

Bruce was an authority on pedigree horses and established the American Stud Book (the rights to which he sold to the Jockey Club for $35,000); and wrote The Horse Breeders’ Guide and Handbook and The Thoroughbred Horse.  His interests were reflected also in his memberships in the American Geographical Society and the American Museum of Natural History.

Like Bruce, Major Charles F. Ulrich had distinguished himself in the war.  The New York Times noted “He was brevetted Major for gallant and meritorious conduct in connection with the explosion of the mines at Petersburg, Va.”  Following the war he returned to New York and entered the insurance business.  The Times said “Major Ulrich was wealthy and unmarried.”  He would remain in the Sevillia until his death in his apartment on September 25, 1902.

That year the Sevillia described itself as "absolutely fireproof" when it advertised “one sunny apartment of two large rooms and bath, $1,000 a year, unfurnished; or $100 a month furnished.  Another of four rooms and bath, $800 a year, unfurnished; or $100 a month, furnished.  Restaurant.”  The “restaurant” was a necessity for residents in the apartments without kitchens.  The $100 monthly rent would be equivalent to about $2,850 today.

Upscale New Yorkers abandoned the city for the summer months, traveling to resorts like Newport and Tuxedo Park.  On June 20, 1904 an advertisement in the New-York Tribune offered “Three furnished apartments to sublet for the summer at low rents.”  It noted the conveniences of “restaurant, electric light, telephone.”

In 1908 the widowed Mrs. Frank W. Sanger lived in the Sevillia with her 23-year old son, Louis.  Frank Sanger had been the manager of Madison Square Garden and among the properties he left his wife was the Empire Theatre. 

Louis, who had graduated college the year before, left the apartment early in the evening of December 21, 1908.  Scandal would follow.

Three days earlier Mrs. Florence L. Greaves had been granted a divorce from William Homer Greaves, “well known in racing circles,” according to The Times.  The couple had been married for seven years and Florence charged her husband “with misconduct at Saratoga on August 15, 1908.”

Florence immediately took back her maiden name of Burns.  The Sun noted that she lived in the Rossleigh apartments at No. 1 West 85^th Street “with a maid.”  It soon became apparently that the misconduct in the marriage was not confined to William Greaves.

Mrs. Sanger had no inkling that when Louis left the Sevillia that evening he was on the way to the Rossleigh.  The Sun reported on December 22 “Miss Burns…left her apartments early in the evening, accompanied by Mr. Sanger.  They went in a taxicab and Mr. Sanger told the driver to go to Tiffany’s, which was open last night.”

The newspaper also revealed that the couple had obtained a marriage license at City Hall earlier that day.  Reporters rushed to the Sevillia to get more information on the socially-shocking story.

The Sun wrote “Mr. Sanger’s mother…said last night she didn’t know her son intended to marry Miss Burns, although she had heard that he was acquainted with her.”  The social embarrassment was no doubt devastating for the wealthy widow.

Dr. Stanley O. Sabel’s medical office was in the building at the time.  He had graduated from Columbia Medical School in 1898.  In astounding coincidence, he had been treating a 20-year old patient whose name was also Florence Burns the year before.

On January 9, 1908 Florence appeared before Justice Davis in the Supreme Court asking that her father, Samuel G. Burns, be appointed as her guardian for litigation purposes.  The reason for her request, she said, was “that she is about to sue Dr. Stanley O. Sabel…for $10,000 damages for an alleged vicious assault upon her while he was attending her professionally.”

The date of the alleged assault, she said, was on December 4, 1907.  Her shocking claims and the massive compensation she requested apparently fell flat.  On October 23 that year Sabel was still in the Sevillia and, in fact, took former classmate Dr. D. G. Reese Satterlee into his practice.

Despite its brushes with scandal, the Sevillia continued to house wealthy and well-respected New Yorkers.   Among these was Oliver C. Gayley, Vice President of the Pressed Steel Car Company and brother of James Gayley, first Vice President of the United States Steel Corporation.  Somewhat coincidentally, Oliver’s former sister-in-law, Julia Gardiner Gayley (daughter of Curtis Crane Gardiner of Gardiner’s Island) married a Sevillia resident, Gano Dunn, on August 26, 1920. 

In 1919 the Sevillia was electrified, including conversion of its two old hydraulic elevators.  The New York Edison Company announced “This eleven-story apartment building has an electrical installation of 900 lamps” and added “Forethought has kept the Sevillia modern for twenty-five years.”

Unlike many late Victorian apartment houses, the Sevillia maintained its status throughout the first half of the century.  Among the residents in the 1930s was W. D. Harper, grandson of one of the four Harper brothers who founded the noted publishing firm.

But by mid-century the aging building was in decline.  Now called the Park Wald Hotel, it caused a near international incident in 1959 when the Dominican Liberation Movement, an exile group, established its headquarters in the building.  The organization was formed in opposition to the regime of Generalissimo Rafael Leonides Trujillo Molina.

In response, the Dominican Republic Government accused the United States Government of harboring conspirators.  In a formal declaration on November 3, 1959 it said “that the United States should halt what it said were plots being carried on in the United States against the regime.”

Attorney General Luis E. Suero was quick to name Alfonso Canto, of the 58^th Street group, as a “chief conspirator” against the Dominican regime.  And he praised the Dominican Republic as “a decidedly anti-Communist country and loyal collaborator of the United Sates and the cause of the free world.”

After decades of decline, the former Sevillia apartment house was renovated in 2010 to become the Central Park Mews.  A facade restoration was completed six years later.  Now containing 99 rental units, the tradition of the building that broke new ground in apartment living nearly 125 years ago goes on.

photographs by the author
many thanks to Michael McShea for suggesting this post