The Lost Manhattan Life Insurance Bldg - 64-68 Broadway

 

Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, June 25, 1898 (copyright expired)

On May 14, 1892, the Record & Guide announced, "The Manhattan Life Insurance Company means to have the finest building on their new site at Nos. 64 and 66 Broadway, and 17 and 19 New street, that architectural and building skill and money can assure them."  An open competition, said the article, "ought to result in a structure in every way creditable to the company and the city."  The specifications included "a building of sixteen stories on Broadway and seventeen on New street."

The competition drew the attention of Francis H. Kimball and George Kramer Thompson.  Both were early proponents of steel framed construction.  The pair partnered as Kimball & Thompson and would remain together through 1898.  The firm's first design won the commission for the Manhattan Life Insurance Building.

Kimball & Thompson's task was more daunting on the engineering side than the design.  On July 11, 1893, The Syracuse Daily Journal noted, "This is to be the highest office building in the world."  Therefore, said the article, Kimball & Thompson was, "introducing an interesting process for securing permanent and stable foundations in yielding soil or where quicksand abounds...It is nothing more or less than the sinking of caissons to bed rock."  (It took George Kramer Thompson's personal guarantee that the process would work before the Commissioner of Buildings gave approval.)  Fifteen massive caissons, varying "in size from 10 feet in diameter up to nearly 25 feet square" were sunk into the bedrock.  

While the skyscraper rose, William Harvey Birkmire published his 1893 Skeleton Construction in Buildings.  In it, he mentioned, "The new building erected by the Manhattan Life Insurance Company at 64, 66, and 68 Broadway, New York, is undoubtedly one of the most conspicuous and the highest office-building in the world."  The Renaissance Revival-style building would be clad in limestone on the Broadway elevation, and light-colored brick and terra cotta on New Street side.

Skeleton Construction in Buildings, 1893 (copyright expired)

Ground was broken on September 1, 1893.  Completed in 1894, the Manhattan Life Insurance Company rose 16 floors on the Broadway side, capped with a three-story tower.  In the spandrels of the two-story, arched entrance were cartouches inscribed with the year of the company's founding, the year of the building's construction, and the seal of the firm.

The building had five hydraulic elevators for the public and two electric elevators that were reserved for the Manhattan Life Insurance employees.  "All the floors, halls, and corridors are laid with mosaic," said Birkmire, "and tile are [sic] largely used throughout."

Because office workers in 1892 were essentially all men, Kimball & Thompson needed to provide only one restroom per floor.  Skeleton Construction in Buildings, 1893 (copyright expired)

The soaring height of the Manhattan Life Insurance Building inspired awe and, in some instances, alarm.  On March 22, 1894, The World commented, "Almost without exception the constant stream of passers-by pauses momentarily to survey the impressive height of the new Manhattan Life Insurance Company's building."  Even the workmen who had erected the edifice had "punctuated their enjoyment of the contents of their dinner-pails by frequent glances at the graceful lines of the enormous creation of steel and stone that towers 350 feet above them."

As the steel construction rose, in 1893 the Insurance Record captioned this illustration, "Push dem clouds away."  (copyright expired)

When the building was being erected, meteorologist Farmer Dunn from the Weather Bureau in Washington D.C. "arranged with the insurance people for the tower," related the New York Journal & Advertiser.  The Metropolitan Life Insurance Company provided the 19th-floor room in the tower rent-free as a weather observatory.  A curious condition of the contract was that the terms would last, "so long as Farmer Dunn was in charge."

A stereoscope slide shows the Manhattan Life Insurance Building soaring above the neighboring structures.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

New Yorkers regularly received updates from the lofty heights.  During a stifling heat wave in 1896, for instance, the New York Journal & Advertiser reported on August 7, 

The air New Yorkers breathed at noon yesterday was loaded with moisture to within 13 per cent of complete saturation.  That air was heated to 91 degrees on top of the Manhattan Life Insurance building, where the Government's weather observers are, and to 105 degrees on the pavements, where the thousands sweltered.

Two months later, Cardinal Francesco Satolli, the Papal Delegate in the United States, visited New York City.  On October 14, The Sun reported, "The Weather Bureau in the Manhattan Life Insurance building engaged the Cardinal's attention after luncheon, and he saw how Mr. Dunn's weather gauges worked."  The priest was shown the path of an upcoming storm and Dunn "promised to send him a forecast of the weather for the week which he will spend on the ocean."

In the summer of 1898, "unpleasantness," as termed by the New York Journal & Advertiser, developed between Farmer Dunn and Weather Bureau Chief Willis L. Moore in Washington D.C.  Dunn resigned and was replaced by a Mr. Emery.  On August 26, the newspaper reported that the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company had cancelled the gratis arrangement with the bureau and was now demanding $3,000 a year "for the privilege of dishing up weather for New York or move."  (The annual rent would translate to about $112,000 in 2025.)  The Weather Bureau refused.  Two months later, on October 18, the New York Journal & Advertiser reported that Forecaster Emery had moved the observatory to the American Surety Company building.

In the meantime, tenants in the building were varied.  Perhaps the most unexpected was the offices of the Cuban Junta.  On January 29, 1896, The Journal reported on the sinking of the steamship J. W. Hawkins, "outward bound, with $200,000 worth of arms and ammunition that were destined for the Cuban revolutionists."  Also on the ship were 120 men "going to fight for the revolutionary cause."  All but six were drowned.  The survivors were brought to the Cuban Junta offices here.

Among other firms in the building that year were E. K. Pedrick & Co., a contracting firm; the Pelletreau Lithographing Co.; and the Manhattan Investment Company, a brokerage firm headed by George E. Carpenter.  Arthur M. Pelletreau's business involvement was not limited to lithography.  He was a partner with George E. Carpenter.  Both men were arrested on January 25, 1896.  The Journal reported they "will appear to answer a charge of grand larceny in the Centre Street Court to-morrow morning."  They were accused of swindling a client, John Kroder, out of $10,000.

The skyscraper was worthy of a picture postcard at the turn of the last century.

At the turn of the century, the Manhattan Life Insurance Company Building was mainly home to brokerage firms.  The ground floor was home to the Knickerbocker Trust Company.  In 1907, the Knickerbocker became part of a shady deal organized by F. Augustus Heinze and Charles W. Morse to corner the market of the United Copper Company.  The scheme disastrously failed on October 15 when the share price of United Copper crashed.  Morse and Heinze were ruined and depositors began a run on the Knickerbocker Trust Company.

Six days after the collapse, president Charles T. Barney was asked by the board to resign.  The next day, the Knickerbocker was forced to suspend operations.  Unlike his co-conspirators, Barney was not ruined financially.  His personal fortune was estimated at the time to be $2.5 million--or about $80.3 million in 2025.  But he was disgraced and humiliated and on the morning of November 14, he shot himself in his mansion at 103 East 38th Street.  The scandal greatly precipitated the Financial Panic of 1907, the greatest economic disaster until the Great Depression.  

Three years earlier, the Manhattan Life Insurance Company added a narrow extension to the north, just two bays wide.

On February 18, 1928, The New York Times headlined an article, "66 Broadway Sold; Long A Landmark."  The buyer was the Central Union Trust Company, which owned the adjacent property.  Real estate operators who predicted the vintage structure would be razed would be proven wrong.  One of the first skyscrapers in the country, it would survive nearly four more decades.  

In his 2008 The American Skyscraper 1850-1940, A Celebration of Height, Joseph J. Korom, Jr. writes, "Then, catastrophe arrived when the building was only 69 years old; in a 1963 act of utter desecration, the Manhattan Life Insurance Building was demolished."

The Mansion in the Shadow -- No. 28 East 72nd Street

photo by Alice Lum

In 1885 the architectural tradition of Manhattan’s great houses was changing.   William Kissam Vanderbilt’s wife, Alva, broke the tedious mold of brownstone mansions when she instructed Richard Morris Hunt to design a gleaming white limestone chateau at No. 660 Fifth Avenue, completed in 1883.

But despite the Vanderbilt vote of confidence in “Millionaire’s Row,” already wealthy Manhattanites were abandoning the neighborhood for sites uptown, away from encroaching commerce.    Among them would be the wealthy widow of Francis Waldo, the former Gertrude Rhinelander.

A stockbroker, Waldo had died in 1878 just two years after the marriage, having lost his own fortune in the Panic of 1873.   Gertrude, however, had her own millions.  Born into a venerable New York family that traced its roots in America back 200 years, she began planning a mansion just four years after her husband's death that would outdo even Alva Vanderbilt’s palace.

Gertrude chose the southeast corner of Madison Avenue and 72^nd Street for what would be one of the largest private mansions in the city.  But she stalled.  The plot remained vacant; and in 1887 she purchased the side lot at No. 28 East 72^nd Street.

Finally, in 1894—a dozen years after planning had begun—construction started on Gertrude Rhinelander Waldo’s massive French Loire Valley chateau designed by Kimball & Thompson.  At the same time the mansion next door that would be dwarfed by its hulking big brother began rising.

Gertrude Rhinelander Waldo's massive French-style mansion stretched along Madison Avenue -- photo by Alice Lum

Gertrude traveled throughout Europe purchasing artwork, tapestries, sculptures and other decorative furnishings for her new mansion.  Packing crates were stacked in the rooms and hallways but were never opened.   The somewhat eccentric socialite lived with her sister across the street at No. 81 East 72^nd Street, directly opposite her vacant mansion.

The smaller mansion, somewhat hidden by a tree here, looked much like part of the Waldo residence -- photo by Alice Lum

Meanwhile, the smaller house at No. 28 East 72^nd Street, too, sat empty.  The harmonious architecture blended so smoothly with the massive corner structure that it lost its own identity.  Without close inspection, it could be mistaken for an elegant service wing to the Madison Avenue house.

On May 7, 1908 a sign was nailed to the door of one of the houses, announcing that they were for sale.  The New York Times reported the following day that “For more than thirteen years there have been at the southeast corner of Madison Avenue and Seventy-second Street two fine mansions which in all those years have never housed a tenant.”  The newspaper said that despite their remaining “empty and gloomy” and the dirty “from the constant beating of wind and rain,” the “houses are said to be in all material respects in good shape.”

photo by Alice Lum

Nevertheless, Gertrude Waldo did not seem over-eager to part with either house.  “The price asked is said to have been put at such a figure that buyers have not been eager to take over the property from Mrs. Waldo.”

Indeed, neither house sold.  And in the meantime, Gertrude Waldo’s millions were slipping away.  On October 17, 1910 a lis pendens to foreclose on the 72^nd Street house was filed against her.  The Times noted that “The house adjoins the famous Waldo mansion….and has never been occupied.”  Gertrude lost the empty mansion to the County Holding Company in foreclosure.

Finally on March 7, 1914, nearly two decades after the mansion was completed, The New York Times reported that “negotiations are pending for the sale of the dwelling at 28 East Seventy-second Street.”   Less than three months later, on May 27, the once-wealthy Gertrude Rhinelander Waldo died penniless—her estate was in debt of $135,329.

photo by Alice Lum

Brown Bros., builders, purchased the house under the corporate name of the 784 Sixth Avenue Company.   The contractors “rebuilt” the mansion that had stood vacant and deteriorating for so long.  The renovated building was resold in April 1922 for $85,000—about $1 million today.

The buyer was James Butler, the founder of the first American chain of grocery stores.  Butler had amassed a fortune through his James Butler Grocery Company and one-by-one he presented his four children with a house.  No. 28 East 72^nd Street went to his daughter Beatrice.

Beatrice Katherine Butler had married Dr. Daniel Phillip MacGuire in 1914.  The busy doctor not only installed his practice in the house, but acted as Associate Professor of Surgery at St. Vincent’s  Post Graduate Hospital, and served on the faculty of the Physicians and Surgeons College as well.  Like his father-in-law MacGuire had a passion for horse racing.

In 1900 James Butler had purchased the Empire City track at Yonkers and later bought interests in Laurel Park, the horse-racing track in Maryland, and another in Mexico.   He was a prominent owner of race horses.  Following his death in 1934 MacGuire became a vice-president of both the Laurel Park and Empire City tracks.

On May 22, 1951 when this photograph was taken, Dr. MacGuire was still living in the house -- photograph by Wurts Bros., from the collectino of the Museum of the City of New York, http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GH54NMB&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=1#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GH54NMB&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=1

The MacGuire's son, James Butler MacGuire, grew up in the house.  Then, following Beatrice’s death, Dr. MacGuire gave up his private practice in 1951.  On June 16 of that year while he was still living in the house, the estate of Beatrice MacGuire sold the property for around $50,000.  It was purchased by Mrs. Marion Zeckendorf and Mrs. Franciska Bator who, probably not coincidentally, owned the house next door at No. 30.

Dr. MacGuire moved to Staten Island and continued to spend his summers at Saratoga Springs.  In the meantime the new owners converted the old house to apartments and a first floor art gallery.  High-end art was sold from the space throughout the 1950s and 60s.  Then in 1973 another conversion resulted in a two-story beauty parlor on the basement and first floor level, with two apartments on each floor above.

Despite the bunker-like addition that replaced the mansard roof, the skinny mansion at No. 28 East 72^nd Street survives reasonably intact.  It still plays second fiddle to the massive Waldo mansion on the corner, most often mistaken for a part of that grand structure.

photo by Alice Lum

The Gertrude Rhinelander Waldo Mansion - Madison Avenue at 72nd Street

photo by Alice Lum

When the William K. Vanderbilts broke the brownstone tradition with his French Renaissance Fifth Avenue mansion in 1883 a trend erupted among the monied Manhattanites.  Chateaux and palazzos began rising from the pavement throughout the city.  Not to be left out was Gertrude Rhinelander Waldo, a descendant of patroon Philip Jacob Rhinelander.

Gertrude's husband, Francis Waldo, died in 1878, two years after their marriage.  In 1882 she purchased the extensive building lot at the southeast corner of East 72nd Street and Madison Avenue, significantly north of the established Millionaires' Row south of 59th Street on Fifth Avenue.  She envisioned a mansion that would outshine even Vanderbilt's limestone palace. 

Yet it was not until 1894 that construction began.  Gertrude chose architectural firm Kimball & Thompson to design a 16th century French Renaissance chateau.  It would be one of the largest residences in the city.  The commission was a severe departure from Kimball & Thompson's regular commercial designs.  The plot Mrs. Waldo provided proved challenging to the firm as well -- the avenue slopes severely downward from south to north as it approaches 72nd Street.

The street level was reserved, therefore, for reception areas and servants rooms.  The drawing room, salons and and dining room were on the second floor.  The master bedroom occupied the third floor and servants quarters and guest rooms were on the fourth.  The rich French Gothic ornamentation included spiky dormers, a steep slate roof and statuary-filled niches.

photo by Alice Lum

As the residence was being  built, Gertrude Waldo toured Europe buying furniture and objects of art for her new showplace.  Crates of statuary, paintings, tapestries and antique furnishings were delivered and piled in the hallways and rooms of the completed mansion.  But they were never opened.  And Gertrude never moved in.

Instead she took up residence with her unmarried sister, Laura Rhinelander at No. 31 East 72nd Street within view of the gleaming new mansion.

For a decade the imposing house sat empty, dust gathering inside the unlit rooms like a page from Charles Dickens.  In 1908 Gertrude received an offer on the property; but her enthusiasm to sell was tepid at best.  When an agent finally cemented a deal on the house and the papers were being prepared, Gertrude Waldo arose from the table announcing quietly "I don't think I'll sell" and left the room.

photo by Alice Lum

A heavy iron fence was erected to provide security, however the presence of paintings, statuary and other valuable objects inside was widely known.  The mansion was looted four times in 1909.  At the same time, lack of maintenance was taking its toll.  Water leaked in through the roof.  The stonework was streaked and discolored and interior water damage was extensive.  What was intended to be a showplace was looking more like a haunted house.

Gertrude Waldo died in debt in 1914.  Immediately The Dime Savings Bank took steps to demolish the structure in favor of an apartment house; although the block was protected by a restrictive clause limiting property use to private residences.  The bank argued that an upscale apartment house was, essentially, a group of private houses and therefore fit the definition of a "private house."  Unfortunately for the bank and fortunately for New York it did not win that argument.

So Gertrude Rhinelander Waldo's great house stood empty for another ten years.  In 1921 the ground floor was converted to retail space and two apartments were created in the upper floors.   At last, 23 years after being built, someone was living in the grand chateau.

Over the next 30 years the house was divided and subdivided into a series of apartments and retail spaces.  Then in the 1950's the entire house was leased by Edgar de Evia and his partner Robert Denning, sparing the grand home further abuse.   Interior decorators Tate & Hall and other small firms took up office space in the house.

photo NYPL Collection

The great turn-around came in 1983 when Ralph Lauren obtained the lease for his flagship store.  Between $14 and $15 million dollars and a year and a half later, under the supervision of Naomi Leff, the building was completely rehabilitated.  The rich carved staircase that Gertrude Waldo never walked down is pristine.  The woodwork and plaster work echo those gilded closing days of the 19th century when ostentatious New Yorkers showed off their wealth.

Interior photographs by D. J. Huppatz

The house sold in 1984 for $6.4 million, in 1989 for $43 million and again in 2005 for $80 million.  After suffering decades of neglect and abuse, Gertrude Rhinelander Waldo's intended showplace is exactly that.

photo by Alice Lum