Lamb & Rich's Nos. 26-30 West 71st Street

In 1887 architect Hugh Lamb joined with speculator J. H. Andrew to erect three high-end homes on West 71^st Street between Central Park West and Columbus Avenue.  Of course Lamb, with his partner Charles Rich, would design the row.

Lamb & Rich produced three delightful Queen Anne style homes which they splashed with touches of Renaissance Revival.  The A-B-A plan, along with the balanced openings and decorative elements flew in the face of the asymmetry expected in the Queen Anne style.  The balance was, however, thrown off with the paired stoops of Nos. 26 and 28 that left the entrance to No. 30 sitting alone.

The architects provided subtle differences between the two end homes.  The second floor cornices were slightly different—one bracketed, the other not.  The projecting bay of No. 26 was clad in metal; that of No. 30 was faced in brownstone.  Fishscale tiles covered the gable at No. 26, while No. 30’s was clad in brick.

In the middle, No. 28 featured blocky brownstone quoins and lintels around the second floor openings.  At the fourth floor an enchanting brick balcony serviced a columned loggia.  The trio fully represented the edgy domestic architecture appearing on the west side of Central Park.

The chunky brownstone of the stoop, now delightfully growing moss, was contrasted by delicate carving.

As the houses were being erected, Lamb & Rich were designing the residence of the widow Elizabeth Milbank, next door at No. 24.   Two party wall agreements dated May 5 suggest that Hugh Lamb would own No. 26 while J. H. Andrew would take possession of No, 26.  The agreements were between Hugh Lamb and Elizabeth Milbank for Nos. 24 and 26; and between Lamb and Harriet N. Andrew for Nos. 26 and 28.  Hugh Lamb was arguably nearly as active in real estate dealings as he was in architecture.

The row was completed in 1888 and all three homes would see a variety of residents and sometimes a rapid turnover of owners.

No. 26 became home to Arthur Wellesley Watson and his wife, Anna Josephine.  The wealthy Watson was a partner in the importing firm of Passavant & Co. located at No, 320 Church Street.  The couple had three daughters and attended the nearby St. Agnes’s Chapel on West 91st Street.

In 1894 Governor Roswell P. Flower found himself in the center of a political scandal when he refused to appoint a special Deputy Attorney General to investigate corruption in the office of District Attorney of New York County, John R. Fellows.  The specific purpose of the appointment would be, according to The New York Times, “to prosecute alleged crimes in this city.”  His hard-line stance put the Governor in the midst of a political maelstrom that threatened to unseat him.

A grand jury was chosen to investigate “the failure of Governor Flower to appoint a Deputy Attorney General to prosecute election law violators and corrupt officials.”  Sitting on that grand jury was Arthur W. Watson.

Watson added to his prestige when he was elected to the board of directors of the Colonial Bank at 83^rd Street and Columbus Avenue in 1898.   But the Watson social hob-nobbing was best illustrated by a special cable to The New York Times on July 5, 1902 from London.  It reported on the American Ambassador’s Independence Day reception at Carlton House Terrace the day before.  Among the exulted guests that afternoon were the Duchess of Marlborough, Mr. and Mrs. Bradley Martin, Sir Gilbert and Lady Parker, Count Ward, the Marquise Vistabella, and Arthur and Anna Watson.

In the meantime, No. 28 next door had been lost in foreclosure in 1895.  Henry W. Kennedy purchased it for $27,000.  No. 30 saw a rapid turnover of residents beginning at the turn of the century.  Mrs. S. H. Hanford was hosting teas and receptions in 1900; but within a year it was home to Dr. Isaac Hull Platt. 

A specialist in pulmonary disease, Platt was the grandnephew of Commodore Isaac Hull who had commanded the frigate U.S.S. Constitution.  An expert on Walt Whitman, he published a biography of the poet.  His interest in the arts was reflected in his club memberships—the Players, the National Arts Club of New York and the Arts Club of Philadelphia.  His stay in No. 30 would be short-lived.  In 1902 he moved to his estate in Wallingford, Pennsylvania, “Runnemede.”

On September 11, 1912 Anna Josephine Watson died in No. 26 West 71^st Street at the age of 57.  Her funeral was held on Friday the 13^th at St. Agnes’s Chapel where she had been a member for 20 years.  A private train car carried mourners from Grand Central Depot to the burial at Kensico Cemetery.

Arthur Watson remained in the house for nine years, selling it to Grace Jaques in September 1921.  He moved to the opposite side of Central Park where he died in his home at No. 108 East 73^rd Street on July 9, 1929.

 

A chunky brownstone block, carved with a heraldic shield, joins the second floor openings of No. 28.

The same year that Grace Jaques purchased No. 26; the house next door was sold.  Her new neighbor at No. 28 West 71^st Street found himself in serious trouble in 1928.  James Coffield was driving along West 29^th Street on the night of January 27.  Six-year old James Parsons lived at No. 529 West 29th Street and was playing in front of his house.    The little boy obviously did not see Parsons’ automobile, nor did Parsons see the child.  Coffield hit James Parsons, who died shortly after being taken to Bellevue Hospital.  Parsons was held “on a technical charge of homicide.”

Coffield’s mother, Ellen, lived in the house as well.  She died suddenly here on April 20, 1932 and her funeral was held in the house the following Tuesday.

By now the 71^st Street block was seeing change.  The Depression was not kind to the large private residences which required domestic staffs and expensive upkeep.  No. 30 had been home for several years to James Frederick Andrews.  The wealthy widow had taken up the obligations normally reserved for a socialite—such as the reception he gave on January 23, 1914 to introduce his daughter, Doris, to society.   The retired stockbroker did admirably, assisted by his daughter’s aunt, Mrs. Cornelius Poillon.

“After the reception a dinner and theatre party was given for the receiving party, to which a number of men were asked” reported The New York Times.

Less than three months later Andrews would be dead.  Following an appendicitis operation at the Polyclinic Hospital, the 68-year old died on February 11, 1915.  Five months later the house was leased by the estate.

The end of the line had come for the three Queen Anne homes.  The Andrews house became “apartments and furnished rooms” by the time of Ellen Coffield’s death.   Four weeks before that tragedy would befall No. 30, also now a rooming house.

The 81-year old Dr. Stephen Smith Burt, a Professor Emeritus of Medicine and Physical Diagnosis at the Post-Graduate Medical School and Hospital, had been living in a furnished room in No. 30 for some time.  In 1930 he had become paralyzed on one side and was unable to move without help.

Dr. Burt had never married.  His 1899 Recollections and Reflections of a Quarter of a Century detailed his years of teaching at Cornell and the College of Physicians and Surgeons.  His family’s deep roots in America were reflected in his memberships in the Society of Colonial Wars, Sons of the Revolution, and the Huguenot Society.

The New York Times noted on March 28, 1932 “It was customary for those who looked after him to carry him from the bed in his furnished room at 30 West Seventy-first Street to a favorite armchair by the window, where he was in the habit of sitting and smoking.”

On Saturday afternoon, March 26, the invalid doctor was doing just that.  But as he attempted to light a cigar, the match fell from his shaky grasp and ignited his robe and pajamas.   Unable to extinguish the flames, the terrified old man must have watched them spread.

At some point neighbors noticed smoke swirling from the open window and notified the housekeeper.  She rushed to the room and found him unconscious and badly burned.  An ambulance took him to Roosevelt Hospital where he died soon afterward.  Doctors attributed his death to shock.

That same year No. 26 was home to blue collars residents like Louis Jackson who earned his living as a “feeder” in the printing plant of Branwell Company, Inc. at No. 406 West 31^st Street.  Norman Fenster, a casting director, lived here by 1944 when he was in charge of casting and direction of Paul Vincent Carroll’s Shadow and Substance produced by the Actors Equity Association.

Also renting an apartment in No. 26 was Russian-born American citizen Brocha Ivova.  In 1945 the United States initiated the military occupation of a defeated Japan.  Brocha was a civilian employee of the War Department and she was moved to Tokyo for her job.  She retained her apartment on West 71^st Street while she was abroad.

On the evening of June 8, 1947 friends reported Brocha missing.  Early the next morning her body was found beside a road about six miles outside of Tokyo.  Early reports said there were two bullet holes in the young woman’s head.  The Associated Press reported “American Criminal Investigation Division agents began an immediate search for ‘the possible murderer or murderers.”

Newspaper readers were shocked when, a week later, the AP reported “Army Criminal Investigation Division officials said today that Miss Brocha Ivova had been slugged to death with a blunt instrument and that her murderer or murderers might have been soldiers.”

The report added “that a jeep containing occupants who appeared to be soldiers had been seen hastily leaving the spot where the body was found.  The motive for the crime continued to baffle Army agents and Japanese police.  The woman’s jewels and purse were untouched.”

Change in Manhattan is inevitable; and so it was for the three humiliated houses on West 71^st Street.  No. 26 was returned to a single-family home in 1977 and received a subsequent restoration-renovation in 2011.  After having been converted to two apartments per floor in 1949, No. 28 was likewise restored to a single-family dwelling in 1995.  Only No. 30, which has sadly lost its stoop, continues its multi-family use with three and four apartments per floor.

The houses survive along with a long row of 19th century rowhouses.

The charming brick-and-brownstone homes survive as reminders of the development of the Upper West Side when well-to-do families moved into upscale homes that defied architectural convention.

 photographs by the author

The Lost Astor Estate "Hellgate" 87th and East End Ave

Four years before the mansion was demolished George Hayward depicted it for Valentine's Manual.   From the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/Collection/J.%20Jacob%20Astor's%20Former%20Residence%2086th%20Street%20near%20East%20River-2F3XC5U9F9F9.html

In the mid-18^th century, when the northern edge of New York City was still around Pearl Street and Duane Street, wealthy New Yorkers and British officers established sprawling country estates to the north.  Following William Waldron’s death, his farmland on what would become Manhattan’s Upper East Side was divided and sold. 

The section of the East River here was called Hellegat by the Dutch—loosely translated to mean “bright strait” or “clear opening.”  Over the years English-speaking settlers would corrupt the name to Hell Gate. The rolling landscape near the river offered cooling breezes and refuge from the city’s crowded and dusty conditions during the summer months.

In 1784 the 21-year old John Jacob Astor arrived in New York.  Born in Walldorf, Germany, his command of English was only fair, but his ambition was unparalleled.  He began business by selling musical instruments he brought with him from London.

Astor rented a room from Sarah Cox Todd, a widow, at No. 18 Queen Street.  He struck a romance with his landlady’s daughter, also named Sarah.  On September 19, 1785 the young couple was married.   Sarah was a year older than John and brought to the marriage a $300 dowry.

from the collection of the New York Public Library.

Over the next decades both the family and their fortunes grew.  By 1800 Astor had amassed a fortune of nearly a quarter of a million dollars.  Before long his and Sarah’s combined business acumen would make him the first multi-millionaire in the country.

In 1801 Eliza, the Astors’ seventh child, was born.  She was a frail child and it was possibly this fact that prompted Sarah to urge husband to purchase a summer estate.  Here, she felt, the children could spend time in the fresh, healthful air away from the heat and diseases of the city.  Astor purchased 13 acres, part of the old Waldron farm, and constructed the Georgian-style mansion, Hellgate.

Like the elegant homes on the surrounding estates, Hellgate reflected the family’s wealth and status.  Four two-story columns with elaborate Corinthian capitals gave the residence a grand air.   The view from the porch, past the grounds that ran down to the East River, included Blackwell’s Island.  Astor would spend much time watching the ships navigating the waters below his property.

An unknown artist created this charming watercolor around 1850 -- from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/Collection/House%20of%20John%20Jacob%20Astor.-2F3HRGFH2IH.html

Hellgate was located in what today would be approximately 86^th Street to 87^th Street and East End Avenue.  The wealthy neighbors included Commodore Isaac Chauncey, and Archibald Gracie.   Not far away were the estates of the Livingstons, Rikers, and Joneses—all part of the upper crust of New York society.

In his Literary New York, historian Charles Hemstreet described Hellgate as “a square two-story frame dwelling of colonial type, painted white, with deep veranda, wide halls, and spacious rooms; set high upon a hill, backed by a forest of towering trees, and fronted by a vast lawn stretching by gentle slope to the cliff at the riverside.”

Astor’s daughter, Magdalen married the Rev. John Bristed in 1819 and their son, Charles Astor Bristed was born the following year.  When Magdalen died in 1832 the 12-year old Charles was taken to be raised by John Jacob and Sarah Astor; spending most of his youth at Hellgate. 

The lawn swept down towards the river edge -- sketch by Eliza Greatorex from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/Collection/East%2088th%20Street%20[64th%20Street%20to%20178th%20Street]-24UAKVNKCJBR.html

Sarah died two years later and John Jacob Astor spent more time in his beloved Hellgate.  Here young Charles would be exposed here to the literary figures who often visited—writers and poets like Washington Irving and Fitz-Greene Halleck.  Washington Irving was a long-term guest in 1836 while he wrote his Astoria, the book commissioned by Astor to document his expedition to Oregon in 1810-1812.

Contact with such figures no doubt contributed to Bristed’s eventually becoming a famous Greek scholar and author.

Following his death Johnson, Fry and Company's 1862 Portrait Gallery of Eminent Americans kindly depicted the aged Astor as dignified and robust.  (copyright expired)

By the 1840s Astor was showing his age.  Although his mind was still sharp, he was in serious physical decline.  Philip Hone, famous for keeping precise, detailed journals which were not always complimentary, was a dinner guest of Robert M. Blatchford n October 8, 1844.  Blatchford’s summer home was near Hellgate and John Jacob Astor was also there that night.  The following day Hone wrote in his diary:

I went yesterday to dine at Mr. Blatchford’s at Hell Gate.  The party at dinner consisted of old Mr. J. J. Astor and his train-bearer...Mr. Astor…presented a painful example of the insufficiency of wealth to prolong the life of man. This old gentleman, with his fifteen millions of dollars, would give it all to have my strength and physical ability; and yet, with all this example…I, with a good conscience and in possession of my bodily faculties, sometimes repine at my lot…He sat at the dinner table with his head down upon his breast, saying very little, and in a voice almost unintelligible, the saliva dropping from his mouth, and a servant behind him to guide the victuals which he was eating, and to watch him as an infant is watched.  His mind is good, his observation acute, and he seems to know everything that is going on.  But the machinery is all broken up, and there are some people, no doubt, who think he has lived long enough.”

Four years later, on March 29, 1848, John Jacob Astor died.  Once again Philip Hone commented on the event in his diary.  “John Jacob Astor died this morning, at nine o’clock, in the eighty-fifth year of his age; sensible to the last, but the material of life exhausted, the machinery worn out, the lamp extinguished for want of oil.  Bowed down with bodily infirmity for a long time, he has gone at last, and left reluctantly his unbounded wealth.”

Astor’s beloved grandson, Charles Astor Bristed inherited much of the Astor property, including “my country seat at Hellgate and my lands there, containing about thirteen acres.” 

At the time the relentless northward expansion of the city was still miles away.  But by the end of the Civil War the Upper East Side was seeing rapid development.  By 1869 Charles Bristed was selling off parcels of the Hellgate estate.  That year the Astor mansion was pulled down. 

The sweeping lawns on which the Astor children played are now part of Carl Schurz Park.   

The John H. Heller House -- No. 247 Grand Street

The store level, where expensive gold watches were sold for around a century, is now a Chinese food market.

Life for James de Lancey Jr. was good in the 18^th century—at least for half of it.   In addition to his elegant home in town, he owned land in Westchester County and a country estate north of the city.  His problems started when the seeds of revolution germinated in the 1760s.

Unwilling to choose a side, de Lancey straddled the political fence.  In 1768 he secured a seat in the New York Assembly by winning the support of the Sons of Liberty who rallied against British control.  In the meantime, he rubbed shoulders with the Crown, meeting secretly and assuring his loyalty.

It all ended badly for de Lancey in February 1775 when he was exposed as a loyalist.  By May he had been expelled from New York, never to return.

But before his world crumbled, he had lived the life of Manhattan aristocracy.  In the mid-18^th century, he laid out an exceptionally wide drive through his estate—beginning at a formal square and running to the East River.  It was a stately lane that reflected his wealth and importance.

On March 6, 1777 the Provincial Congress appointed Commissioners to “take into their custody & possession all the personal property” of loyalists.  In 1785 all the de Lancey property was auctioned off—grossing about $50,000.  Beginning in 1810 deeds for building lots were sold along de Lancey’s broad lane—now called Grand Street because of its unusual width.  By the 1820s brick-faced Federal style homes appeared on the block of Grand Street between First Street (later renamed Chrystie) and the Bowery.

Among these was the free-standing house at No. 247.   Like most of its neighbors, it was two-and-a-half stories tall and clad in Flemish bond red brick.  One or two dormers would have penetrated its peaked roof.  The space between it and No. 245 next door was most likely a “horse-walk”—the passageways that led to the yards behind where small outbuildings or stables were located.

The width of Grand Street would contribute to its becoming a major shopping thoroughfare later in the century.  It appears that if No. 247 did not always have a shop on the first floor, one was in place by 1848.  J. D. Cromwell listed his address here when in November that year he was awarded a silver medal at the Fair of the American Institute for “best Boys and Children’s Clothing.”

The house, along with No. 245, became property of John Henry Heller.  The Heller family lived upstairs in No. 247.  John H. Heller and Anthony Imberry ran their watch and jewelry store at No. 231 Grand Street.  They had gone into business in 1837; but problems developed between the two which apparently resulted J. D. Cromwell now looking for a new store location.

On October 12, 1850 the New-York Tribune ran a notice that as of October 1, “the copartnership heretofore existing between Anthony Imberry & John H. Heller, watch makers and jewelers, is this day dissolved by mutual consent.”  The announcement told patrons that Heller would continue the business, now located at No. 247.

Meanwhile the Heller family continued to live in the rest of the house.  In 1857 John Henry Albert Heller, Jr. had enrolled in the introductory class of the New-York Free Academy.  He would be followed there by his brother, Charles Augustus Heller in 1869.  Charles enrolled in the “commercial class.”  William Heller appears to have been learning his father’s trade at the time.  In the meantime, Bayard H. J. Heller was drafted into the Union Army on March 30, 1865.

John Henry Heller’s jewelry store saw phenomenal success.  His income of $5,272 in 1865 doubled in 1866 to $10,468 according to the District Assessor.  That would amount to about $160,000 today.

Heller offered more to his customers by leasing part of the ground floor to Isaac D. Noe’s silver plating operation.  Noe lived in Brooklyn and was working in the Grand Street space by 1873.  He stayed here for at least two years offering “silver-plating fixtures, &c.”

William S. Heller joined the business by 1874, listing himself as “jeweler.”  But in 1876 when the firm name was John H. Heller & Son, the “son” was John H. Heller, Jr.  Within three years, the business was renamed John H. Heller, Jr. following the death of the John Henry Heller, Sr.

Only John, Jr.'s name appeared in ads by 1879 -- Puck magazine, December 17, 1879 (copyright expired)

The electro-plating business sharing space with the jewelry store was run by H. B. Lubbert now.  In 1884 he advertised both gold and silver plating. 

In 1881 Charles Heller was still living with the extended family upstairs. But after John Henry Heller moved his family to Brooklyn, at No. 493 Flatbush Avenue, in 1889, it appears that all the Hellers were gone for good from Grand Street.

John retained possession of No. 247 and it was about this time that the attic was raised to a full floor and the updated brownstone and pressed metal trim and cornice were installed.  The architect deftly disguised the addition with a bandcourse; however close inspection of the brickwork reveals the alteration.

A course of brownstone cleverly hides the alteration.  But close inspection of the brickwork tells the tale.

Heller retired from the jewelry business and the store became home to J. Hess’s jewelry store.  Hess lived across the street at No. 276 Grand.  In 1892 he spent $500 on interior alterations designed by architects Horenburger and Straub.

In 1893 Hess advertised an "immense stock" -- The Evening World, December 8, 1893 (copyright expired)

Upstairs Alexander Straschum was living, at least from 1893 to 1895.  Exactly how he made his living is unclear; but in the summer of 1895 the Board of Aldermen resolved that he was “permitted to keep stand at No. 247 Grand street.”

In 1893 John Henry Heller, Jr. sold the building next door at No. 245 for a staggering $100,000, according to New York State court documents—nearly $2.7 million today.  The buyer, William Cohen, had occupied the property for two decades.  Heller continued to hold on to No. 247, however, and still owned it when he died in 1902.

By now, although H. B. Lubbert was still running his silver plating concern here, the Hess jewelry shop was gone.  It was replaced by H. Levy’s tailor shop.  On July 8, 1901 The Tammany Times reported that Levy “calls attention to the fact that he has completed arrangements with a large cloth concern for an unfadable Indigo blue.  Mr. Levy has for years made 50 per cent of the police uniforms in this city and therefore this statement should bear some weight.”

While Levy stitched together police uniforms, Lubbert had 19 employees in his silver plating shop—2 men, 16 women and one girl under 16 years of age.

The Grand Street neighborhood was drastically different from the time when John Henry Heller purchased No. 247 before the Civil War.  In 1912 when the estate of Mary A. Astor Woodcock had B. W. Berger & Son renovate the “3-story store and dwelling” with new walls and windows, the area had filled with Italian immigrants.  In 1939, as the city finally emerged from the Great Depression, The New York Times described the building as a “three-story tenement.”  It was sold that year for a mere $35,000.

The ground floor where gold and silver-cased watches had been sold for decades was now a restaurant run by the Marin family.  But Grand Street was on the verge of yet another change.

Chinatown was rapidly encroaching on the Italian district.  By the late 20^th century the signs at street level were in Chinese, including those at No. 247.  Today a Chinese market operates here while upstairs, as has been the case since the Hess family left, small apartments are rented.  Overall, little has changed to the outward appearance of the unusual free-standing house since the late 19^th century renovation.

photographs by the author

The Alfred Kayne Mansion -- No 358 West End Avenue

In 1891 Architect Clarence True had only been on his own for six years, after leaving the employ of Richard M. Upjohn.  He may have been regretting the decision, since commissions were relatively scarce.   A year earlier he had finally received a significant contract to design a string of rowhouses for developer Charles G. Judson.

It was the beginning of a flood of commissions which would establish True as one of the most prolific architects in the wildly-developing area and prompt some to later call him the face of the Upper West Side.

Within months True received another commission from developer Francis M. Jenks.   His row of upscale residences would wrap the southeast corner of West End Avenue and 77^th Street, stretching from No. 350 to 356 West End, and from No. 270 to 274 West 77^th Street. Clarence True drew heavily from historical styles; but he preferred to adulterate them with his own liberal interpretation.  With no compunction about melding two or three styles into an attractive and sometimes playful concoction, he produced mansions and townhouses that managed to be at once elegant and fanciful.

And so it was for the Jenks houses, anchored at the corner by the row’s showpiece.  Although the entrance to the four-and-a-half story house was squarely on 77^th Street, it took the avenue address of No. 358 West End.  Clad in rough-cut limestone, it was quintessentially True.  Elizabethan elements co-existed with Romanesque Revival in a romantic manse with tall gables, balconies, and elaborate carvings.

The handsomely carved arched double doors were flanked by Elizabethan style columns, carved in a diamond pattern.  The panel directly above featured the head of a frightening beast contrasted by delicate, swirling foliage.  A stone oriel at the fourth story provided a balcony to the floor above, its stone railing decorated with carved Celtic-like strapwork.

Construction on the row commenced in 1881 and was completed the following year.   As the finishing touches were put on the corner mansion, wealthy broker Alfred Kayne married the contralto opera singer Attalie Claire Smith (known on stage as Attalie Claire) in the Windsor Hotel on Fifth Avenue.  In reporting on the wedding on September 15, 1892, The New York Times noted that Attalie’s veil “fell in deep folds over the skirt from under a coronet of diamonds in the form of a fleur de lis valued at $20,000.”

Carved oak entrance doors were flanked by Elizabethan-style columns and lancet windows.  Exquisitely carved spandrels and overhead panel completed the design.

Alfred’s courtship of the singer caused somewhat of an uproar in the entertainment world a year earlier.  Attalie had shared the stage with the formidable and celebrated Lillian Russell and, as reported in The Times, “It was in Boston about a year ago that [Attalie] excited the jealousy and enmity of Lillian Russell by receiving more flowers from Mr. Kayne and other young men than the star of “La Cigale,” and left the company.”

Attalie appeared on the cover of Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic News in January 1890 (copyright expired)

The newlyweds spent their honeymoon in Newport.  Upon their return Alfred Kayne purchased No. 358 West End Avenue in February, 1893.  As was customary, the title was put in Attalie’s name.   While Alfred carried on business downtown, Attalie continued her stage career, having signed a three-year contract with Colonel Henry Mapleson that began in April 1893.

Sharing the spacious home with the Kaynes was Attalie’s close friend, operatic soprano Lucile Hill, described by The New York Times as “the prima donna of the Metropolitan Opera House Company.”   She had recently returned from an engagement at Covent Garden.

The Peterson Magazine, in 1895, described Lucile as “one of the singers immensely popular within the theater and without, as she has a sunshiny, open-hearted and un-affected temperament that cheers and refreshes.”  And then after that glowing compliment, it went on with a description that would offend most female entertainers today.  “She is a plump little person with a winsome, intelligent face, very youthful and with pretty, regular features.”

The Peterson Magazine added that she “may be seen daily cantering round the corner at Seventy-seventh Street and West End Avenue, on her way for a ride in the park, as she is an excellent horsewoman.”

A stone balcony supported by hefty brackets faced the avenue.

Alfred Kayne was an avid bicyclist and was a member of the Cyclists’ Touring Club.  But he, like Lucile, was equally interested in horses.   He found himself in hot water with U.S. Customs officials in 1893 over three fine new steeds.

The Times reported on May 19, 1893 “Alfred Kayne, who is rated down town as a man of fashion, is in trouble with the customs authorities over three horses that he brought across the Canada line near Rouse’s Point a few days ago.”  Kayne declared the value of the animals at $145 each, which enabled him to bring them into the country for $30 tariff each, since their value was under $150.

But Special Agent Montgomery was not so sure about Kayne’s low assessment.  He sent two appraisers to examine the horses.  Their separate reports valued them at $1600 and $1010.  Alfred Kayne’s new horses were seized, much to Kayne’s irritation.

As might be expected, the glittering entertainments in the Kayne mansion often centered around music.  On January 17, 1895 The Times reported on one such event, saying the Attalie “gave one of the most enjoyable musicales of last week at her home…The hall and the reception room were profusely decorated with palms, smilax, and American Beauty roses.”  Lucille Hill, of course, sang (“charmingly,” according to the Times’ reporter) as did several other opera singers.

The Kaynes had one daughter.  But their seemingly happy marriage came to a highly-publicized and unhappy end by the turn of the century.  The couple separated and the West End Avenue mansion was sold  to Thomas J. McLaughlin.

In January 1899 Attalie was living with their child in apartments at No. 74 Madison Avenue.  Her maid, was working undercover for Alfred.  Attalie told reporters “She had been carrying tales to Mr. Kayne ever since I took her, through sympathy, into my employ.”

It resulted in Alfred Kayne and his brother breaking into Attalie’s apartments at 2:30 on the morning of Saturday, January 14.  There he found Attalie with a man.  Alfred swept up his daughter and left.

Attalie protested that “When they broke in, Mr. Kaffenburgh of Howe & Hummel, who has my divorce suit in charge, and I were talking about the divorce case.  My husband had no right to act as violently as he did.”  She did not address the question of why her lawyer would be talking business in her apartment at 2:30 a.m.

In the meantime, Thomas J. McLaughlin sold the West End Avenue mansion on March 1, 1901 to Bendet Isaacs and his wife, the former Gussie Finn.  The 36-year old Isaacs had been born in Cincinnati and the couple was married in 1890.  A self-made man, Isaacs had received a public school education.

In 1897 he was still described in directories as a “clothing manufacturer.”  But by now he had amassed a comfortable fortune and was branching out into real estate.  Within the next few years he would become President of the Tuben Realty Co.; an officer in the Trion Toy Co., Inc.; President of the Clifton Construction Co.; and an officer in the Oklahoma-Kansas Refining Co.

Bendet and Gussie had three children, Sidney, Theodore and Hilda.   The couple were active in Jewish philanthropies; Bendet was a member of the Jewish Social Service Association, a director in the Montefiore Home, and a member of the Jewish Protectory and Aid Society.  Gussie was a regular contributor to the United Hebrew Charities, a member of the Hospital for Deformities and Joint Diseases, and the first president of B'nai Jeshurun Sisterhood.

In 1917 Distinguished Jews of America asked Bendet Isaacs “whether it is possible for the Jew to adhere to his religion, and at the same time, serve best his own interests and that of his country.”  He replied “Success in business is absolutely independent of one’s faith.  To be truthful in words and deeds and the people one comes in contact is the only condition essential to success.”

When war broke out the Isaacs’ 21-year old son, Theodore, became a sergeant in the Gas Defence Section.  Unlike his father, he had enjoyed a privileged education, attending Barnard Preparatory School and Cornell University.  Known for his school athleticism, he had excelled in basketball and track.  He died suddenly in St. Luke’s Hospital at the age of 26 on June 27, 1922.

Two years before the tragedy, in November 1920, the Isaacs sold No. 358 West End Avenue to Henry M. Weill.  The Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide noted on November 27, “After extensive alterations Mr. Weill will occupy the house.”

Real estate operator Henry M. Weill was a wheeler-dealer.  His “extensive alterations” included dividing the mansion into two residences and installing a commercial space.  Madame Garnham’s Art Gallery opened on the first floor in January 1922.

Madam Garnham's opening exhibited her own artwork.  New-York Tribune January 22, 1922 (copyright expired)

Weill, his wife and daughter who was studying at Barnard College, moved into one of the newly-renovated residences.   Four years later marital problems boiled over when Mrs. Weill and her daughter stormed into the apartment of former showgirl Peggy Stone early on the morning of June 17, 1926.

Hearing his wife and daughter in the apartment, Henry left the bedroom by the window.  The problem was that Peggy Stone’s apartment was on the second floor.  His embarrassment at being caught in bed with another woman was now compounded by a broken leg.

It was not only Weill’s leg that was broken during the “divorce raid,” as described by police. The New York Times reported “The furnishings in the apartment which included some costly bric-a-brac, were broken or damaged but neither Miss Stone nor Mrs. Weill would say if the damage was caused during the raid.”

Seeing her husband injured played on the wronged women’s sympathies.  “Mrs. Weill said that when her husband leaped to the courtyard she went to his assistance while Miss Stone remained in the apartment.  When she learned that he had been seriously injured she said she did not know whether she would sue for divorce.  She really felt sorry for him, she declared.”

The Weills patched things up in time for Henry M. Weill to deal with another problem.  London artist Alfred A. Wolmark left valuable paintings at the West End Avenue house with understanding that they were “for exhibition only.”

Instead, Weill kept the paintings until Wolmark sued him for $50,000 early in 1928.  Henry Weill protested that he was under the impression “he had an option to buy them for $2,500.”  On February 9, 1928 Wolmark got his paintings back and Weill was directed to pay for the legal costs.

Later that year, on October 29, Henry M. Weill claimed surprise at hearing of an upcoming foreclosure sale on the house.  Despite efforts to “stave off the completion of the foreclosure proceedings,” the Appellate Division allowed the sale of No. 358 West End Avenue in March 1929.  Joseph Weisenfelder, who had held the mortgage, took back his property.

By now the era of the lavish Upper West Side mansions had already come to an end.  Weisenfelder remodeled No. 358 West End Avenue into 16 furnished apartments in 1937.  When he sold the building on June 20, 1940 to Olga Vojtickzky, The Times noted “The new owner also acquired the furnishings”

When Vojtickzky leased the building to Louis Goldberg in January 1943 it was now described as “containing twenty-eight rooms and fourteen bathrooms.”  The well-used furniture was again purchased by Goldberg who said he “will operate the property as furnished apartments.”

In 1999 the former mansion underwent another renovation that resulted in three apartments per floor.   Outwardly Clarence True’s romantic structure, the parlors of which once reverberated with the voices of opera singers, survives little changed.

photographs by the author