The 1891 Max Nathan Carriage House - 180 East 73rd Street

Max Nathan was born in Germany in 1829.  While he was still a boy his family traveled to American.  Unlike many German immigrants who settled in the Lower East Side, the Nathans continued on to the Midwest choosing Cincinnati as their new home.  In 1870, at the age of 41, Max relocated to New York City where he established the Nathan Manufacturing Company which made railroad equipment.  Within the next two decades he also headed The Sieberg Clinder Oil Cup Co. and had amassed a significant personal fortune.

Nathan erected a mansion at No. 32 East 72nd Street in the fashionable neighborhood steps from Fifth Avenue.  Wealthy home owners required private carriage houses for their vehicles and horses, and while a few erected them directly behind or next to their mansions, separated by lawns or gardens, the odors and noises were offensive to most.  As a result, "stable blocks" cropped up nearby--close enough to be convenient yet remote enough to be unobtrusive.  One such block was East 73rd Street between Lexington and Third Avenues.

The block had been lined with modest homes erected in the 1860's and '70s.  The one at No. 180 East 73rd Street was described as a "two-story frame (brick front) dwelling."  But that house, like almost all the others on the block, would not survive to the end of the century.  They were rapidly demolished to be replaced by handsome private stables as millionaires moved onto the blocks to the west.

On June 27, 1889 Max Nathan purchased No. 180 from John Vesey for $27,000.  The high price--around $742,000 today--reflected the value of the plot rather than the house itself as the block gained popularity for stables.

Nathan commissioned the prolific architectural firm William Schickel & Co. to design his carriage house.  Schickel, too, was a German immigrant (who arrived in New York City the same year as Nathan) and was responsible for scores of churches, business buildings and homes.

The stable, completed in 1891, was a handsome utilitarian take on Renaissance Revival, with a splash of Romanesque Revival at the ground floor.  Schickel faced the base in undressed granite  blocks.  It took on the expected stable configuration--a large carriage bay flanked by a doorway and window.  Above the bay an unfurled limestone banner was carved with the owner's initials.

Two floors clad in brick sat atop a molded stone cornice.  The architect deftly used three shades of brick to create dimension and architectural detailing--like the window surrounds and the quoin-like boarders of the facade.  The openings were trimmed terra cotta--leafy border tiles and graceful scrolled keystones.

Terra cotta was again used for the bracketed cornice.  The frieze directly below featured stylized anthemia, looking from the street almost like seashells.  They sat against a flame-like pattern of wavy lines.  Above it all sat a pyramidal brick parapet.

While the vehicles and horses were housed on the ground floor, the second floor would have been used partly as storage--for hay and tackle, for instance.  The rest of the second floor and all of the third would have held living accommodations for stable staff.  Behind the building was the manure pit, an odious but necessary element.

Carriages from the East 73rd Street building quite possibly took the Nathans to their country estate, Fairlawn, in Yonkers.  The family also maintained a summer residence in Long Branch, New Jersey.

Nathan was highly involved in charitable works.  He sat on the building committee of Mt. Sinai Hospital and was one of its trustees for three decades, and was a major benefactor of the Trudeau Sanitarium in Saranac, New York.

In 1912 Nathan retired.  He died at the age of 93 on April 19, 1922.  Four months later, on August 14, the New-York Tribune reported that that Nathan estate had sold what was now described as a "three-story private garage."  The article noted that the buyer was "a well known New Yorker."

Indeed he was.  George Dunton Widener, Jr. was born into a massively wealthy and prominent Philadelphia family,  He inherited a fortune through tragedy.

In February 1912 Widener's father sailed to England on business.  George's mother, the former Eleanor Elkins, accompanied him, partially to attend the opening of the London Museum.  She had presented to the museum 30 silver plates once owned by Nell Gwyn.  Along on the trip was George's older brother, Harry Elkins Widener.

When their purposes complete, the Wideners booked passage back to New York on the recently christened R.M.S. Titanic.  On the night the ship hit the iceberg, the Wideners gathered on deck with the other panicked passengers.  George Sr. helped his wife and her maid onto a life boat and watched as it was lowered into the icy waters.  Then he and Harry stood on deck and awaited the inevitable.  Their bodies were never identified.

George, Jr. married the divorcee Jessie Sloane Dodge--daughter of Henry T. and Jessie Sloane--in 1917.  Like Nathan, the couple lived nearby in a mansion at No. 5 East 70th Street, directly behind the palatial Henry C. Frick residence facing Fifth Avenue.

In 1923 Widener had "renovations" done on the 73rd Street building.  Although the plans are vague, the alterations most likely made the former stable more car-friendly.  But while the Wideners got around town in automobiles, George in no way turned his back on horses.

George Widener was less known for his business interests than for his passion for horse racing.  He maintained a 446-acre estate, Erdenheim Farm, outside of Philadelphia where his stable of thoroughbreds were housed and bred.

Widener's horses raced in the most illustrious events.   He was dealt a severe blow in the spring of 1924.  The New York Times reported "George D. Widener's St. James, three-year-old son of Ambassador IV. and Bobolink II. and the hope of the East for the Preakness Stakes and the Kentucky Golden Jubilee Derby, pulled up lame after his Preakness workout at the Belmont Park track yesterday morning and will not be shipped to Baltimore for the Pimlico classic."

The setback could not dampen Widener's love for the sport.  Later that year, in August, he attended the annual yearling auction at Saratoga Springs in order to add to his stable.  On the fourth day of the sale he purchased Calamint for $5,200, nearly $75,000 in today's money.

Jockeys in the 1920's were, for the most part, teen-aged boys who did not weigh as much as even slender adults.  But work on a horse farm got in the way of schooling.  As The New York Times explained on October 14, 1925, "Horses must be exercised and cared for in the morning, which unfortunately happens to be school time."

To remedy the conflict, Widener established a school on the property of Erdenheim Farm.  Now, after the boys had completed their tasks with stable foreman Bert Muholland, "Mrs. Clinton Aldred occupies their afternoons with training in every subject from arithmetic and English to current events and civics."  There were seven boys in the original class, ranging from 14- to 17-years-old, several of whom came from Long Island.

While George concentrated on racing, Jessie mingled among the top echelon of New York socialites.  She worked with Mrs. Vincent Astor for more than a month on preparations for a recital in the Astor's ballroom to benefit the Mental Hygiene Committee of the State Charities Aid Association on January 7, 1926.

By the 1960's the Wideners had moved permanently to Erdenheim Farm.  (Their 70th Street mansion was later demolished for an extension to the Frick Collection.)  In 1965 at least three tenants were living in the former grooms' apartments above the East 73rd Street stables.  Marion A. Dexter, and Marie and Marion Martin were listed at No. 180.

Change came in 1976 when J. H. Guttmann converted the former carriage house for his picture framing shop on the ground floor and part of the second.  A "private art gallery" shared part of the second floor.  The top floor housed a single apartment, presumably home to owner Jakob Guttmann.  The only noticeable exterior change was the carriage bay, now converted to a show window.

The J. H. Guttmann Picture Frame Corp. was no run-of-the-mill frame store.  Its patrons were, according to The New York Times on September 16, 1979 "museums, fine-art dealers and collectors, as well as the average customer."  The article called Guttman one of the three top framing houses in New York and noted it maintained a stock of antique frames "generally ranging fro early Renaissance to 19th-century American."

Guttman's clients include art museums in Los Angeles, Cleveland, St. Louis, Fort Worth and New York.  His services included restoring and regilding frames, and shortening or enlarging them to fit paintings.  Although J. H. Guttman remained in the building at least through the 1980's, it was sold in December 1981, and then again in March 2002.

The Nathan carriage house was put on the market in 2018 for $16,750,000.  Like several of the amazingly-surviving private stable buildings on the block, a private residence is most likely in the building's future.

photographs by the author

The William K. Dick Mansion - 7 East 84th Street

A garage had been carved into the limestone base by the early 21st century photo via abovethelaw.com

In the first decade following the end of the Civil War, builder Philip Braender got into the speculative development frenzy on the Upper East Side.  By 1892 he would be responsible for more than 1,500 structures here and elsewhere in the city.

In 1884 construction began on No. 7 East 84th Street.  Designed by prolific architect John Brandt, the high-stoop, brownstone house was four stories tall above the English basement.  While its architecture was little different from scores of brownstones rising in the neighborhood, its 25-foot width and interior appointments made it an upscale residence.

Braender sold the completed house to Algernon Sydney Jarvis.  As was customary, the title was put in the name of his wife, Nathalie.  Born in 1810, at the age of 28 Jarvis had been employed by Nathaniel Pearce in his tobacco inspecting business.  Jarvis not only became partners with Pearce, he married his daughter.  The couple would have two daughters, Anna and Helen.

Before then, in 1834, the adventurous young man signed on as supercargo--the representative of a merchant ship's owner responsible for the cargo--on the brig Margaret Oakley.  During that voyage a small uncharted island was discovered off the coast of New South Wales.  It was named Jarvis Island.

By the time the family moved into the 84th Street house, Jarvis was wealthy.  He owned extensive properties, and was a director in the Manhattan Eye and Ear Infirmary, and the American Agricultural Society.

The Jarvis summer estate was in White Plains, New York.  Nathalie and Algernon were there on June 31, 1895 when Algernon died.  The New York Times reported that the cause of the 85-year old's death was "general debility, due to his advanced age."

Nathalie remained in the East 84th Street house, her comings and goings reported in the society columns.  Her substantial fortune was reflected in the sale in 1902 of an entire block of property in Jersey City.  Known as the Old Inspection baseball grounds, she sold it for $60,000--more than $1.7 million today.

In 1906, after she had lived in the house more than two decades, Nathalie recognized that her brownstone house was architecturally outdated.  Like many of her neighbors she laid plans to update.


On November 3 architect Augustus N. Allen filed plans for "extensive alterations."   The renovations would not only strip off the brownstone front and remove the stoop; but add "electric wiring" and remodeled interiors.  The changes would cost Nathalie $35,000--more than $950,000 today.

With the entrance moved to sidewalk level, the mansion was now officially five stories tall.  While neo-Georgian style homes were appearing in the neighborhood--most notably the Andrew Carnegie mansion--Duncan's red brick and limestone design drew inspiration from English Regency structures.  The entrance was centered within the rusticated stone base.  The headers of the Flemish bond brickwork of the mid section were charred to give the illusion of age.

A projecting bay at the third floor rose from stone loggia below.  The bay was decorated with delicate Adam motifs--bowls of fruit, fluted pilasters and sunburst medallions.  The cornice of the bay supported an iron-railed balcony.  The large copper-clad dormer of the fifth floor sat behind a pierced stone railing.  It was supported by an exquisitely-carved and complex cornice.

The Regency style was carried into the staircase hall. photo via corcoran.com

In February 1909 Nathalie sold the house to Gustav Abraham Wertheim and his wife, the former Lucile Stern.  The couple had been married five years earlier.   Born in Amsterdam to a wealthy banker, he and his brother, Henri, came to America and entered the financial business. 

As the moneyed family traveled extensively, they leased the house--in 1913 to Olney B. Mairs, in 1916, to W. B. Duryea, and in 1919 to J. T. Thompson, for instance.   By now the family name had changed.  In 1914 Gustav and Henri petitioned the courts to legally their surnames to include their mother's--van Heukelom.  And so when Gustav sold the house late in July 1919 his name was listed as Gustav Wertheim van Heukelom.

The mansion became the home of its most socially-visible occupants, William K. Dick and his wife the former Madeleine Talmage Force and widow of John Jacob Astor.

Madeleine Talmadge Force Astor Dick - from the collection of the Library of Congress

Madeleine was five months pregnant when she and Astor headed home from their honeymoon on the RMS Titanic.  Astor and his valet died in the sinking; Madeleine, her maid and nurse survived.

When she married her childhood friend, millionaire William K. Dick, in June 1916 she necessarily relinquished ownership of the massive Astor mansion on Fifth avenue and income from a $5 million trust fund.

While the Dick family was living here, apartment buildings had encroached from the west.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The couple maintained a "country place' known as Allen Winden Farm in Islip, Long Island and traveled extensively.  Madeleine's son, John Jacob Astor, would be joined by two half-brothers, William Force Dick and John Henry Dick, in the house.

The year after the Dicks moved into the 84th Street house it was the scene of an out-of-the-ordinary event: the wedding of Madeleine's sister, Katherine, to Lorillard Spencer.  When and where the ceremony would take place had been the subject of rumors for some time.  It was held in the mansion on December 9, 1922 and The New York Herald pronounced it "one of the notable weddings of the season."  The article noted that Madeleine's "little sons, John Jacob Astor and William Dick, were pages."

William K. Dick - from the collection of the Library of Congress

After 17 years of marriage Madeleine seems to have gotten a wandering eye.  On Monday, June 5, 1933 The New York Times reported "Mrs. William K. Dick, widow of the late John Jacob Astor, who was lost in the Titanic disaster, left last night for Reno."  The article added "At her home at 7 East Eighty-fourth Street Mrs. Dick's secretary declined to discuss published reports that Mrs. Dick's departure was the first step in a plan to divorce her second husband."

Madeleine obtained her divorced on July 21, 1933 and four months later, on November 27 she married the Italian-born actor and boxer Enzo Fiermonte.  Four years later they divorced.

William remained in the 84th Street house.  It was the scene of the wedding of his brother, Adolph, to Polly Campbell on March 9, 1935.  The marriage did not last.  The couple was divorced in Reno in March 1937 "on the ground of cruelty." 

Before long Dick spent less time in the mansion.  In 1941 he leased it to Sir William Wiseman of the banking firm Kuhn, Loeb & Co.  In reporting on the lease The New York Times described the house as "containing twenty-five rooms and seven baths."  Three years later it was leased to Dr. Arthur Rodzinski, conductor of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.

During World War II the New York Italian Consulate had, obviously, been closed.  On May 6, 1946 it reopened, now in the William Dick mansion.  It remained here until around 1950 when the house became the Hungarian Consulate.  The country paid $18,000 per year rent--equal to about $14,600 per month today.

In December 1951, however, the State Department ordered the closing of Hungarian consulates in response to the imprisonment of four United States pilots forced down over Hungarian territory by Soviet aircraft on November 19.   On December 28 the Hungarian Government, accused of violating the human and diplomatic rights of the American fliers, was given until midnight to close the East 84th Street facility.

The former mansion was subsequently purchased by the Asia Institute for $115,000.  Founded in 1928 to promote research and interest in Persian art and archaeology, it was here only until 1953, the same year that William Dick died.   The house was sold and altered as apartments--one each in lower two floors, and two on the upper stories.

In 2009 the Dick mansion was reconverted to a single family home.  When it was offered for sale in 2013 for $30 million, Robin Finn of The New York Times described it as "an actual mansion."  The house was resold in 2016; but disaster soon struck.

The opulence of the renovated mansion did justice to its history.  photos via corcoran.com

The new owner had filed plans to demolish the interiors and do a "full renovation" at an estimated cost of more than $3 million.  That construction was underway when at around 2:25 a.m. on March 13, 2017 fire broke out.   Three and a half hours later the inferno was under control; but the mansion had been gutted.

In April 2017 sunlight can be seen through the openings.

The dignified 1906 facade stands before a burned-out shell awaiting the next chapter to unfold.

non-credited photographs by the author

The Henry J. Harper House -- No. 125 East 38th Street

photo via Google Streetview

In 1865 the two newly-completed houses at the northwest corner of 38th Street and Lexington Avenue reflected the comfortable financial conditions of Murray Hill residents.  No. 314 Lexington Avenue, the home of the L. A. Milbank family, was three stories tall above the basement level and boasted a stylish mansard roof like its abutting neighbors to the north.  Directly behind it was the home of Robert Porter and his family, at No. 125 East 38th Street; described by one newspaper as a "four-story high stoop brownstone dwelling."

The addresses continued to be home to socially-visible families throughout the 19th century.  Benjamin F. Watson and his wife lived at No. 314 Lexington for at least two decades, until around 1896.  Mrs. Watson was highly involved in charitable events, her name appearing regularly in the social columns.  No. 125 was owned by the wealthy widow of Prescott Hall Butler around the turn of the century (Butler died in 1901).

The configuration of the two houses would have been similar to these, one block to the north, although altered for business when this shot was taken.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

But the Lexington Avenue corner fell from favor for upscale families when the Independent Rapid Transit began excavation for its subway line.  Both houses saw a regular succession of renters; although neither appears to have been converted to a boarding house.

By 1915, when architect Chester H. Aldrich of the esteemed firm Delano & Aldrich, leased No. 125 East 38th Street from Mrs. Prescott Hall Butler, the house had lost its stoop; now described as a "five-story residence."

A more significant alteration was made five years later when the house was purchased by the British Government and converted to the British War Veterans' clubhouse.  It was officially opened by Sir Aukland Geddes, British Ambassador to the United States on Saturday, October 29, 1921.  The New York Herald noted "The clubhouse...has living quarters for the men in addition to recreation and reading rooms.  A club canteen is also a feature of the new clubhouse."

At its opening the club already had 950 members.  The Herald explained "The organization includes several veterans of the Boer war and the Indian fighting, as well as veterans of the world war."

In the meantime, publisher Henry Sleeper Harper was well-known in publishing and in New York society.  The grandson of one of the founders of Harper & Brothers, he lived a few blocks south at No. 133 East 21st Street.  As unsinkable as Molly Brown, he had survived the sinking of a ship which collided with an iceberg off the Grand Banks around 1902.   A decade later the incident would repeat itself in an unsettling case of deja vu.

Harper and his wife, Myra, toured Europe and Asia in 1911, taking along their Pekinese dog, San Yat-Sen.  While they visited Cairo, Harper hired an interpreter-guide named Hammad Hassab.  Obviously pleased with their Egyptian helper, Henry Harper hired him as a full-time servant.

In April 1912 the trio headed back to New York City.  They boarded the RMS Titanic at Cherbourg, France.  (Myra's pet did not get a free passage--the Pekinese dog had ticket number 869.)

Exactly as had happened ten years earlier, Harper was jolted by the collision of the Titanic with an iceberg early on the morning of April 15.  Instructed to put on warm clothing, Henry put an overcoat over his dinner clothes and Myra donned a black fur over her dinner gown.

The couple, along with Hammad Hassab, boarded Lifeboat 3, along with little San Yat-Sen.  They were rescued by the Carpathia around 6:00 that morning.  Later, after Harper was asked about the dog being brought onto the lifeboat, he replied "There seemed to be lots of room and nobody made any objection."

By the time the British War Veterans opened their 38th Street clubhouse, Myra's health was poor.  After a prolonged illness, she died on November 14, 1923.  Less then eight months later, on July 8, 1924, the 60-year old Harper quietly married Anne W. Hopson.

Despite the Lexington Avenue subway and the increasing commercialization of the avenue, the Murray Hill neighborhood retained its affluent reputation.  In 1926, the same year a son was born to the the couple, Harper commissioned architect Herbert Lucas to convert the two vintage houses on the corner of 38th Street to a single, lavish mansion.

Completed the following year, the structure was a marriage of neo-Classical and Art Deco styles.  An ambitious entryway on 38th Street flaunted a broken pediment, fluted pilasters and a somewhat over-sized cartouche.  Jazzy geometric lintels graced the upper openings.  The old carriage house was incorporated into the design as an extension.

The former carriage house was incorporated into the new mansion.  photo via Google Streetview

The Lexington Avenue entrance was preserved, no doubt, as the service entrance.  However, surprisingly in November 1928 when Henry Harper signed a petition objecting to incursion of business on Lexington Avenue within the restricted Murray Hill district, he used No. 314 Lexington Avenue as his address.

Henry Jr. studied at Phillips Exeter Academy and then, at the age of 18, he enrolled in Cornell University where, according to The New York Times, he "is undergoing naval training."  His father had been ill for about two years at the time.  On March 1, 1944 Henry Sleeper Harper died at the age of 79 in the 38th Street house.

Anne remained in the mansion for another six years.  Henry Jr. had served in the Navy during World War II and was now employed by the Federal Government in Washington DC.  In January 1951 Henry's engagement to Elizabeth Clay was announced.  Following the wedding, Anne Harper moved into the couple's home in Alexandria, Virginia.

photo by Carl Forster, 2001, courtesy the Murray Hill Neighborhood Association

The following year, on September 22, The American Institute of Management announced it had purchased the Harper mansion, "and plans to use it for its national headquarters."  The group was a non-profit organization founded in 1948 "to help solve the problem of raising management efficiently by the process of comparative analysis," according to The Times.

The Institute converted the interiors to offices, with a duplex apartment on the third and fourth floors.  Department of Buildings permits noted "The apartment is to be occupied by an officer of the American Institute of Management."

By 2013 the house had become home to the Permanent Mission of the Republic of Benin to the United Nations.   Sometime after 2000 the mansard roof was removed and the top floor extended to full height.   The Harper house survives mostly intact since its 1927 make-over; a a delightful and unexpected surprise.

Apologies for the poor quality photographs in this post.  The Harper House has been obstructed by sidewalk scaffolding for an extended period at the time of this writing.

The 1903 Hudson Theatre -- No 139 W 44th Street

photo by Andreas Praefcke

At the turn of the last century the migration of the theater district from 23^rd Street to Longacre Square began in earnest.  On a single day, January 18, 1902, the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported on two planned theaters in the area that would soon be renamed Times Square.  Klaw & Erlanger had purchased two 5-story apartment buildings on 42^nd Street “and will erect a theatre on the site;” and George G. Heye purchased the five three story houses at Nos. 136 to 144 West 45th Street, as well as No. 139 West 44^th Street, to the rear.  The periodical noted that Heye “will erect on the site a theatre, which has been leased for twenty-one years to Henry H. Harris.”

On March 26 Heye’s architects, J. B. McElpatrick & Sons filed plans for the new structure.  They estimated the cost on filing at $175,000.  But that would soon change.  Within a month the old buildings were being demolished and Heye was receiving bids for contractors.  On April 5 the Record & Guide noted “The theatre will seat 1,400 persons and be fitted with tile, mosaic, marble, brasswork, etc., electric light, steam heat, ventilators, plumbing, etc.”  Along with the electric lighting, Heye wanted all the modern conveniences, including electric elevators.  The estimated cost of the theater had now risen to $250,000.

Construction was underway in October that year; but something seems to have gone awry between Heyes and his architects.  Before the building was completed the following year, Israels & Harder were the architects of record.

Producer Henry Birkhardt Harris had signed the long-term lease on the theater even before the land was acquired.  And so now, as the building rose, George Heye wisely stepped back and let Harris take the publicity reins.  At 9 a.m. on March 30, 1903 Harris hosted a splashy event to name the theater and to garner newspaper attention.  He assembled his business staff and stage celebrities, including stars Alice Fischer and Robert Edeson at the construction site.

“Miss Fischer and Mr. Edeson scaled ladders to the roof, where a large white flat bearing the insignia of the company and the words ‘Hudson Theatre,’ in green letters, was adjusted ready for the raising.  As Miss Fischer smashed a bottle of champagne against the flagstaff, saying ‘I christen thee Hudson,’ Mr. Edeson hauled the flag into place.  Three cheers and a tiger were given, and then the companies assembled in the theatre and partook of luncheon,” reported The New York Times the following day.

It would still be months before the theater was ready to open.  The newspaper said “The Hudson will be opened on Sept. 7 by Ethel Barrymore in a new play, to be followed by Marie Tempest in ‘The Marriage of Kitty,’ and then by Mr. Edeson in a new play of American life.”

The projected opening date came and went.  The Times explained “the labor unions decided that the completion of the theatre was not as important as their disputes.”  Finally, over a month later on October 15, the theater announced that “The sale of seats for Ethel Barrymore’s ‘Cousin Kate’ will begin at the New Hudson Theatre this morning at 9 o’clock.  Miss Barrymore will give only Saturday matinees.”

The curtain finally rose on Ethel Barrymore and Cousin Kate on October 19, 1903.  The drama critic for The Times was tepid in his assessment of her performance, saying “What might have been a moment of strong and varied and dramatic acting failed really to convince.”  But, he added, “It was only a moment, and Miss Barrymore glided speedily back into the part again; but it was the supreme moment, and the defect converted what might have been a triumph into a success.”

The newspapers were as interested in critiquing the new building as they were the performance.  The Times was especially taken with the Tiffany art glass used in the ceilings.  “It is impossible to close without a word of rapture on the new playhouse.  Its verd-antique, in Graeco Roman marble, silk plush and metal trimmings, harmonizes admirably with the dull old ivory of the proscenium arch, tricked out with the iridescence of favrile glass.  The masked lights in the golden house coffers and the moons of opalescent luminaries of the foyer ceiling, the constellations of dull incandescence in the ceiling of the auditorium, all combined to suffuce [sic] the house with a rich brilliancy never to be forgotten.”

The decorative elements of the auditorium were Roman-inspired.  The ceiling lighting in the promenade (below) were by Tiffany -- photos by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894#/SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=4

The writer gushed “No richer and more tasteful auditorium is to be found short of the splendid Hofburg Theater in Vienna, with its old crimson, ivory, and gold.”

The architects made full use of electrical lighting.  Each of the 264 coffers in the ceiling “modeled after a design suggested by an old ruin in Rome” contained an electric light.  Around the domed ceiling were lights hidden behind a frieze.

The lobby was separated from the foyer by massive bronze doors.   The lobby ceiling was triple-domed, supported by arches and pilasters.  “These arches have subdivided mirrors in the style of the famed salon of glass at Versailles,” reported The Times.   But the domes were by no means ordinary.  “The triple-domed ceiling of Tiffany glass and bronze, framed by conventional ivy bands, gives and effect of airiness and height,” said the newspaper.  The Tiffany ceiling was back lit by concealed electric lights.

The ladies' lounge was likened to Versailles -- photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894#/SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=4

In the promenade at the rear of the auditorium were classical sculptures.  The area was lighted “by disks of Tiffany glass set in the paneled squares of the ceiling.”  To the right was the “ladies’ reception room” which was deemed a “copy of the boudoirs of the Louise XVI.”  The Times said its walls were “of mirrors, in which the feminine theatergoers may gaze at themselves from head to foot between every act, if they so wish.  The furniture is decorated with French tapestry.”

In stark contrast to the French-style ladies’ room was the men’s smoking room.  Exposed beams of Flemish oak matched the paneled walls and a masculine chandelier of iron and copper was inlaid with art glass.

Much was made of the fact that there were no obstructive columns in the auditorium.   The Greco-Roman motif was carried on in the proscenium vault which sat on “Roman columns.”  The decorated panels of the vault were said to be “copied from those in the Golden House of Nero.”

The lavish interiors were not particularly reflected in the restrained classical Beaux Arts façade.   The New York Times was seemingly unimpressed.  “As to the outside of the Hudson there is nothing very unusual, as Mr. Harris, according to his statement, thought the inside of much more importance to the public…The façade of the front of the building is four stories high and is simply treated.  The design of the façade in the rear is carried out in severely classic lines.”

When Ethel Barrymore opened in Cousin Kate in October 1903, the theater was flanked by brownstone houses -- photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894#/SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=4

New York drama critics then, as now, relished their power to decide the success of a play.  In April 1904 actor Henry Miller was starring with Margaret Anglin in Camille at the Hudson when he reached his breaking point.  Following the third act on April 30 the audience applauded so vigorously and continuously, that Miller stepped on stage before the curtain to address them.

“He said that critics in this city did not take a serious actor seriously, and that, as a rule, they had shown themselves to be ignoramuses,” reported The Times the next day.  In a follow-up interview he complained that critics were tasked by their editors to write something witty rather than to seriously critique the performance.  “In their ignorance they do not understand that Miss Anglin’s ‘Camille’ is not a lady of the Tenderloin.  They wanted to write something funny—and some of them succeeded.”

As with other theaters, the Hudson was also a venue for political and social meetings.  On November 4, 1905 Dr. Edward Everett Hale of Boston addressed an audience of women on “Moral Forces.”  The issue was universal suffrage.  He told the women “It will succeed, not by its intellectual force, nor its physical force, nor its aesthetic force, but by its moral force…Universal suffrage must rely on the average citizen.”

Clara Bloodgood stars in Bernard Shaw's Man and Superman here in 1905 -- photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894#/SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=4

In March 1906 the pioneering modern dancer Ruth Saint Denis first appeared here.  It was the first of her long succession of appearances on the Hudson Theatre stage.  Around the same time the Actors’ Society laid plans for a benefit performance at the Hudson on May 4 for the society’s building fund.   Then, on Wednesday April 18 at 5:12 am California was struck with an earthquake that devastated the city and set off gas-fueled fires that raged for several days.  More than 3,000 people perished and over 80% of San Francisco was destroyed.  Five days later the Actors’ Society voted to donate the proceeds of its upcoming benefit to the “theatrical sufferers” in San Francisco.

Throughout the next few years the Hudson would host lectures and meetings in addition to the plays.  Repeatedly the venue for suffragist meetings, it was also used for church services.  Groups as diverse as the New York County Medical Society and the Elks New York Lodge No. 1 used the space.

In March 1908 Henry B. Harris purchased the theater from George B. Heye for a reported $700,000—a staggering $18.3 million in today’s dollars.  He continued his formula for drawing audiences by booking stage celebrities in plays by well-known writers.  On December 23, 1908 alone it was announced that he had acquired the rights for Channing Pollock’s Such a Little Queen; had extended Ethel Barrymore’s engagement in Lady Frederick until February; and that L. Frank Baum, forever remembered as the author of The Wizard of Oz would give a special matinee on Christmas Day.

Ethel Barrymore’s extended appearance in Lady Frederick was almost cut short the following month.   During the January 9 performance some in the audience were concerned.  “Those who sat in the boxes and the front rows of the orchestra had noticed that Miss Barrymore looked ill, and that she grew more pallid as the play proceeded,” reported The Times.  Nevertheless, the valiant actress completed the play.  The audience enthusiastically applauded and demanded a curtain call.

“The people in front noticed that she clung to the side of the proscenium arch as if for support when she bowed her acknowledgments,” said the newspaper.  “When the curtain was about to descend again she fell backward in a faint.”

The actress was carried to her dressing room, and then sent home in her carriage.  Her co-star Bruce McRae brushed it off, assuring reporters that she was suffering from a cold and that he did not think her “slight indisposition would interfere with the continuance of the play on Monday.”

Apparently the old imperative “the show must go on” was strictly followed by Henry Harris.  “It came out last night that Miss Barrymore fainted on Wednesday night at the end of the performance, but few in the audience knew about it,” noted The Times.

The beautiful Ethel Barrymore in her role as Lady Frederick in 1910 -- photo by Pach Brothers, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894#/SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GDREYBO&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=4

Not content with his Hudson Theatre, Henry B. Harris opened the Harris Theater in 1906 and the magnificent Folies Bergere in 1911.  The year after the opening of the Folies, Harris and his wife traveled to Europe.  They headed back to New York from Southampton, England, on April 10, taking Cabin C-83 on the luxury steamship the RMS Titanic.

While at sea three days later Irene Harris had an accident and fractured her shoulder blade.  The following night, April 14, the couple was shaken when the ocean liner struck an iceberg.   With panicked passengers crowding the deck, Henry Harris carried his wife to a lifeboat.  She later recounted that she asked the ship’s officers if her husband could join her in the lifeboat to attend to her.  She was told he could not.

Mrs. Harris said her husband stepped aside, saying “I understand.  The women must go first.”  Billboard Magazine, on April 27, 1912, wrote “When Mrs. Harris saw her husband last, he was calmly waving goodbye to her from the deck of the Titanic.

“Henry B. Harris died like a brave man.”

On April 19 both the Hudson and the Harris Theatres were closed as a gesture of respect; and on April 28 a memorial service was held in the Hudson Theatre.  The Sun reported that “The foyer and lobby of the theatre were filled with floral offerings from the theatrical profession and personal friends.”  Mrs. Harris sat in a box and the New-York Tribune said “the audience…filled every seat and even stood, unmolested on this occasion, six or more deep behind the last row in the orchestra circle.

The New York Tribune reported that during the ceremony August Thomas, speaking for the Lambs, mentioned “the manager’s production and reproduction of ‘The Scarecrow,’ in spite of its failure, ‘for the poetry that is in it.’”  What no one in the theater that night, most likely including Mrs. Harris, knew, was that the string of failures had serious repercussions. 

Harris died with an estate of $368,443; but his debts totaled over $400,000.  General Manager F. Howard Schnabbe explained to Percival Nagle, who appraised the estate, that Harris lost “about $360,000 in the Folies Bergere venture, which was a music hall built to emulate the Paris idea of vaudeville entertainment.”

His equity in the Hudson Theatre was $168,232; but it was appraised at only $84,710.  He had lost heavily on several productions, including The Quaker Girl, which lost $10,000; Sham which lost $9,000; and An American Widow, which lost $12,000.

Another problem was Harris’s insistence on booking big name stars even at extravagant salaries. Schnabbe pointed out Rose Stahl who was appearing in Maggie Pepper.  “It isn’t a bit of good without Rose Stahl.  In other words, if we wanted to sell the play we would have to sell Rose Stahl with it.  She receives 33 1-3 per cent of the profits of the play and a big salary.”

Irene Harris, faced with her husband’s debts, took on the management of the Hudson Theater.  She successfully turned the fortunes of the theater around.  In January 1915 The Theatre gave a rave review of The Show Shop, saying that on opening night the “audience roared with delight at Mr. James Forbes’ latest farce and if all signs go not awry it will be one of the laughing successes of the season.”

As the U.S. entered World War I, actresses in New York sought a way to help.  On April 9, 1917 The Evening World reported that “An organization known as the War Relief of the Women of the American Theatre, the aim of which is to give every woman of the stage a chance to do her ‘bit’ for her country, will meet at the Hudson Theatre next Friday at 3 P.M.”

Irene Harris continued to stage successful plays, including Booth Tarkington’s World War I comedy Clarence, about an American family and a “slowgoing, philosophic doughboy.”  Helen Hayes was back to play Cora Wheeler in the cast.  The same year W. Somerset Maugham’s Too Many Husbands was staged here.

In the 1920s Irene booked Barbara Stanwyck and Judith Anderson for their first New York appearances; and throughout the next decade audiences would see Dorothy Gish, Edward G. Robinson, William Holden and Douglas Fairbanks.  Irene Harris took a gamble in 1927 when she booked The Irish Players in The Plough and the Stars.  Irish plays with Irish actors had a bad history on the New York stage; with audiences sometimes degrading into vegetable-throwing rioters.  But when the play opened on November 28, 1927 there was, according to Dawson Byrne in his The Story of Ireland’s National Theatre, “a little hissing, but on the whole…an enthusiastic audience who applauded them so insistently at the end that the entire company took ten curtain calls.”

In 1929 Irene took another risky step when she staged the all-black production of Hot Chocolates.  The production featured Fats Waller’s song Ain’t Misbehavin’, sung by Cab Calloway which became a hit.  The same year Irene was reportedly refused an offer of $1 million for the theater.  Had she seen the onset of the Great Depression coming later that year, she most likely would have reconsidered.

Among the first of the luxuries that cash-strapped New Yorkers cut out of their budgets was the theater.  Managers scrambled for ways to keep their theaters afloat—some turning to the motion pictures, others to live events like boxing—but many were simply boarded up.  Irene Harris lost the Hudson Theatre to foreclosure in 1933.  It was sold at auction for $100,000; one tenth of what she had been offered.

The following year the Hudson became a CBS radio studio, housing the CBS Radio Playhouse.  By 1943 it was returned to legitimate theater. 

That year on December 12 the Professional Children’s School presented a juvenile cast production of Arsenic and Old Lace.  It was not well-received by the acerbic drama critic George Jean Nathan.

“The presently considered exhibit was drolly acted by the little boys and girls bent on future histrionic careers in some of its roles; but travesty melodrama nevertheless offers difficulties that straight melodrama does not, and some of the children found it beyond their resources.”  He offered “I like children myself; I think that some of them are cute; I even think that some of them are peculiarly very good in the acting craft.”  But not these.

Nathan had been no less critical of the all-black production of Run, Little Chillun produced in part by George Jessel.  “The struggle between Good and Evil for the soul of man, a theme favorite of contemporary Negro drama and even musical comedy, provides the evening’s sub-stratum, superimposed upon which is a folk song festival, choreography of a sexual pattern hardly exceeded by the late Nazi Strength Through Joy exercises even when under the supervision and encouragement of Julius Streicher, and a Baptist revival meeting so equally ecstatic that the difference between its religious fervor and the sexual fervor of the opposing pagan church is indeterminable.”

In 1945 Ralph Bellamy (left), Herbert Hayes and Edith Atwater played in State of the Union, from the collection of the New York Public Library

In 1950 NBC purchased the theater, and in 1956 aired the first nationwide broadcast of The Tonight Show with Steve Allen.    On the stage of the Hudson Theatre Allen would greet guests like Milton Berle, Elvis Presley and Ernie Kovacs.  The theater was shared by the Jack Paar Show, which gave Barbra Streisand her television debut.

In February 1960 legitimate theater returned to the Hudson with Lillian Hellman’s masterful Toys in the Attic starring Maureen Stapleton and Jason Robards, Jr.  The play ran for 556 performances and won the New York Drama Critics’ Circle Award in 1960.  A year later readers of The New York Times, on December 8, were shocked to read “The Hudson Theatre has been sold to a garage-builder and operator who plans to have it razed as soon as its last tenant, Robert Breen, moves.”

The negotiations apparently fell through; but on May 18, 1962 The Times reported that the deal seemed to have been cemented.  It said that the National Broadcasting Company had sold the theater “for about $1,250,000” to the Sommer Brothers Construction Company.  “It was learned that N.B.C. had given orders yesterday to board all doors, remove telephones, turn off steam connections and drain the air conditioning system,” said the newspaper.  The sub-headline read “Buyer is Said to Plan Offices and Garage—N.B.C. Silent.”

The Times’ “reliable Broadway sources” were half correct.  Negotiations were underway; but the resulting public outcry and demonstrations by Actor’s Equity changed the minds of NBC executives.  But the Hudson Theatre would never return to its glory days.  For a while it was operated as a burlesque theater, briefly as a legitimate theater, then in 1968 a motion picture house.

The lavish interiors are creatively used today for special events -- photo http://www.iglta.org//listing/@lid=18639

After sitting vacant for five years the Hudson Theatre was bought by Ron Delsner, a rock music promoter. He established the Savoy Rock Club here; but that, too, was a failure.  Harry Macklowe, who planned his 52-story Macklowe Hotel and Conference Center, purchased the old theater from Delsner.  The complex opened in 1989 with the Hudson Theatre as an architecturally fascinating special events space.

The Benj. Guggenheim Mansion -- No. 15 East 72nd Street

As the end of the 19^th century neared, the brownstone rowhouses on East 72^nd Street off Fifth Avenue fell to be replaced by some of Manhattan’s most lavish mansions.   In 1894 Henry T. Sloane began construction of his magnificent limestone palace encompassing three building lots at Nos. 9 through 11; followed four years later by the flanking mansions of Oliver Gould Jennings at No. 7 and Benjamin Guggenheim at No. 15.

Guggenheim was one of eleven children born to Meyer and Barbara Guggenheim.  Meyer arrived in New York from Switzerland in 1847 and built an immense fortune in the mining business.   In 1885, when Benjamin was 20 years old, Meyer sent him to Colorado to take charge of mining operations there.  According to The Evening World later, “He quickly recognized the possibilities of the smelting business and induced the family to enter that line.”   By the turn of the century the Guggenheims controlled much of the American smelting and refining industry.

On October 24, 1894 the wealthy young man married Florette Seligman in Delmonico’s, deemed by The New York Times as “one of the handsomest weddings of the season.”  Florette was the youngest daughter of James Seligman, head of the banking firm J. & W. Seligman & Co.  The newspaper called her “a strikingly-handsome brunette” and added “The bridegroom is a Director in many prominent companies, and is known as the ‘Silver Prince,’ owing to his interest in several silver mines and silver smelting works.”

In reporting on the wedding and the dinner (at which 1,000 guests sat at “many small tables”), The Times remarked “The many gifts received by the bride included several checks, each representing a good-sized fortune.  Rarely have such handsome jewels, of all kinds, and in every conceivable setting, been received as gifts by one person.”

The brownstone house that Guggenheimer demolished four years later was 20-feet wide--the normal width of a Manhattan townhouse.  The architect of the new mansion would have quite the challenge in competing with the magnificent Sloane residence next door, three times the width. 

The Guggenheim house, to the right, did not attempt to compete with the lavish Jennings and Sloane mansions.

Architectural historians generally agree that it was most likely John H. Duncan who designed the Guggenheim house; although records have been lost.   Whoever it was, he opted not to compete with the Sloane mansion; but instead to set the Guggenheim house apart by its contrasting simplicity.  Dignified and elegant, it matched its neighbor in height; but relied almost solely on two floors of quiet rustication and a stone-balustraded second floor balcony for ornamentation.  While the Sloane mansion shouted display; the Guggenheim house murmured refinement.

When Benjamin and Florette moved in, their daughter Benita was three years old.  Peggy (later internationally renowned for her art collection) was born that same year; and in 1903 Barbara Hazel Guggenheim was born in the mansion.  With baby Barbara on the way, John Duncan was commissioned to construct a three-story addition to the rear of the house in 1902 at a cost of $2,000.

While most of Manhattan’s wealthiest citizens escaped the summer heat in resorts like Newport, Bar Harbor and Tuxedo; its affluent Jewish population often gathered in New Jersey.  The Guggenheims spent their summers in Long Branch, along with other Guggenheims and families like the Rothschilds.

One would expect that the curb outside would have been routinely lined with the carriages of millionaires coming and going to glittering entertainments.  But things were more subdued.  Since 1901 the Sloane mansion had been occupied by bachelor banker James Stillman (the Sloanes had a messy divorce in 1899) and the Guggenheims preferred family affairs to grand social events.

Benjamin Guggenheim in a rare posed photograph -- photograph wikipedia.org

When Florette’s father turned 80 on April 14, 1904, however, the birthday celebration was a large affair.  Even this, however, was mostly a family event.  The New York Times said that “about 100 descendants, relatives, and friends of James Seligman” attended the celebration.   And after the toasts and speeches the family opted not to have the expected opera singers or dancers as a diversion.  “Mr. Seligman returned his thanks and an entertainment proceeded, in which his children and grandchildren took part,” reported The Times.

While Florette stayed home with the young girls, Benjamin routinely traveled to Europe investigating business opportunities.  On June 2, 1908 The Evening World reported that he had just returned on the Cunard liner Mauretania.  “There is much money now going begging which is awaiting a good chance for investment, and American securities are most apt to get it,” he told reporters.

The original opening at the second floor was decidedly more French than today.  photograph by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/Collection/East-72nd-Street-next-to-5th-Avenue.-Jennings-and-Sloane-Residence.-2F3XC5QGAI.html

In the spring of 1912 Guggenheim had completed another business trip to Europe and on April 10 he boarded the luxury steamship RMS Titanic to come home to his wife and daughters.    Five days later word reached New York that the unsinkable liner was lost.   Panicked family members crowded the White Star offices at Bowling Green seeking news of passengers.

On April 16 the New-York Tribune reported “Early this morning Samuel and Robert Guggenheim, Lewis Rothschild and Benjamin Daniels appeared at the offices, asking for news from Benjamin Guggenheim.  In the party there were also three women, who declined to give their names.  They learned nothing beyond the information given all the others during the evening—that the Carpathia way on her way here, and that neither the Virginian nor the Parisian had been heard from.”

The following day a frantic Florette Guggenheim personally made her way downtown.  “Mrs. Benjamin Guggenheim was scarcely able to stand when she entered the White Star offices this morning supported by De Witt Seligman and a maid.  She was hysterical and incoherent and again burst out into an arraignment of the line for not providing sufficient lifeboats and not sending one of its fleet to the succor of the Titanic’s passengers.”

Florette was taken to the office of Vice-President Franklin of the International Mercantile Marine, who was unable to give her any information other than hope that Guggenheim was on the Carpathia.  The Evening World said “she was barely able to totter from the place on the arm of Mr. Seligman.”

At 9:25 p.m. on April 18 the Carpathia pulled into New York harbor.  Benjamin Guggenheim was not among the survivors who filed down its gangway.  The New-York Tribune reported “A steward of the Titanic, who steered one of the boats, told of seeing Mr. Guggenheim stepping into a boat with two other men at a moment when there were no women waiting to embark.  He had not seated himself when three women came up to the boat deck.  Mr. Guggenheim arose, touched the two men on the shoulder, and motioning toward the women, calmly stepped back to the deck.  The men followed him, the women took the places, and the mining magnate took up his position beside the rail without a word.”

Apparently the grief-stricken Florette Guggenheim could not imagine living on in the mansion her husband had built for her.  Within the month she had taken the girls to live in the St. Regis Hotel.  Benjamin’s sister, Cora, who had married Louis Frank Rothschild, moved into the East 72^nd Street mansion.

Following her period of mourning, Florette turned to the social obligations of introducing 18-year old Benita to society.  On Christmas Eve 1913 she gave a debutante dance for her daughter at the St. Regis.

In the meantime, Cora Guggenheim Rothschild carried on the charitable work expected of wealthy women.  In January 1915 Andre Tridon of the French Red Cross addressed a group of socialites here regarding the organization’s war work.

Florette Guggenheim was still living at the St. Regis in August 1915 when word arrived at her attorney’s office, Seligman & Seligman.   From apparently nowhere appeared Amy Lurati of San Remo, Italy, who filed a claim against Benjamin Guggenheim’s estate for an annuity of $7,500—a substantial $180,000 a year today.

Madame Lurati, whose maiden name was the less impressive Amy Goldsmith, gave no basis for her claim other than “Mr. Guggenheim promised her the yearly allowance in a written agreement made on May 4, 1907,” reported the New-York Tribune on August 10.  Florette’s attorneys told the courts they “knew nothing about the woman in Italy or her claim.”  Among the bequeaths of more than $450,000 to charities and persons other than Florette and his daughters, Guggenheim’s will did not mention Lurati.

When the will was settled five months later, The New York Times noted “there is no mention in the report of Mme. Amy Lurati of San Remo, Italy.’

While her lawyers dealt with estate issues, Florette Guggenheim dealt with raising over privileged girls as a single mother.  In June 1915 she took them to the Gedney Farm Hotel in White Plains, New York.  Hazel was now 12 years old—the age when little girls sometimes start flexing their independence.

On the morning of June 23 Hazel had a disagreement with her mother.  “Very well,” she said, and strode out of the hotel.  Lunch time came and went and Hazel did not appear.  The New-York Tribune reported the following day “while Hazel, by her father’s will, enjoys so large an income she can say ‘very well’ to practically everybody, her mother knew she didn’t have enough with her to purchase luncheon.”

Wealthy 12-year old girls who stormed off in a huff alone were a concern for authorities.  The Sheriff was notified and a posse of 15 men began a search.  By 2:00 more than 100 persons were combing the area.

“About 5 o’clock Deputy Sheriff Moore was apprised by a chauffeur that he had seen a young girl in the woods.”  The lawman searched the area and found the headstrong Hazel.

“I don’t like it there and I just won’t go back,” she told the sheriff, stamping her foot on the ground.

Moore used “soothing phrases” for the next five minutes before finally convincing the “pouting little rich girl” to return.  It is doubtful that the New-York Tribune convinced many of its readers when it wrote “The reconciliation between Mrs. Guggenheim and Hazel was so effusive as almost to make worth while the girl’s display of willfulness.”

On June 7, 1919 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that Florette had sold No. 15 East 72st Street.  “The house was held at about $170,000,” it said.  The purchaser was Florette’s sister-in-law and current leaser, Cora Rothschild and her family.

The Rothschilds would stay on for years seeing their daughter Muriel married to William Donald Scott on July 28, 1928.  The couple’s only other child, Louis, had died in 1902 at the age of 2.  They would live in the mansion through the 1940s, but had moved to No. 680 Madison Avenue by the time of Cora’s death at the age of 83 on December 13, 1956.  She was the last of Meyer Guggenheimer’s children.

The 72^nd Street house was now home to attorney and prosecutor John Thomas Cahill.  The son of an Irish immigrant New York City police office, Cahill rose to the position of U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York in 1939.  He sold the mansion in 1957 to Ruth Goodney.

Throughout the rest of the century the limestone mansion built by American’s tragic and heroic “Silver Prince” remained a single-family home.  Today it is owned by the Kingdom of Morraco and forms, with the Jennings and Sloane mansions, a remarkable glimpse of Manhattan’s opulent 1890s off Central Park.

photographs by the author