The Lost Brick Church - Fifth Avenue and 37th Street

from the collection of the New York Public Library

William Coventry Henry Waddell had built his striking Gothic Revival style "suburban villa" on Fifth Avenue between 37th and 38th Streets in 1842.  Called popularly "Waddell Castle," the Record & Guide described its location decades later saying "The avenue was little more than a common road, with old farm fences visible on every side."

By the mid-1850's, when financial reversals ruined Waddell, the mansions of Manhattan's wealthiest citizens were inching up the avenue.  The trustees of the Brick Presbyterian Church downtown on Beekman Street had begun looking for a new uptown site in 1855.  The search "out into the country," as worded by Shepherd Knapp in his 1909 A History of the Brick Presbyterian Church, was completed when, on September 15, 1856, the trustees reported they had purchased part of the Waddell estate--the northwest corner of Fifth Avenue and 37th Street for $58,000--a little over $1.75 million today.

Construction on the new building would take nearly two years.  In the meantime, the "frontier" area was developing.  Knapp wrote "In 1857 and 1858 houses were going up to the west of the church site on Thirty-seventh Street and immediately north of it on the avenue."  

Interestingly, two esteemed architects were involved in the design of the Georgian Revival structure.  According to Knapp, "The architect employed for the preliminary work was Mr. Leopold Eidlitz, but after February, 1857, the work was in the hands of the firm of T. Thomas & Son."  He added "On May 18th, 1858, and from that time on, the architect's fees were paid to Mr. Griffith Thomas, who is subsequently referred to as "the architect of the church."

Eidlitz and Thomas were tasked with keeping the Brick Church brick.  Brownstone was nevertheless used for the base, the trim and most of the steeple.  The bell and clock from the old Beekman Street church were installed within the steeple tower.  Stone pilasters defined the three sections of the facade.  The temple form of the slightly projecting center section was echoed in the steeple tower.  Blind oculi, triangular pediments above the end entrances, and a broken arched pediment above the main doorway carried out the Georgian motif.  A high iron fence surrounded the church both on the avenue and street with lamp posts at the entrance gates.  According to The New York Herald on December 1, 1858 the total investment by the trustees was $140,000; more than $4.4 million today.

Inside the plaster walls were scored to imitate stone blocks.  Great folding shutters could be used to regulate the amount of sunlight spilling in through the clear glass windows.  On November 6, 1858 The Presbyterian reported that the floors of the vestibule were "laid with marble" and the stairs to the galleries were of "solid oak."  The "sole extravagance," according to Knapp, "in which the trustees had indulged" was the large brass chandelier in the center of the nave.  Its 100 candles were capable of lighting the entire interior and it cost "no less than $1,300."  That amount would translate to about $41,000 today.

Also brought from the old church was the old dedicatory table which was installed in the wall of the vestibule.  It read "Presbyterian Church erected in the year of our Lord 1767."

The original interior copied the rather simple decoration of its Georgian prototypes.  from A History of the Brick Presbyterian Church, 1909 (copyright expired)  

Church members of the early 19th century did not sit anywhere they pleased.  The "free church" concept had recently arrived in New York City but would not generally take effect for years.  On November 30, 1858 the pews were sold at auction.  The New York Herald listed each buyer and the amount paid, the most expensive pews going for $1,500 ($47,200 today, not including the "premium" of $300 and the yearly rent).

Rev. Gardiner Spring had been the pastor of Brick Church since 1810.  He preached his fiftieth anniversary sermon on August 5, 1860, prompting the New-York Daily Tribune to report "The spacious church was crowded by an immense audience, without any discrimination as to sect or denomination, filling all the seats, aisles, and steps to the pulpit; while large numbers stood in the porch, eager to catch even a few of the words that fell from the lips of this venerated and distinguished pastor."

Nine days after the firing on Fort Sumter and the outbreak of Civil War, Spring firmly backed the President's declaration of war.  He added "But the question now is not between Slavery and Anti-Slavery--not between Republicanism and Democracy, but between law and anarchy, between Government and no Government."

Yet there was one clergyman within the Brick Church, Rev. W. T. Hoge, who did not share those sentiments.  Hoge had been hired by the church as associate minister in 1859.  As tensions worsened in the South, Hoge had peppered his sermons with pro-Southern opinions.  Now, on the Sunday following Spring's remarks, Hoge's sermon shocked his congregation.

The New York Herald said "he delivered a very strong and emphatic discourse derogatory to the attempts of the government to subjugate the Southern people, and declaring the belief that the Union was forever dissolved....He averred that he had been from the first in sympathy with secession, and longed to go back to Virginia to share her fortunes."  Not surprisingly, "The excitement and indignation among the congregation were very intense."

Before the week was up Hoge was forced out.  He resigned citing "a radical difference between my sentiments and those of my people on the great issues of the day."  If he anticipated at least some opposition to his resignation, it did not happen.  The Herald wrote "the utmost unanimity and good feeling prevailed" regarding its acceptance.

The Rev. Gardiner Spring from The Power of the Pulpit, by Gardiner Spring, 1848 (copyright expired)

Gardiner Spring died on August 18, 1873 having served the Brick Presbyterian Church for 62 years.  His replacement, the 34-year-old Rev. Lewellyn D. Bevan of London, was appointed in December 1876 with a salary of $6,000 a year (a satisfying $130,000 today).  The New York Herald apparently approved of the choice, describing him as having "an agreeable presence, a magnificent voice, a cheerful, buoyant temperament, profound good nature and a noble elocution."

With one of the wealthiest congregations in the city, Brick Church naturally was the venue of illustrious weddings and funerals.  One of the most notable was the funeral of former Governor Edwin D. Morgan on February 15, 1863.  The New York Times listed among the pallbearers President Chester Arthur, former President U. S. Grant, John Jacob Astor, J. Pierpont Morgan, and Hamilton Fish.

from A History of the Brick Presbyterian Church, 1909 (copyright expired)  

Munsey's Magazine's December 1893 issue humorously touched upon the wealth of the congregation.  "In the days of the old Brick Church, just after the Revolution, it was the custom after service to take up a collection in tin platters, upon which each member of the congregation placed a copper penny.  Penny contributions are no longer the rule."

In 1883 Dr. Dr. Henry Van Dyke took over as pastor of Brick Church.  Among his first projects, begun in June that year, was to redecorate the spartan interiors.  The grays and whites were been replaced with the currently-popular "Pompeian red," including the woodwork.  Shepard Knapp recalled that when the church was reopened on October 28 it was "totally and splendidly transformed" and that the "spacious interior now possessed some of the warmth and richness of color characteristic of the Byzantine churches of the old world."

Artist John La Farge had lavished the ceiling and walls with mosaics, stenciled work and "relief work in majolica, embroideries, and colored glass in windows and lanterns."

John La Farge's renovations were remarkable.  from A History of the Brick Presbyterian Church, 1909 (copyright expired) 

After serving for more than a decade, Van Dyke resigned in November 1899 to accept a professorship of literature at Princeton University.  Van Dyke's former parishioners showed their appreciation of his service by presenting him with a good-bye gift of $30,000 in February 1900--in the neighborhood of $925,000 today.

He was replaced by the Rev. Maltbie D. Babcock of Baltimore (Babcock was offered a hard-to-refuse salary of $12,000 per year).  The New-York Tribune was specific and thorough in its description of the new pastor on January 15, 1900. 

He is a tall, slender and well built man, with sharp features, that area clean cut and attractive.  In preaching he uses few gestures, but these are free and full, and he has a habit of throwing his shoulders back that gives an air of manly frankness to what he says.  His voice is pitched high, and is so clear and penetrating that yesterday it carried to every corner of the church and yet did not rasp.

Rev. Dr. Maltbie D. Babcock - New-York Tribune May 19, 1901 (copyright expired)

Babcock's pastorage would be short-lived.  On February 24 the following year he and his wife went abroad as part of the Auburn Seminary group touring Egypt and Palestine.  Having seen many sites in the Holy Lands, the group prepared to head home in May.  But in Naples he was afflicted with Mediterranean Fever which, according to the New-York Tribune, "at this time of the year is apt to become epidemic among visitors."  He died there three days later on May 18.  Babcock's body was returned to Brick Church were his "elaborately choral" funeral services were held o June 12.

Another highly visible funeral took place in Brick Church on April 23, 1910--that of Samuel Langhorne Clemens.  The New York Times reported that while the service lasted only twenty minutes, an estimated 1,500 persons had crowded in to hear it.  Among them were some of the most illustrious names in American literature, publishing and industry--William Dean Howells, Andrew Carnegie, Sydney Porter (O. Henry), publishers Robert J. Collier, Daniel Appleton and J. Henry Harper, and Booth Tarkington among them.

"At its conclusion it was announced that the coffin would be opened," reported The New York Times.  Two hours later, at 5:00, after about 3,000 people had viewed Mark Twain's body, "it was found necessary to close the doors."

By 1913 the once exclusive residential neighborhood was ceding to commerce.  That spring the trustees received a $1 million offer for the property.  On April 20 the officers of the New York Presbytery announced "plans that will insure to the Brick Presbyterian Church for a least twenty years its present site and building."  The plans included raising a permanent endowment fund of $1 million.

Another offer came along in October 1916--this time a staggering $2.5 million.  Pastor Dr. William P. Merrill told reporters "The vote was unanimous to decline it."

But the inevitable could not be impeded forever.  On the evening of April 19, 1937 the members voted to sell the property and its 79-year-old structure.  There were only two dissenting votes.  (The congregation may have regretted waiting until the Great Depression to sell--the agreed-upon price was $1.4 million.)

The New York Times reported that the buyer, the General Realty and Utilities Corporation "will demolish the edifice but will permit the church to retain such furnishings in the way of keepsakes as it may desire."

On January 13, 1938 workmen began erecting scaffolding across the sidewalk around the church in preparation for demolition.  The New York Times remarked "busy New Yorkers, despite their habitual hurry, paused to gaze up less casually than usual at the tall spire of the old Brick Presbyterian Church there."

The building erected on the site was demolished in 1984 to make room for the current 30-story granite and glass tower that engulfs the block front from 37th to 38th Street.

photo via witkoff.com 

The Church of the Incarnation -- Madison Ave. and 35th Street

During the Rev. Dr. Taylor’s sermon on the day of the consecration of the new Grace Church on March 7, 1846, he said “my object is to ask of you to give me the means of building, and preparing for the most efficient and the most immediate operation, Grace Church Chapel.”   Taylor recognized that Manhattan’s population was already moving past the borders of his parish.

Three plots were purchased on the northwest corner of Madison Avenue and 28th Street and a "neat and tasteful building erected thereon."  More than half a century later, in 1912, historian Joshua Newton Perkins noted “The site selected for the chapel was in a sparsely settled district, a short distance north of Madison Square…In 1852 the chief house in that locality was the little white cottage of Corporal Thompson at the corner of Broadway and Twenty-third Street.”  The New York Times commented that the chapel was “intended for the many poor of the congregation who could not afford to pay pew-rent.”

On April 19, 1852 the mission committee met for the purpose of forming a new parish—separating from Grace Church.  The result was the Church of the Incarnation.  Rev. Huntington later asked the Rev. Edwin Harwood how he chose the name.  “He said he gave it the name, as the parish had started from Grace Church, ‘for by grace came the Incarnation.’”

The “neat and tasteful building” was soon a problem. John Jay at a vestry meeting on November 8, 1855, noted “the very defective construction of the church edifice.” Three years later, on May 31, 1858 the New York Churchman wrote “The Church of the Incarnation was built some five years since, as a Chapel of Ease of Grace Church in this city.  The appearance of the structure would suggest great age, and the contrast is the more glaring from the comparison with the substantial edifices in its vicinity. It must have been originally very imperfectly put together, and demands reparation, if only from the consideration that it is God’s House-‘the place where His Honour dwelleth.’”

The property was sold back to Grace Church and in June 1863 the rector announced that $50,000 had been subscribed to the building fund and that amount would be spent on the northeast corner of Madison Avenue and 35^th Street.  (As it turned out, the property was acquired for $48,000.)

Joshua Perkins related “Three designs for the building had been under consideration, submitted respectively by Messrs. Gambrel and Post, Mr. H. G. Harrison and Mr. E. T. Little.  The vestry decided upon the plan of Mr. Little, and he was accordingly appointed architect of the church.”

Emlen T Little was born in Philadelphia and focused almost exclusively on ecclesiastical design.  Like Richard Upjohn, he preferred Gothic Revival for his church architecture. And so it would be for the Church of the Incarnation.  His instructions, according to Perkins, were “that the church should be without galleries, should seat eleven hundred and six people, that the organ be placed near the chancel and that the entire cost should not exceed the original estimate.”

The cornerstone for the new building was laid on March 8, 1864 by the powerful Bishop Horatio Potter.  Despite the upheaval caused by civil war the building continued at a blinding rate. Six months later, on September 26, The New York Times remarked “The new church is of the early decorative Gothic order, and is intended to seat about twelve hundred people, without the side galleries.  It is built of Newark stone, the dressings and weatherings of Cleveland stone; the Chancel of Apisdal, and lighted from above.”

The $8,000 organ by Stambridge had already been installed at this point.  “The wheel of the organ is to be turned by a running stream of water, a new style, and one which it is said will produce a greater evenness of sound.  A peculiar feature of the building will be a beautiful series of memorial windows.  The Church is to have a spire 185 or 190 feet high, and its cost, without the spire, will be about $130,000,” said the newspaper.

The edifice was completed by December and its cost came in a little under The Times’ prediction at $120,000—over $1.8 million today.   The church which was originally intended for the poor who could not afford pew rent now sat squarely among the mansions of some of New York’s wealthiest citizens.

The church as it appeared prior to the fire--only backwards.  The publisher accidentally flipped the negative.  History of the Parish of the Incarnation, 1912 (copyright expired)

Emlen T. Little described his work saying it “is in the Early Decorated English Gothic style, of the first part of the XIVth century, adapted to modern principles and improvements in architecture…The exterior and interior sculptures are modeled after natural leaves; the arch braces of the roof are filled with tracery purlins and intermediates, forming square panels, above which is the chestnut ceiling.  The chamfers have been colored with vermilion and the roof oiled and stained.”

The furnishings were of ash, walnut, and chestnut and the ceiling was decorated in brilliant colors.  “The lower panels filled with plaster tinted to deep ultra-marine, are relieved with constellations of golden stars,” said Little’s notes.  “The upper panels are filled with white glass with ruby border…The walls of te church are encrusted with diaper work in plaster.”

The church was formally opened on December 11, 1864.  The Times reported “Notwithstanding the exceedingly inclement weather, a very large congregation occupied the spacious and beautiful sanctuary.”  The newspaper was taken by the care Little had taken to eliminate outside glare. “The light is so admitted that not a ray falls into the eyes of the people.  At night the church is illuminated by gas-jets around the poles of the columns, and by a superb corona in the chancel.”

The concept of free pews for the poor had fallen by the wayside.  On the Friday following the first service a public sale of pews was held at 7:30 p.m.  The New York Times remarked a few days later “We understand that one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of pews have been sold in the new Church of the Incarnation.”  Additional monetary gifts of $25,000 had been donated and $20,000 in “premiums” had been received.  “The success recorded above is believed to be without a parallel in the history of the Protestant Episcopal Church in this or any other city,” opined the newspaper.

The congregation of the Church of the Incarnation included the names of some of Manhattan’s most respected citizens.  So when vestryman Louis F. Therasson was arrested in November 1877 it was shocking at least.   Reporters were told he was “regarded as a man of means and as an energetic Christian worker, above the faintest breath of suspicion.”

The 57-year old lawyer was, according to The New York Times “of nervous temperament” and “of highly respectable parentage.”  He lived “in good style” at No. 518 Madison Avenue; a style more understandable when it was discovered her had swindled clients out of around $130,000.

The same month that the messy affair was publicized, the church unveiled an 8-foot memorial to the Rev. Dr. H. E. Montgomery who died in 1874.  Designed by architect Henry Hobson Richardson, it incorporated bronze panels by Auguste St. Gaudens.  The Gothic memorial consisted of carved sandstone and marble and cost the donors $1,500.  There was only one other memorial—a white marble tablet to Admiral Farragut—in the church.

Dormers with leaded glass openings provide additional light to the interior.

In 1882 Sexton James P. Tibbitts was concerned that the gas light burners were too near the ceiling.   Workmen were brought in to lower the fixtures to prevent fire.  The cautionary move produced the opposite result.

The gas-fitters finished their work around noon on March 24, 1882.  When Assistant Sexton William Garvin returned to the church after dinner, around 8:15, to prepare for the next day’s service, “he found the building full of smoke, and on passing into the church, saw smoke rolling along the Gothic roof.”

Instead of sending an alarm to the fire department, Garvin ran to the house of Sexton Tibbitts at No. 1284 Broadway.  By the time Tibbitts got to the church the fire had advanced.  “When firemen entered by the chapel door the flames were bursting through the floor of the church behind the chancel and in the passageway leading from the chancel to the chapel,” reported The Times.

After an hour of fighting the fire, it was finally under control.  The Church of the Incarnation was nearly entirely destroyed.  According to a congregant, Mrs. Kellner, when the rector arrived “a neighboring Presbyterian minister could not resist saying to him, ‘You Episcopalians manage your fires with as much decorum as you do everything else.’”

Inside the building highly-expensive items were lost, like the $20,000 organ by Erben which had replaced the original; and the $15,000 memorial window in the west end of the church.  “The roof of the church, with the exception of a small portion toward the front, was destroyed, but the walls of the building and the square tower on the south-west corner of the structure were intact. The chancel was burned out entirely, and the handsome fount and reading-desks were destroyed,” reported The New York Times.

The damage was estimated at $50,000, all of which was covered by insurance.  Rather than demolish the ruins and start over; the congregation opted to repair their beloved structure.  On June 29, 1882 John L. Riker announced plans for the rebuilding of the church.  “The walls are to be taken down and the structure rebuilt as it was before the fire,” reported a newspaper.

Two days later the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide noted that the architects chosen for the project were brothers David and John Jardine.  The church was enlarged “and improved,” and the construction was completed by Christmas.  The cost of rebuilding and outfitting the building was $75,000.  The architects respected Little’s original exterior design; however the “interior presents an entirely new appearance,” according to The New York Times on December 25, 1882.

History of the Parish of the Incarnation, 1912 (copyright expired)

Although the church was reopened in December, it would take years to totally complete the renovations.  In May 1883 the installation of the new organ was completed and a “complimentary concert” was given.

Artist John La Farge was given the commission to create to panel paintings.  As he worked on them in November 1885, the Record and Guide deemed them “the most important work he has yet undertaken in the character of the subject, the artistic aim, and the linear dimensions.”

William Garvin, the sexton who had discovered the fire in 1882, was an Irish immigrant.  A widower, he lived with his two sons and a daughter in Brooklyn.  On the evening of Saturday June 17, 1892 Rev. Dr. Arthur Brooks reminded him to lock up and be back early to open the church for services.  When Sexton Jackson arrived at 10:00 on Sunday morning, he was surprised to find the choir waiting outside and the doors still locked.

“Jackson opened the door with his own keys, and found Garvin lying dead in one of the aisles,” reported The Times.  He had apparently suffered a massive stroke.

By 1895 the interior decorations were essentially finished.  La Farge’s two panels, the Nativity of Christ and the Visit of the Magi, were acclaimed by The Times’ art critic.  “Both are delightful, each in its way, the latter perhaps being richer in color than the former, and having greater depth and fullness of tone.”

The stained glass windows were executed by the Tiffany Glass and Decorating Company; two by La Farge; and seven by Henry Holiday in England.

The often-acerbic art critic Helen Henderson would be less glowing when she described the La Farge panels in 1909, calling them “badly set.”  She called his two windows “early examples of no great importance.”

Henderson did not confine her criticisms to La Farge.  “The embellishment of the Church of the Incarnation seems to have been pursued without definite plan, and the result is more curious than pleasing.”  She complained that Holiday’s and La Farge’s styles “were diametrically opposed” and “it is unfortunate for the ensemble that the work of the two artists should be thus juxtaposed.” And she called the two small stained glass windows by William Morris “of little consequence.”

Helen Henderson was nearly alone in her opinions.  The Times considered the Holiday windows “of the highest character” and said that La Farge’s windows “both well represent him.”  The baptismal font was sculpted by Louis St. Gaudens and surmounted by a figure of John the Baptist.  “This work is attractive in many ways, and marks a commendable departure from the inartistic architectural designs of fonts generally seen in other churches,” said the newspaper.

In 1896 the trustees hired architects Heins & La Farge to enlarge the church by moving the rear wall back six feet.   The renovation cost the congregation $5,000.

The neighborhood around the Church of the Incarnation changed in the 20^th century. The mansions of Madison Avenue were replaced by office buildings that towered over the Gothic stone structure.  But the residential side streets of Murray Hill remained upscale and the congregation continued to be well heeled.

A mid-century postcard depicted the impressive church.

Nevertheless, the church adapted to changing times.  Allen Hughes, writing for The New York Times on December 19, 1970, said “Most of the music being presented in Christmas programs in churches this season is traditional, but at the Episcopal Church of the Incarnation tomorrow a more modern sound will be heard.  Richard Felciano’s ‘God of the Expanding Universe’ will be performed, and it is a work for electronic tape and organ.”

A century after the rebuilding of the Church of the Incarnation, its age was posing a danger.  In 1990 chunks of stone began falling off the building, prompting officials to erect scaffolding with mesh netting to protest pedestrians.  The following year a $1 million restoration was initiated.   The reddish tone of the brownstone reappeared after 127 years of city soot was removed.  The roof and the masonry were repaired.

Ornate iron gates protect to portico.

Another restoration was conducted in 2014.  Despite Helen Henderson’s pedantic rant in 1909, the Church of the Incarnation represents a treasure of 19^th century architectural and artistic work.

non-credited photographs by the author

St. Paul the Apostle Church -- 9th Avenue at 59th Street

photo by Alice Lum

On Saturday, January 6, 1872 the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide made an unexciting note that alterations were proposed for an existing church building in Manhattan.  “One brick church, north side of Fifty-ninth street, 270 feet west of Ninth avenue…two stories and basement” was to be extended and “interior alterations also to be made, the changes proposed involving an expenditure of $53,000; trustees Church of St. Paul the Apostle, owner.”

The rather pricey renovations of the small 1859 church in a still somewhat undeveloped area of New York’s West Side was just the start of a construction project that would continue for a century.

The Memorial History of the City of New-York would record in 1893 that “The organization of the first American order of priests, by Fathers Hecker, Hewit, Baker, Deshon, and Walworth, ‘the missionary priests of St. Paul the Apostle,’ occurred in 1858-9; they erected a church and convent in Fifty-ninth street, near Ninth Avenue, in 1859.” 

Father Isaac Thomas Hecker had been elected superior of the Paulist Fathers a year earlier and he was instrumental in acquiring the 32 building lots on Ninth Avenue between 59^th and 60^th Streets in 1859 for $40,000—about $850,000 today.  Despite the rather remote location, when the cornerstone for the brick building was laid on June 20, 1859, approximately 15,000 people were in attendance.  The no-nonsense church was completed within five months and was described by the New York Herald as “constructed with regard to strength and durability rather than ostentation and mere outward show.”

Now, in January 1872, the once-distant neighborhood was quickly developing and the Paulist Fathers looked to enlarge their facilities.  (Although American Architect and Architecture commented that still “Many streets nearby were not then cut through; many of the scattered dwellings were shanties.”)

Father Hecker, who had traveled widely, envisioned a grand church edifice that would rival the cathedrals of Europe, or perhaps more importantly, the white marble St. Patrick’s on Fifth Avenue now nearly completed.  To execute his grandiose plans, Father Hecker reached out to a French architect to do preliminary designs for the new church. 

American Architect and Architecture later recalled “The principal points settled by Father Hecker were that the nave should be 60 feet wide, that there should be no seats in the side aisles, and that all the light should come from above…He also contemplated elaborate decorations, both on the interior of the church and upon the exterior.”

Hecker’s assistant superior general, Father Alfred Young was put in charge of overseeing the initial process.  Immediately the first instance of what would be decades of dissension and disagreement arose.  Likening the plans to a “heathen” mausoleum and saying they “would never be mistaken for a Catholic church,” he looked closer to home for an architect.

Irish-born Jeremiah O’Rourke had come to the United States in 1850 and was responsible for several Catholic churches in New Jersey, including the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in Camden.  Father Young gave him the direction to design a massive church a plain Gothic style.  Four years would pass before plans were submitted and the cornerstone laid.  With the expected hype of the Victorian press, a local newspaper announced the church would be “a conspicuous object in the city’s landscape.”

Timing of the project could not have been worse in one respect.  The great Financial Panic of 1873 had thrown the country into a massive depression.

Some money was saved by using recycled materials.  The 8-foot thick walls were originally designed to be clad in red Connecticut granite.  But as the church began rising, a major civic demolition project was taking place.  The stone embankment of the 1842 Croton Aqueduct uptown was already being dismantled when Father Deshon and two other priests were riding in an Eighth Avenue street car near the site in the summer of 1875.  The granite blocks seemed perfectly useful to Father Rosencrans.  Deshon later examined the stone and purchased a large quantity of it, saving the budget around $22,000.

Nevertheless, within twelve months of the cornerstone laying ceremony on June 4, 1876, the project was $75,000 in debt.  Construction ground to a halt.

Eventually funds came in and construction continued.  But Father Young, who “was always inclined to do only just what his architect told him,” according to American Architect and Architecture, was unable to continue as supervisor and Father George Deshon was put in charge.

The periodical said “He was a very different sort of a man from Father Young, and knew all about masonry and heavy construction, having been the instructor in military engineering at West Point before he became a priest.”

Little by little O’Rourke found himself elbowed out.  American Architect and Architecture said years later on July 27, 1910 that he “found himself in the awkward position of being instructed how to draw the plans on one side by the owner and having the owner also appear as chief of construction and superintendent of the work.  His sphere of activity became more and more limited as time went on, until he finally was out altogether.”  Jeremiah O’Rourke found himself in the role of draftsman, rather than architect.

Further humiliation to O’Rourke came as the last vestiges of his interior designs were erased by outside contractors.  As the walls rose, three artists “came from time to time, in a friendly way, to see how the work went on, and, no doubt, to give advice,” said American Architect and Architecture.  The trio consisted of Stanford White, John La Farge, and Augustus Saint Gaudens.

The last straw came when Father Deshon changed O’Rourke’s structural design of the roof trusses.  The pair became involved in a heated stand-off that was settled when two experts were called in for consultation.  They agreed with Deshon and Jeremiah O’Rourke returned across the Hudson River, leaving the project in the hands of Rev. George Deshon, now architect in charge as well as chief mechanic.

Much of the rough-cut granite came from the demolished Croton Aqueduct embankment -- photo by Alice Lum

A decade after construction began, St. Paul the Apostle Church—known familiarly as the Church of the Paulists—was dedicated in January, 1885 on the Feast Day of St. Paul--even though the church was far from complete.  Anticipation of the church’s opening was such that a week earlier The Sun held out little hope that late-comers would be admitted.

“The sale of seats at $2 and $1 for the mass and dedication, and for vespers at 7-1/2 in the evening at $1 and 50 cents, has been so large during the past week that it will probably be impossible to secure any at these prices after this afternoon and evening,” the newspaper reported on January 18.

Construction of the massive edifice would take decades -- photo by Alice Lum

Architectural critics at the time were hard-pressed to academically describe the structure.  Marianna Griswold Van Rensselaer was unapologetic in her confusion.  “I can hardly say with what ‘style’ one should rank this church.  We may call it Gothic, if we will, since its openings are pointed, but it shows no window tracery and no Gothic decoration, and its broad wall-spaces remind us of very different fashions of construction.  Whatever its ‘style,’ its effect will certainly not be that of an imitated medievalism.”

The New-York Tribune’s critic admired the somber design as opposed to some of the more flamboyant ecclesiastical structures, saying it “architecturally, lies in a vehement protest against the trumpery, voluptuous ideals now prevailing in fashionable church buildings.”

Oddly enough, King’s Views of New York City, A.D. 1903 called the 19^th century structure, “Twentieth century Gothic architecture.”

Although dedicated, there was much work still to be done.  Four years later the 94 foot tall church towers were still 20 feet short of completion.  When demolition of the massive Egyptian Revival Croton Reservoir was initiated in 1899, the church fathers were once again on the scene to salvage granite.  In a continuing program of recycling building materials, blocks of the old reservoir ended up at the highest points of the two towers.

Only very close inspection reveals that the stone of the upper towers, salvaged from the Croton Reservoir, does not match the granite below -- photo by Alice Lum

The stone for the two grand flights of entrance steps, too, was salvaged.  This granite came from the French Second Empire-style Booth’s Theatre on Sixth Avenue at 23^rd Street.  When Edwin Booth’s Shakespearean theater was converted to a department store, the blocks of granite removed from the structure were hauled north to 59^th Street.

The massive slabs of stone for the entrance stairs, too, were recycled from a demolition project -- photo by Alice Lum

Completion of the interior decorations of the massive church would take decades.  A virtual Who’s Who of American artists, architects and sculptors contributed to the space—John La Farge, Frederick MacMonnies, Robert Reid, Phillippe Martiny, William Laurel Harris, Bela Prat, La Marquise de Wentworth and Stanford White among them.

Nevertheless, the New-York Tribune was not necessarily impressed.  On April 2, 1899 it complained that “The church erected by the Paulist Fathers at the northwest corner of Columbus-ave. and Fifty-ninth-st. has passed through vicissitudes in the matter of its architectural and decorative character.  Begun in the seventies on a plan that in its rough outlines was not without merit, it rose under the supervision of divers hands, and hence failed to develop in a straight line.  Good work was accompanied by work not at all good.  To-day a considerable amount of the latter remains in one shape or another—some of the chapels in the aisles are far from being artistic—but during a number of years the influence of several authoritative artists has been gradually purging the edifice of its aesthetic errors.”

In 1903 the 9th Avenue elevated train ran directly in front of the church.  An elevated station is at the lower right corner -- King's Views of New York 1903 (copyright expired)

The newspaper pointed out Stanford White’s two white marble altars, “in the pure and beautiful style of the Italian Renaissance” and Philip Martiny’s “graceful sanctuary lamp which sways above the chancel steps.”  White was also responsible for main sanctuary lamps which The American Architect deemed “one of the finest specimens of bronze work of its kind in the United States.”

But two names rose to the top—John La Farge and William Laurel Harris.  At the time of the article La Farge had just completed five large wall medallions and was responsible for the stained glass clerestory windows, the apse windows and the lancet windows at the rear of the church.  He also designed the baptistery.  He would continue decorating areas of the church for over a decade; completing a total of 23 windows and nine wall paintings.

William Laurel Harris had no end in sight when he took on the project of painting the frescoes.  In 1910 American Architect said “The task which Mr. Harris has set himself is a life work, and, as far as may be ascertained, without a parallel in the history of American mural decoration.”

Two years later, on June 17, 1912, The Sun commented “What the decorations and enrichments of the Church of St. Paul the Apostle will cost or when they will be finished nobody pretends to say.  William Laurel Harris, who is giving his life to the work of these embellishments, has just completed his fourteenth year there…With the backing of the Society of St. Paul, he is trying to do in art what the Paulists, directing themselves and others, have already done in music.  That is, they are restoring the old Roman art in its application to ecclesiastical architecture.”

The music to which the newspaper referred was the Gregorian chant—revived by the Paulist fathers in 1870 and developed by organist and choirmaster Edmund G. Hurley appointed a year later.  In January 1894 Cardinal Satolli, Papal Delegate in the United States attended the choir’s celebration of the Feast of St. Paul.  He wrote about the choir’s Gregorian chant, calling it “one of the most grateful impressions I retain of my last visit to New-York” and saying “May it please Almighty God that such edifying singing could be heard in all the churches of the country!”

In the meantime, decoration of the church continued.  John La Farge had earlier completed a mural medallion on the north side of the apse “The Angel of the Sun.”  A companion painting, “The Angel of the Moon” was completed in 1909 and received a medal from the Architectural League of New York.  But before the latter work was installed, the artist died and, according to The Sun, “at the dispersal of Mr. La Farge’s art collection to adjust his estate it was purchased by the Brooklyn Institute o Arts and Sciences.”

In 1912 the steadily-laboring William Luarel Harris received the task of creating a new “Angel of the Moon.”  His large “The Crucifixion” (55 feet long and 20 feet high) had been completed two years earlier, deemed by The Sun to be “the largest mural painting ever executed for the interior of a church in America.”  The newspaper noted that “In preparation for this work the painter spent a year in Jerusalem.”

The forward thinking Paulist Fathers embraced the new technology of radio in the 1930s with the launching of radio station WLWL.  The Airwaves of New York in 1938 noted that the Missionary Society of St. Paul the Apostle “installed studios and transmitter in the Church of St. Paul the Apostle…The 226-foot towers beside the rectory were likened to modern-day steeples.”

As the centennial of the founding of the Paulist Fathers neared in the 1950s, a massive exterior bas-relief mural was envisioned to mark the occasion.  American illustrator and muralist Lumen Martin Winter was given the commission in 1958 for the 18-by-60 foot artwork above the center portal.

The massive 1958 mural was executed in white marble on a field of Venetian tiles -- photo by Alice Lum

The 50-ton panel was executed in Pietrasanta, Italy with figures sculpted in brilliant white travertine marble which contrasted with the Venetian mosaic background in 15 blue and green hues.  The depiction of St. Paul’s spiritual awakening was dedicated in December 1958.

Within only a few years the congregation was in trouble financially.  By 1973 the situation had become serious enough that demolition of St. Paul the Apostle was being discussed.  Removal of the massive church would free up land that the church could sell for commercial development to make the parish “financially viable.”

At the twelfth hour, the bottom dropped out of the real estate market.  In 1975 a relieved New York Times architectural critic Ada Louise Huxtable wrote “One of the city’s most impressive architectural white elephants, St. Paul the Apostle on Ninth Avenue, with a galaxy of ecclesiastical arts, has been kept out of the hands of developers only by the building recession.”

At the turn of the 21^st century the church was cleaned and repointed.   The massive church which resulted from a tangle of dissension and head-butting survives, a veritable museum of exquisite artwork.

photo by Alice Lum