The William M. Benjamin House - 127 East 69th Street

Among the most prolific of the developers who transformed the Upper East Side from open land to residential neighborhoods in the years following the Civil War was Christopher Keyes.  In 1872 he hired architect John Sexton to design a row of eleven 20-foot wide brownstone houses on the northern side of East 69th Street, stretching to the corner of Lexington Avenue.

Completed in 1873, No. 127 like its neighbors was four stories tall above a high English basement.  It became home to the family of Max Abenheim, principal of Max Abenheim & Co., "grain and provisions" firm at Nos. 2 and 4 Stone Street.

It appears that Abenheim had slightly altered his surname when he first arrived in New York.  In 1877 he took out a $20,000 mortgage on the house with Abenheimer Bros, of Baden, German.  The amount of the mortgage, equal to about $485,000 today, hints at the original purchase price. 

Among the Abenheim children was Sidney, whose teen-age hobby was coin collecting.  He placed an advertisement in Harper's Young People on November 2, 1880 that read "I would like to exchange rare stamps for foreign or United States coins with any readers of YOUNG PEOPLE."   He would not be the only occupant of No. 127 over the years to have a serious interest in coins.

Three years later Sidney enrolled in Columbia College and joined his father's business.  The ambitious young man would hold directorships in mining and railroad companies and even invented a shoe polishing machine in 1892.

By then Max Abenheim & Co. had branched out into tobacco exporting.  And following Abenheim's death Sidney and his brother, Max, Jr., who ran the firm as co-partners, focused only on tobacco.

In July 1894 Abenheim's heirs sold No. 127 to real estate operator Julia Friend, who leased it until 1903 when she sold the house to William Hartman Woodin, head of the American Car and Foundry Company.  A bizarre accident earlier in the year nearly prevented the transaction.

The Woodin country home was upstate.  On January 8, 1903 a local newspaper reported "William H. Woodin, a prominent resident of Oneonta, was struck by a train this noon on the Delaware and Hudson Railroad at Cooperstown Junction.  He is still alive and may recover."

Woodin, of course, did recover and moved his family into the 69th Street house.  He and his wife, the former Annie Jessup, had two daughters, Mary Louise and Anne Jessup.  Like Sidney Abenheim, Woodin was interested in rare coins--but his fortune took the hobby to a nearly unparalleled level.

In 1909 Woodin's purchase of two coins drew international attention.  On June 6 The Sun reported "Two unique United States gold coins of the denomination of $50, each of different design, which have long been regarded as the rarest coins in the world by American coin collectors, were purchased a few days ago by William H. Woodin of this city at a figure for each which by far exceeds all record high premiums paid for any coin ever sold."

Each of the coins was one-of-a-kind; the only examples struck.  The Sun explained "They never emerged from the experimental stage."  Minted in 1877, they were put away at the United States mint and had never been brought out since.  Although the exact price for each coin was not disclosed, it was announced that it exceeded the previous record of $6,200, making the lowest possible price for both in the neighborhood of $345,000 today.

Excitement was aroused within the numismatic community when Woodin decided to sell part of his collection in 1911 at an auction at the Collectors' Club.  On March 5 The New York Times remarked "The Woodin collection of three-dollar gold pieces is said to be the finest and the only complete one of this denomination ever offered at public sale."  The collection brought $16,862 (nearly $450,000 today).

Woodin's recognized expertise in coins and coin design came into play in 1914 when a movement to improve silver coinage took hold.  Proponents pointed out that the current designs were easily worn down with use.  When the Federal Government was urged to form a special committee to address the issue in December 1914, The New York Times reported "It is probable that William H. Woodin...an authority on United States pattern coins, will be the Chairman of this committee."

(Woodin, incidentally, would be appointed Secretary of the Treasury by President Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1933.)

William H. Woodin - from the collection of the Library of Congress

While her husband focused on building railroad cars and coin collecting, Annie Woodin had been busy grooming two future socialites.  In November 1911 she gave a tea to introduce Mary Louise to society.  The New York Times noted "The tea will be followed by a dinner and theatre party."

Anne's turn came in November 1914, the year that her sister graduated from Bryn Mawr College.  Anne's coming out began with an evening reception in the house on November 24, followed by "a dinner and informal dancing."

The Woodins began construction on a new summer home in Easthampton, Long Island in the spring of 1916.  The residence, designed by society architect Grosvenor Atterbury, cost the equivalent of $925,000 today.

The United States involvement in World War I and the prospect of deployment sparked a sense of urgency in many romances.  On April 14, 1918 The Sun reported that "News was received here last week of the marriage on April 6 of Miss Mary L. Woodin, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. William H. Woodin of 127 East Sixty-ninth street, to Lieut. Charles Miner, 109th Field Artillery, U.S.A."  The couple had been married near Camp Hancock, Georgia where the groom was stationed.  "Miss Woodin's engagement was not announced until a short time before the wedding," said the article.

The following year, in December, Anne would be married to Colonel Olin F. Harvey.  Nine months earlier her parents had sold No. 127 and moved to No. 752 Park Avenue.

The transaction was both convoluted and a bit sneaky.  In March 1919 the house was sold to Foot & Martin, Inc., which almost immediately resold it to "a client of Ruland, Whiting & Benjamin," one of the leading real estate firms in the city.  That client was the Etagloe Holding Company, of which William Massena Benjamin, was president (he was, as well, president of Ruland, Whiting & Benjamin).

Benjamin, using the name of Etagloe Holding Company, hired architect S. Edson Gage to completely remodel the outdated Victorian into a modern residence.  Gage removed the stoop and moved the facade forward to the property line.

The remodeled house was highly unusual among Manhattan rowhouses.  Gage produced a 20th century take on 18th century Adam style architecture  The variegated Flemish bond brick was trimmed in stone.  The design was dominated by the over-sized arch that rose from the elegant entrance.  The slightly-recessed double-doored entrance was fronted by classical columns and pilasters that upheld an entablature decorated with Adamesque swags and garlands.

Delightful Juliette balconies clung to the third floor openings.  The paneled lintels of the fourth floor windows were carved with leaves and flowers.  Behind a stone balustrade the mansard level featured brick dormers with similar paneled lintels.

Benjamin and his wife, the former Charlotte Hoffman Prime, had six children: Sarah Morris, Charlotte Prime, Elizabeth Fish, Julia Kean, Samuel Nicoll, and William Hoffman Benjamin.  Two years after moving in another son, Hamilton Fish, would be born.

William Benjamin came from a distinguished New York family, and was related to the socially and politically eminent Fish family.  His grandfather was Hamilton Fish, Secretary of State in the Ulysses S. Grant administration.  The family's summer estate was at Garrison-on-Hudson. 

While he was a member of some of the most exclusive men's social clubs--among them the St. Nicholas Society, the Union Club, the Downtown, and the St. Anthony--he seems to have been more passionate about his membership in sporting clubs.  The New York Times later said he was "a keen sportsman, particularly fond of hunting and fishing"  He was president of the Triton Club of Canada and a member of the Boone and Crockett Club, founded by Theodore Roosevelt in 1887.

Perhaps to prevent any problems with the title of the house later in life, on May 1, 1922 the Etagloe Holding Company sold No. 127 to Charlotte.  It was a move that would prove wise before very long.

In the winter of 1928 William Benjamin became ill.  In hopes that a warmer climate would improve his health, he left New York for a cruise along with Charlotte and two of their daughters.   When his condition worsened, they disembarked in San Juan where Benjamin was hospitalized.  The 54-year-old died there on February 15.

Somewhat surprisingly, the engagement of Elizabeth to William Lawrence McLane was announced by her mother just two months later.   Nevertheless, no doubt because the family was in mourning, The New York Times noted that "No date has been set for the wedding."

Julia's engagement to Lieutenant Joseph Farrell Haskell of the U.S. Army was announced in December the following year; but it was soon broken "by mutual consent."  So when Charlotte announced the couple would be married in the 69th Street house in January 1932, The Times said "News of the approaching marriage will come as a surprise to members of society."

Charlotte's life was consumed with engagements and debutante entertainments as the years passed.  The year after Julia's home wedding, Emily was introduced to society with a dinner in the house on January 6, 1933.  Charlotte then hosted her guests at a performance of the play 20th Century at the Broadhurst Theatre.

Emily's engagement to Charles Arthur Richards, Jr. was announced in January 1934; but like Julia's first engagement, it did not last.  On October 4, 1935 Charlotte announced that it had been "terminated by mutual consent."  And, like her sister, the rift was repaired.  On April 11, 1936 the date for the couple's wedding, June 5, was announced.

Sarah was next to enter the spotlight.  Her debut came in the form of a dinner and dance in the Persian Room of the Plaza Hotel on December 10, 1937.  Her engagement to Alan Anderson was announced on February 2, 1939.  Following closely behind was Mary, whose engagement to Eric Sinclaire Purdon was announced by Charlotte in August 1940.

Charlotte's maternal responsibilities were not over.  The following year the engagement of Samuel, who was now a Lieutenant in the Air Corps, to Joan Oakey was announced.  His wedding took plate the following year in Montebello, California.  The Times noted "At the reception the bride cut the wedding cake with a saber awarded to the bridegroom at Gunter Field for outstanding military achievement."

Although Charlotte Benjamin lived on to the age of 88, dying in September 1969 at Garrison, she sold the 69th Street house to Dr. Emanuel Joseph in 1944.  The physician converted the house to ten apartments, one of which, on the first floor, he retained for his own home and office.  His unmarried nurse, Frances Ormsby, occupied the topmost floor.

On the afternoon of March 11, 1946 Frances rushed into the office saying that burglars were in her apartment.  The doctor picked up a heavy iron bar and headed upstairs.   Frances had been right.  Five teen-agers were in the act of looting her apartment.

As Joseph rushed up the stairs, he encountered the boys carrying the booty in a blanket.  The New York Times reported "He told police...that he knocked two of the youths unconscious and held a third at bay with the bar."  The other two escaped.  The oldest of the trio was 15 years old.  They were declared delinquents in Children's Court and remanded to the Youth House for sentencing.

Joseph was drawn into a case of intrigue and civic spying in 1949.  Two men appeared at the house and identified themselves as telephone workers who needed to check wiring.  They were, in fact, former Treasury Department agent Edward M. Jones and former detective Kenneth Ryan, who were now working for private investigator John G. Broady.  Broady was in turn hired by Clendenin J. Ryan, an opponent of Mayor William O'Dwyer.  They installed a wiretap intended to pick up the telephone conversations from the home of Manhattan Borough President and Tammany Hall leader Hugo Rogers.

Soon afterward Detective Joseph Popp discovered a wire tap device in the Rogers house.  That led to the uncovering "of the Sixty-ninth Street listening post."  Popp cautioned Dr. Joseph to be on the lookout for any fake telephone company employees.

Only a couple hours later Ryan and Jones returned for their routine "check-up."  Despite Popp's warnings, Joseph acted naively, telling them that he had been told to watch for bogus telephone men.  Joseph later testified "They went off in a great lather."  Despite a stake-out of No. 127, the police were unable to catch the suspects in the act due to Joseph's unthinking blabbering.

No. 127 was sold in July 1954.  The former doctor's office soon became home to the Burden Littell Bureau, an organization active in promoting benefits for organizations like the Turtle Bay Music School.  It would remain in the space at least through 1962.  In the 1970's it was home to the art gallery Carlton.

A subsequent renovation in 1988 resulted in medical offices in the basement and first floor, one apartment on the second, a duplex on the third and fourth, and one apartment in the mansard level.  The altered residence has since been home to recognized names like Leigh Keno, American antiques dealer whose face became familiar to viewers of Antiques Roadshow.

photographs by the author

The 1846 A. T. Stewart Building aka The Sun Building - 280 Broadway

photographer unknown, via WriteOpinions.com

Alexander Turney Stewart started business in 1823 with a small lace and linens shop in half a store in a little wooden building at No. 283 Broadway, between Church and Reade Streets.  He had a sleeping room in the rear.  The Irish immigrant possessed a genius for marketing--he came up with the concept of a department store, recognized the value of customer service rather than overcharging the buyer, and would later develop the idea of mail order business.

In his 1884 History of New York City, Benson J. Lossing wrote "Mr. Stewart, by great commercial sagacity and operating upon a cash basis, had accumulated a fortune sufficient to enable him to purchase Washington Hall, which had been used for many years as a hotel."   

Stewart's magnificent store would replace an equally magnificent structure.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Stewart paid $70,000 for the property--about $2.73 million today.  On the site, directly opposite the spot where he started out, he would erect "a magnificent marble structure" which Lossing called "the pioneer of marble, freestone, and iron stores on Broadway."  Designed by Joseph Trench and John B. Snook, it was also the first commercial building in the Italianate style.


The glistening white marble upper floors sat upon a storefront with Corinthian columns and expanses of plate glass show windows.  The tireless diarist and former mayor Philip Hone visited the store a few weeks before its completion.  "Mr. Stewart's splendid edifice, erected on the site of Washington Hall...is nearly finished, and his stock of dry goods will be exhibited on the shelves in a few days.  There is nothing in London or Paris to compare with this dry goods palace."  His sole problem was the plate glass show windows which he called a "useless piece of extravagance."  (He envisioned a boy's snowball producing disaster.)

The gleaming white structure stood out among brownstone and brick buildings.  Lights & Shadows of New York Life, 1872, (copyright expired)

The new emporium opened on September 21, 1846.  It quickly gained the popular moniker The Marble Palace, no doubt because of The Evening Post's describing, "the looming front of a marble palace, five stories high, decorated in the most beautiful style of art."  The newspaper added that "an incessant current of carriages may be seen approaching and leaving and as upon Jacob's ladder an unbroken file of angels, ascending and descending its marble steps."

The New York Herald reported "When we visited the store about 12 o'clock, we found a line of carriages drawn up in front reaching from Chambers to Reade streets.  Crowds of fashionable people were passing in and out, and all were warm in their expressions of gratification of all the beautiful and tasteful arrangements and architecture of the this whole building."

from the collection of the New York Public Library.

Well-dressed women entered into a rotunda decorated with wall and ceiling frescoes and dominated by a glass dome 80 feet above the floor, 70-feet in circumference.  An ornate chandelier, expansive mirrors imported from Paris and a graceful flight of stairs elevated the store above anything shoppers had seen before.  

Visiting A. T. Stewart's was as much a social activity as a shopping event.  A gallery encircled the rotunda for promenading--the popular Victorian ritual of seeing and being seen.  The Continental Monthly commented that the name Stewart evoked "a train of ideas, a marble front, plate glass, gorgeous drapery, legions of clerks, paradise of fashion, crowds of customers, and all the fascination of a day of shopping."

Stewart's extravagance stopped short of waste.  He is shown here chiding a clerk for using too much twine. Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly, June 1876 (copyright expired)

Tremendous success necessitated enlargements.  Additions were made in 1850-1851 and again the following year, both designed by Trench & Snook.   The enlargements doubled the size of the original building.   In 1853 A. T. Stewart's did $7 million in business.

The unrelenting northern movement of commerce prompted Stewart to erect an even larger retail store in 1862, engulfing the entire block of Broadway between East 9th and 10th Streets.  No. 280 Broadway now held the firm's wholesale store and its clothing manufacturing shops.  The building was enlarged again in 1872 by architect Frederick Schmidt.

In 1876 the store had grown with several additions.  Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly, June 1876 (copyright expired)

Alexander T. Stewart died on April 10, 1876.  Judge Henry Hilton, one of the executors of the Stewart estate, took control of the real estate.  Two years later, in November, The Carpet Trade Review reported "The down-town marble building on the corner of Broadway, Chambers and Reade Streets...is soon to be vacated."  The departments still housed in the building were moving north to the Broadway and 10th Street store.  Hilton let No. 280 remain vacant until 1884, when he added two floors, expanded along Chambers and Reade Streets, and converted the interior to offices.

King's Handbook of New York City pictured the 1884 expansion. (copyright expired)

In April 1885 The Presbyterian Home Missionary announced "After the first of May next our friends will please find us or address us at Stewart's Building, 280 Broadway."  The once-elegant retail palace saw a mish-mash of businesses for the next few years.  By 1888, however, the majority of the tenants were attorneys and legal firms.  In the 1890's the city moved several its departments in.  On February 19, 1896 The New York Times reported that the city was paying a total of $95,540 per year in rent here--in the neighborhood of $2.88 million today.

When war broke out in Europe, offices in No. 280 Broadway became home to the Army Recruiting Headquarters.  On June 6, 1917 it got a somewhat surprising neighbor.  The New York Times reported "On the first floor of 280 Broadway, separated only by a few doors from the headquarters of the United States Army recruiting in the city, the British Recruiting Mission began...to enlist British subjects for service with their own colors"

When this photograph was taken around 1917 the ground floor held a barber shop (far left), a tailor shop, and the Nicolas Restaurant.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

That same year Frank A. Munsey, owner of the New York Herald and The Evening Sun purchased the building.  The New York Times reported that he paid $4 million for the property.  In 1919, after significant interior renovations were made, he moved the newspapers' operations in.

The first threat to the marble structure came when Munsey announced in June 1922 his intentions "as soon as the cost of building materials and labor are reduced...to replace the building with a thoroughly modern structure."  Apparently those costs never came down to Munsey's liking and the building, by now known popularly as the Sun Building, survived.

The handsome three-faced clock was attached to the building's corner announcing that "The Sun, It Shines for All"  photo by Vinit Parmar

On June 13, 1927 America's hero, Charles "Lucky Lindy" Lindbergh was honored with a ticker-tape parade on Broadway to celebrate his solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean in the Spirit of St. Louis.  The festivities did not end there, of course.  On June 17 The New York Times reported "A brief interlude in Colonel Lindbergh's morning of automobiling yesterday was spent in the office of The Sun, 280 Broadway.  There he received a silver plaque bearing the editorial 'Lindbergh Flies Alone.'"  It was the headline which The Sun's readers had awoken to on May 21.

Surprisingly, when Frank A. Munsey died, he left the Sun Building to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  On January 2, 1928 the newspaper purchased the it from the museum.  In reporting the sale The Times reminded readers that "The property was largely reconstructed and thoroughly modernized when Mr. Munsey took it over for his newspapers."

With the onslaught of the Great Depression, The Sun management took steps to help the economy.  In September 1933 it announced it had placed a $500,000 order for 24 new printing presses.  The statement explained that the order was made "as a contribution not merely to the improvement of its own plant but also to the success of the re-employment and buy-now campaigns of the National Recovery Administration."

The Sun got an unlikely bedfellow when The Times of London opened its offices on the top floor.  A near riot broke out on June 8, 1939 when when the newspaper printed coverage of "the first visit of a reigning British monarch and his Queen to these former-British colonies," as described by The New York Times.

The 13,000 copies distributed to newsstands sold out by 9:00 in the morning.  The newspaper then sent out the 2,400 copies held back for mail requests, but those too, sold out quickly.  The Times reported "Then near pandemonium set in on the seventh floor of the Sun Building, 280 Broadway, where the London paper has its offices.  Hundreds of would-be customers were turned away."  Copies that normally sold for 5 cents were bringing $1 on the streets, "with plenty of takers."  The Times of London had to disconnect its telephones in order so that the staff could work.

Following the end of World War II Henry Modell, owner of the sporting goods chain, established the Modell Veteran Training Center in a retail space.  Mayor William O'Dwyer officially opened the facility on March 23, 1946.  The dual-purpose establishment both trained wounded and handicapped veterans for private life and sold surplus war supplies.

By 1949 the training center had been phased out, replaced by a Modell's store.  It was at the Broadway location that the mayor cut the cake to celebrate the chain's 60th anniversary.

The following year The Sun merged with The World-Telegram.  Management spokesmen informed the press that the merger "included only The Sun's name, good-will and circulation lists."  In other words, it was essentially the end of the Sun's operation.  And nearly the end of the Sun Building.

The property was purchased by a syndicate headed by Charles F. Noyes.  On January 26, 1951 it announced that a skyscraper would be erected on the site.  The New York Times reported "The new building will be about forty stories tall and will contain 1,000,000 square feet of space."

The New York Times published a rendering of the proposed building on January 27, 1951.

But, once again, the venerable structure survived.   In the fall of 1959 Modell's began a modernization of its storefront which dismayed at least one journalist.  The New York Times reported on October 3 "The facade of the Stewart Building at 280 Broadway, at Chambers Street, a landmark for 112 years will soon become a memory.  Workmen have begun removing the stone colonnades that will be replaced by a wide expanse of contemporary aluminum and glass panels."

In 1966 the city took possession of the building after it and the historic Tweed Courthouse next door were condemned for a 52-story tower designed by Edward Durell Stone.  That project stalled but, as Municipal Services Administrator John T. Carroll explained on April 22, 1975 it "is not legally buried."  Therefore the city decided "not to invest any funds in rehabilitation 280 Broadway" although city offices had been moved in.

The decision led to shameful consequences.  On August 5, 1981 The New York Times columnist Michael Goodwin wrote "The white marble facade still gleams in the sun and the cast-iron columns above the street recall a grand past, but, inside, 280 Broadway is full of the signs of a grim present."

Plaster fell from the ceilings of the halls, window frames were on the verge of falling out, and large cracks appeared in the walls.  After rainfalls, ceiling tiles would be found on the floor.  An administrator in one department pointed out a partitioned-off area in an office.  "The building workers told us not to use this part of the room because it's so dangerous."

Any chance of demolition was squelched in October 1986 when the No. 280 Broadway was designated a New York City landmark.  Protection of the structure did not mean improvement of the interior conditions, however.  In February 1994 the newly-appointed Commissioner of General Services, William J. Diamond, visited the building.  The word he used to described it was "atrocious."

Referring to the landmark designation he told The New York Times architecture journalist David W. Dunlap, it was "saved but saved for what?  You're essentially in an office slum."  He suggested selling the building to a private developer for renovation and restoration, pointing out that the still-intact rotunda "could be turned into a food court."

photograph by Beyond My Ken

Ideas like his were bounced around for three years before a $37.2 million renovation was initiated.  Completed in 1999 it now housed the city offices like the Department of Buildings.  The renovations, designed by the architectural firm of Beyer Blinder Bell, resulted in retail space on the ground floor and offices above.  The rotunda, now called an atrium, included five skylights above the central court.

The Gen'l Philip Henry Sheridan Statue - Christopher Park

On March 7, 1896 The New York Times reported "The Aldermanic Committee on Land, Places, and Public Parks decided yesterday that the strip of land bounded by Barrow, Christopher, Grove, and West Fourth Streets should hereafter be known as Sheridan Square, in honor of Gen. Sheridan."  The boundaries given were confusing at best--Christopher, Grove and Barrow Streets all run essentially parallel to one another going east and west; leaving only one north-south border, West Fourth Street.

And the area was not "a strip of land," but two distinct triangular spaces with nothing in common.  Eventually the southern and smaller section--essentially little more than a traffic island--took on the name Sheridan Square; while the larger bordered by Christopher, Grove and West Fourth Streets, became Christopher Park.

Confusion aside, the gesture to honor Sheridan was well deserved.  Born in Albany in 1831, he was invaluable in the Union's Civil War victory.   A brilliant military tactician, his defeat of the Confederate Army in the battle of Cedar Creek inspired Thomas Buchanan Read's poem "Sheridan's Ride."

In 1865 Sheridan defeated General George Pickett at Five Forks, Virginia, hastening the end of the war.  But rest was not to come.  Immediately following the war's end he was promoted to major general and sent to Mexico where the uprising against Emperor Maximilian I was taking place.  Afterward, in 1884, he was made commander-in-chief of the U.S. Army.  He died of a heart attack in 1888 at the age of 57.

Nearly four decades later, in 1924, John B. Trainer, the former secretary of the Armory Board of New York City, organized the General Sheridan Memorial Committee.  A public fund-raising effort eventually raised $6,000 for a bronze statue (more in the neighborhood of $86,000 today).  The hardships of the Great Depression were no doubt responsible for the slowed inflow of funds and it would be another 12 years before the work was completed.

The committee commissioned Sicilian-born sculptor Joseph Pollia to design the monument.  (Pollia had arrived in America at the age of two in 1896, making him essentially an American artist.)  The choice was most likely influenced by Pollia's moving Richmond Hill World War Memorial in Queens.  Titled My Buddy and dedicated in 1925 it depicted a grieving soldier standing before the grave of a fallen comrade.

On July 21, 1936 the statue was put in place, although the formal dedication would not happen for another three months.   The New York Times wrote "Joseph P. Pollia, the sculptor, took four months to complete the statue.  In full Union Army regalia, booted and spurred and with a sword dangling at its side, the figure faces the entrance to the park."   That park was not Sheridan Square, as might have seemed fitting, but Christopher Park; most likely chosen because it was not only larger, but more visible.

Pollia's seven-foot statue stood on a six-food granite pedestal.  It broke away from the tradition of military figures astride noble steeds and presented Sheridan not in battle, but in a more contemplative pose.  Bronze letters on the front of the pedestal simply gave the general's name and dates; and on one side a quotation, attributed to General Ulysses S. Grant reads:

He belongs to the first rank of soldiers; not only of our country but of the world. U. S. Grant

On the other side an inscription reads:

Erected by the General Sheridan Memorial Association and his comrades of the G. A. R. 1936

Within the granite base was a box containing the names of all those who had donated to the memorial.

The dedication ceremonies had been delayed until October 19 for good reason.  That date was the anniversary of the battle of Cedar Creek.  The statue was unveiled by veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic.  Speakers that afternoon included Colonel Ulysses S. Grant III, the grandson of the former President; General Louis W. Stotesbury, former Adjutant General of New York State; and Colonel Alfred E. Stacey, former commander in chief of the G. A. R.

The statue of General Philip H. Sheridan became a sort of centerpiece for the immediate Greenwich Village neighhood.  Throughout the decades it understandably led to Christopher Park's being commonly referred to as Sheridan Square.  (The actual Sheridan Square remained a rather unsightly and ignored traffic island for decades.)

The statue was conserved by the ungainly-named City Parks Foundation Monuments Conservation Program in 2000.  Much of the funding was provided by a campaign led by Robert W. Lord, who could count four Union soldier among his ancestors.  A second dedication ceremony was held on October 29, 2000, 64 years to the day after the original.  As had been done in 1936, a time capsule containing the names of the contributors was buried near the base.

The statue stands today within its own fenced enclosure within the park, surrounded by foliage.  One of nine statues of Civil War generals in City parks, its depiction is perhaps the most human.

photographs by the author

The Hermann A. Flurscheim House - 131 West 77th Street

In 1887 partners William C. G. Wilson and James Tichborne began construction on a row of five 20-foot wide residences on West 77th Street, between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues.  Their architect, William K. Benedict, has been largely forgotten today; but he would go on to design hotels and high-end homes, many of them out of town.

Benedict used a visually-pleasing combination of brownstone and red brick.  The Romanesque Revival style basement and parlor levels were clad in chunky, undressed blocks.  The brick upper levels were Queen Anne, with a splash of English Renaissance.  No. 131 was the centerpiece of the balanced A-B-C-B-A designed row.

The second and third floor openings were framed in brownstone quoins.  The three windows of the second floor upheld two on the third--separated by handsomely-carved panels.  To compensate for the missing center window, Benedict installed another carved stone panel.  The arched openings were joined by crisp, projecting stone eyebrows.  Benedict's English-inspired treatment of  fourth floor culminated in an unusual pressed metal parapet.

The row was completed late in 1888 and on February 26, 1889 Wilson & Tischborne sold No. 131 to Robert and Olga J. C. Soltan.   Robert was a "prosperous importing merchant," as described by The New York Times, with offices at No. 15 Cedar Street.  The Soltans were well-known among in the German social circles, and Robert was a member of the Liederkranz, the German singing society founded in 1847.

Like all well-to-do New Yorkers, the Soltans spent the warm months at fashionable resorts, like Newport or Long Beach, New Jersey.  They were among the 800 or so guests at the Long Beach Hotel's ball on the evening of August 5, 1891.  (The following day The New York Times remarked "There were some very handsome costumes noticeable.")

Many wealthy businessmen visited their families in their summer homes only on the weekends or for occasional extended stays.  Olga and the children were summering in the Long Beach Hotel in 1892 while Robert remained in New York.  His brother, Ernest, was in town from Hamburg, Germany.

Robert had to go to Chicago on business, and offered to take Ernest with him, showing him Niagara Falls on the way.  He send a letter to Olga explaining the plans.  But after he was able to conduct the business through telegraph, the trip was canceled.  Now he and his brother. Ernest, decided to take a small "naptha launch" from the Columbia Yacht Club on 86th Street and the Hudson River, to Long Beach, "intending to give his wife and children a surprise," according to a newspaper.

The Bob, the naptha-powered motor launch, would have been similar to this one.  Katalog fran Escher Wyss, ca. 1900 (copyright expired)

They men started off in the launch the Bob on Tuesday morning, July 17.  But they never arrived.  The following day the Bob was discovered bottom-up on a shoal near Long Beach.  The New York Times reported "articles of clothing and a valise known to belong to Robert Soltan were found in the locker."  There were no signs of the brothers.

On June 22 The Times noted "His wife is in a critical condition from grief and shock."   The bodies were never recovered, and the newspaper reported that "it is the general opinion among old bay men that the high winds carried them out to sea."

Olga and the children remained at No. 131 for a few years.  She sold it in February 1895 to Mrs. Margaret Kennedy for $35,000, or just over $1 million today.  The Kennedys would be victims of crime before the year was out.

William K. Benedict produced a handsome, balanced row of upscale homes.

Twentieth Century magazine lamented on the increased number of "murders, highway robberies and burglaries" which it deemed "a pretty good indication as to whither we are drifting."  Among nearly a dozen crimes--murders, attempted murders, suicides and robberies--on single day, November 22, it listed was the burglary of No. 131 West 77th Street.

In March 1902 Margaret Kennedy sold the house to Hermann A. Flurscheim for $32,250 taking a slight loss in the deal.

Flurscheim had arrived in New York City with his parents from Germany at the age of 15 in 1866.  He married San Francisco native Isabella (known as Bella) Goldsmith in 1876.  The couple would have five children--Estelle, Helen, Agnes, Harry and Bernard.

In 1884 he became associated with Stern Brothers department store, where his retail acumen was first displayed.  As the firm's foreign representative he was one of the founders of the American Chamber of Commerce in Paris.

The delicate carving of the keystone, including a wafting ribbon, defies the nature of the otherwise rugged Romanesque Revival parlor level.

Flurscheim's purchased of the West 77th Street house was necessitated by a career move.  He had brought his family back to New York from Paris the year earlier, resigned from Stern Brothers, and founded the competing Franklin Simon & Co. with his partner Franklin Simon.   The Times would later credit him with being "among the first to establish buying headquarters for American firms in European cities: and as "one of the first New York merchants to foresee the future of Fifth Avenue as a retail business street."

The 77th Street house was filled with masterful artworks.  While living in Paris Flurscheim had not only collected art, but had served on the jury of awards at the salon of the Paris Exhibition of 1900.  The Dry Goods Economist said that he had "formed a valuable collection of paintings which are now in his New York home."

In the spring of 1910 focus turned to things social as Estelle's wedding was planned.  She was married to Otto Loeb in the fashionable St. Regis Hotel on the evening of April 11.  The Times reported that "following the ceremony there was a dinner in the marble ballroom, which was decorated with Bride's roses and lilacs."  The newlyweds set off for a six-month trip to Europe.

Not every mother interrupts her newly-married daughter's honeymoon; but before long Bella arrived in France.  Then tragedy struck.  On July 7, 1910 the New-York Tribune reported "Cable dispatches received in this city on Tuesday announced the death on Monday in Paris, France, at the Hotel Carlton, of Mrs. Isabella Flurscheim, wife of H. A. Flurscheim, of No. 131 West 77th street."

Herman and his unmarried children remained at No. 131, attended to by their domestic staff.  Helen would be the first to leave.  On October 20, 1912 The Sun reported "H. A. Flurscheim...has announced the engagement of his daughter, Miss Helen Flurscheim to Ansel Straus of Boston."

The following year the New-York Tribune reported "The wedding of Miss Agnes Flurscheim, daughter of H. A. Flurscheim, of No. 131 West 77th street, to Harry G. Cowen will take place on Tuesday, October 21 at the St. Regis Hotel."

The 63-year old Hermann A. Flurscheim died on August 18, 1914 "of a complication of diseases at his home," as reported in the Dry Goods Economist.  The New York Times described him as a "pioneer dry goods merchant and art collector."  The Evening World added "He was deeply interested in art and had a fine collection."

Flurscheim, who had owned a 50 percent interest in Franklin Simon & Co., left an estate valued at "more than $1,000,000."    It was, for the most part, divided among the children and Hermann's one grandchild.  But a codicil in the will may have raised a few eyebrows among society.  Mme. Bertrand De Lyteull of Paris, France, received $50,000 outright and $1,000 monthly income for life.  The bulk sum would be equal to more than $1.25 million today, and the monthly payments about $25,300.  Reporters who asked Flurscheim's lawyers about the bequest were told simply that Mme. De Lyteuil "was a friend."

The will directed that No. 131 West 77th Street "be turned over to the use of the unmarried daughters Helen I. and Agnes V., and shall be at their disposal while they remain single."  The rub was, as noted by the New-York Tribune on September 25, "They have married since the making of the will."

The house, therefore, was temporarily leased by the estate to Charles W. Hart and his wife, Sarah.  By 1917 they owned it outright, and around 1919 the Harts leased it to Florence M. Overton.  She used the house for her boarding school, although she preferred not to use that term.

Florence had been the dean of the Brenau School of Expression and Dramatic Art in Georgia for 19 years.  Now she struck out on her own.  In November 1919 The Anchora of Delta Gamma reported that Florence had a "very unique plan of caring for young women who desire the advantages of New York and yet who are mature enough not to need the restrictions of a boarding school.  Courses in contemporary English, Conversational French, Art History, Grand Opera, etc., are offered."

The bulletin described No. 131 West 77th Street as "a spacious stone and brick structure with magnificent parlors, airy bedrooms, and the atmosphere of your own cultured home.  Social advantages, sight seeing, theaters, etc., are attractions."

The early 1920's saw the once elegant residence being operated as a rooming house.  In 1921 23-year old John McGuigan was renting a room here, while working as a bellhop at the Hotel Chatham.  Also working there was a "telephone girl," Marie C. Walsh.  The beautiful Marie became the object of John's affections.

According to The Evening World a year later, "Between hops Johnny basked in the sunshine of the telephone operator's smiles and finally they were 'keeping company,' she accepting his invitations for little outings on their evenings off."  But then Marie's fickle affections cooled and she asked for a transfer to the Hotel Majestic "to get rid of his attentions."

In an effort to be nearer to the girl he still loved, John managed to get a job at a nearby hotel, the Lucerne.  He repeatedly annoyed Marie at her job, and threatened to commit suicide if she did not come back to him.  That prompted Marie to go to the police.  At the West 68th Street Police Station he was ordered to keep away from the girl.  "He said, in sorrow, that he would if he could," wrote The Evening World.

"But he couldn't."

He continued to haunt the Majestic Hotel, which caused his being fired from the Lucerne.  Then, on the night of May 16, 1922 Marie had to work late, not leaving her switchboard at the Hotel Majestic until 11:00.  She was frightened upon walking out of the building when she saw her stalker sitting across the street.  She tried to make it home without having to face him, but he caught up with her at the top of the stoop of her rooming house.

McGuigan professed his love, again threatened suicide, and physically restrained her.  In court on May 23 she testified "He grabbed me around the neck and hugged and choked me.  With my disengaged hand I pressed the bell while I struggled with him.  Robert Peterson came to the door and told Johnny to let go, but he said he wouldn't that I was his."

Peterson responded by sending McGuigan tumbling down the stone steps.  The following day Marie filed for his arrest.  Amazingly, by today's viewpoint, McGuigan received no punishment for his stalking and abuse.  In reporting the case The Evening World took a rather cavalier attitude.  "Then came the warning form the bench and the parole and Miss Walsh left the courtroom wondering what will happen next."

A colorful roomer at No. 131 in the early 1930's was actor Edward La Roche.  The stage and motion picture actor had at one point spent seven years in the French Foreign Legion during which time he won two decorations for bravery.

La Roche's roles were always incidental characters.  In the 1923-1924 stage production of The Lady he played The Loafer, and in the 1932 Foreign Affairs he was the Waiter.  His last Broadway part was Second Beard in the 1932-1933 production of Twentieth Century (another cast member of which was William Frawley).

But the aging actor was struggling.  In November 1935 he worked for three days in a Warner Brothers short film, earning $70 (about $1,250 today).  But the spotty work was not enough to keep him afloat financially.  When he was found dead in his room a few weeks later, on December 26, The New York Times noted that he "had recently been on relief."

Although the house was not yet officially converted to apartments, sprinklers were added in 1937.  It would not be until 1970 that a renovation would result in four units.  An extension into the rear yard allowed for an eight-room, 3,200 square foot owners' duplex in the former basement and parlor levels.

photographs by the author

The Lost 1938 Horn & Hardart - 104 West 57th Street

The former Horn & Hardart had become the New York Delicatessen when Edmund Vincent Gillon took this shot.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Joseph Horn and Frank Hardart opened their first restaurant in Philadelphia on December 22, 1888.  When "waiterless restaurants" began appearing overseas around the turn of the century, Frank Hardart traveled to Europe to see them in action.  Customers chose food items through glass-doored compartments, inserted a coin and removed the food.  The process required fewer personnel and, therefore, afforded reduced prices.  Diners enjoyed quick service and inexpensive meals.

Horn & Hardart brought the concept to the United States.  The result was a sensation and in 1912 they branched into New York City.  Shop girls, office workers and laborers found that they could stretch their meager pay within clean, attractive surroundings where five cents would buy tasty, freshly-made food.

The coin machines accepted only nickels and female "nickel throwers" were on hand to make change.   And because the coins dirtied the cashiers' hands, they wore black uniforms.

Despite the low food prices, Horn & Hardart did not scrimp on the interiors.  Marble, white tile and gleaming chrome were kept spotless and the cafeterias were often termed "classy."  Joseph Horn's approach to the restaurant business was simple.  "There is no trick to selling a poor item cheaply.  The trick is to sell a good item cheaply."

The Great Depression did not negatively impact the firm's bottom line, but in fact boosted it.  New Yorkers with fewer dollars to spend found that automats saved them money.  On October 5, 1937 The New York Times reported that the Horn & Hardart Company had assembled a site "for an additional unit in the chain of Automat restaurants" at Nos. 102 through 106 West 57th Street.  At the time of the article the firm already operated 44 restaurants in the city and employed 3,000.

The Horn & Hardart Company commissioned the 54-year-old architect Ralph Bowden Bencker to design the new restaurant.  Based in Philadelphia, he had early on embraced the Art Deco and Art Moderne styles synonymous with the automats' architectural identities.

The completed structure cost $75,000--just over $1.25 million today.  Bencker had produced a sleek Art Moderne structure faced in pink granite.  Its squat, somewhat bulbous form was half motion picture theater, half army tank.  Three rounded pavilions fronted the structure, flanked by geometric piers of stacked blocks.  Above was a circular turret which sprouted a flagpole.

Opening day was August 16, 1938 and a newspaper made special note that the two-story building "is air-conditioned."  The location was perfect.  The automat sat one block west of glitzy Fifth Avenue, across the street from Steinway Hall, just down the block from Carnegie Hall, and a quick walk from the Broadway theater district.   It became the haunt not only of shop girls and businessmen, but of well-to-do theater goers and celebrities.

An advertising postcard depicted the sleek interior with its patterned terrazzo floor and tidy tables.

Decades later actress Claire Bloom recalled her first visit to the restaurant during the 1940's.  As recorded by Sean Dennis Cashman in his American Ascendant, she wrote in 1996:

The walls of the vast eating area were lined with metal containers bearing glass windows, in which rested every imaginable food available; delicious and delectable pies, both sweet and savory, Salisbury steak with gravy, macaroni and cheese, Boston "pork and beans" baked in their own earthenware crock, frothy lemon meringue pies, and glistening iced angel food or coconut layer cakes.  Single portions could be freed from their glass prisons by inserting nickels into the slots; the windows would fly open, leaving the hungry customer--in this instance me--to simply remove her chosen plate of food, ready to plunge in.

Claire Bloom was not the only celebrity who rubbed shoulders with the more pedestrian New Yorkers and tourists throughout the decades.  It was not the nickel slices of pie that drew musicians, singers and stage performers, but the ambiance.

That ambiance was enhanced in the 1973 when Horn & Hardart offered live entertainment in the space.  On May 4 The Times reported "Horn & Hardart, whose main involvement in show business had once consisted of putting food on revolving platforms behind little glass windows, has had its eye on the big time for quite a while now.  It has presented concerts, hoedowns, soloists, piano players and other musical events designed to soothe the customer in search of a table."

Now, said the article, every Friday and Saturday night would feature jazz and folk concerts.  Jazz musician David Amram kicked off the concert series and returned often.  The composer of the "Horn & Hardart Succotash Blues," he remembered those weekend concerts in his 2008 autobiography Upbeat: Nine Lives of a Musical Cat:

Musicians strolling by from every genre came into the automat to join us, including symphonic musicians from visiting orchestras who were performing at Carnegie Hall, a block away...Crowds often gathered outside the automat to watch us playing and eventually came into the cafeteria out of curiosity to join the Horn and Hardart regular customers.

On February 23, 1974 the automat gave the concert of the rock band Yolanda an extra dose of fun.  An advertisement in New York Magazine urged "Bring you own pillow! and whatever February 23rd to the Maximus Pajama Party."  The restaurant promised "pillow fights and lots of etc."

But already the era of the automat was passing away.  In 1977 Horn & Hardart gave up its distinctive 57th Street building, which was converted to The New York Delicatessen.  The iconic glass-doored compartments were ripped out as part of the renovations.

The new restaurant was the scene of a tragedy on October 5, 1986.  Elizabeth Danile was a waitress here and Toff F. Hunter was a chef.  The couple lived together on Morningside Drive.  Elizabeth, who was 33-years old, and her 35-year-old boyfriend got into an argument at work sometime after midnight.  Hunter picked up a chef's knife and plunged it into Elizabeth's chest.

When the police arrived Hunter tried to kill himself with the same knife, but they succeeded in preventing him from inflicting major injury on himself.  Elizabeth died an hour later at Roosevelt Hospital.

photo by Mary Ann Sullivan

The New York Delicatessen, like its predecessor, was a familiar eating spot for natives and tourists alike.  It offered staple, New York City deli food.  Marian Burros gave a frank opinion of its soups in an article entitled "De Gustibus; In Search of Good Chicken Soup" in The Times on February 7, 1987.

New York Magazine, June 30, 1986 

The verdict was somewhat split.  As for the chicken soup, "Not much flavor, but made with noodles and carrots.  Motzoh ball: superb and soft, with delicious toasted matzoh flavor."

But after a decade that restaurant, too, left.  By 1996 it was home to the Motown Cafe.  And before long it became Shelly's New York restaurant.  The writing was on the wall for the two-story building in a landscape of soaring buildings and high rents.  Early in 2006 the owners bought back Shelly's lease, ordering them out by April.

Preservation groups, including the New York Landmarks Conservancy, the Municipal Art Society and the Art Deco Society of New York, petitioned the Landmarks Preservation Commission to hold a public hearing on the endangered structure.  It had already rejected the idea of designating it in 2002 citing alterations to the facade.

A spokesperson for the New York Landmark's Conservancy deemed the building "a rare example of streamlined modernism," saying it "is notable not only for its curved, Art Modern facade, but also as a symbol of a quintessential New York dining experience."

The Landmarks Preservation Commission disagreed and refused to hold a hearing.   In June 2006 the charismatic building was sold for $63 million.  It was replaced by a glass-fronted Hilton Hotel.

photo via priceline.com

The Erastus C. Benedict House - 10 West 10th Street

In 1844 John Thompson began construction of a 26-foot wide home at No. 10 West 10th Street.  Completed the following year, it was designed in the currently popular Greek Revival style.  A rusticated brownstone basement level upheld three floors of red brick.  Stone lintels and sills complimented the hefty Greek Revival entrance.

It is unclear if Thompson ever lived in the stylish new residence; but by the 1850's it was home to the William Roberton family.  It was the scene of a heart-breaking funeral of the Robertons' two-and-a-half year old daughter, Margaret on February 16, 1858.

At the time Erastus Cornelius Benedict was a well-known and highly-respected citizen.  Born in Branford, Connecticut on March 19, 1800, his ancestors had landed in Massachusetts Bay in 1638.  An attorney, he had been elected a member of the Common Council of the city in 1840; was elected a regent of the Free Academy in 1855, and to the lower house of the State Legislature in 1848 (he would be re-elected in 1864).  He would serve as the president of the Board of Education, was a member of the Executive Committee of the New-York Historical Society, had helped incorporate the Apollo Association "for the promotion of the fine arts," and was a director of the Institution for the Deaf and Dumb.

Benedict's important political and social status was in clear evidence on February 20, 1861 when the newly-elected President Abraham Lincoln was in town.  While he was tied up meeting with political figures, Mary Todd Lincoln held a reception in the Astor House.  Among her guests was Erastus Benedict.

It was around this time that Benedict and his wife, Caroline, moved into No. 10 West 10th Street.  Like those of their neighbors, the Benedicts' interiors would have been furnished luxuriously--rosewood tables with marble tops, French-manufactured carpets and rich fabrics.

Benedict's nephew, Abner, enlisted in the State Militia at the onset of Civil War.   He distinguished himself for leadership and valor.  After being seriously wounded--shot through the lungs at Fredericksburg on December 13, 1862--he refused to leave military service.  Even when his health began to fail, he steadfastly continued as General Grant's headquarters guard.  He died of complications from the wound on May 15, 1867, five years after being shot.

His body was brought to the West 10th Street house and the following day The New York Times reported "The funeral will take pace under military escort from the residence of his uncle...on Saturday, the 18th, at 10 A.M."

The Benedicts, described by The New York Herald as among "the most prominent people of the city," entertained J. P. Meehan, the editor of The Irish American, on the night of February 29, 1870.  Meehan's outspoken views on Irish independence placed him at odds not only with the British government, but with loyal English expatriates here.  His was a dangerous stance.

Around 11:00 that night Meehan left.  As he descended the stoop he noticed several men on the dimly-lit block.  As he walked briskly toward Broadway, he passed them, one of who he recognized as Dr. James Kiernan.  Seconds later he fell to the pavement with a bullet wound in the back of the neck.  Meehan survived what The New York Herald described as a "dastardly attempt at murder."  The newspaper credited heavenly powers with his recovery.  "The attempt proved nearly fatal--Mr. Meehan's preservation from the deadly bullet and more deadly intent being singularly providential."

Another highly disturbing event occurred the following year.  As Police Officer Dunn walked by the house around 8:00 on November 26, 1871, he noticed an infant under the stoop.  It is possible the mother left the newborn at the service entrance in hopes that the wealthy homeowners would take it in.  But by the time Dunn discovered it, the baby had died.

Benedict continued his work in education, politics, the arts and charity.  In 1875, for instance, he helped found the Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor.  In the meantime, he found the time to write.  He was the author of American Admiralty, A Run Through Europe (a book of his travels), and the Hymn of Hildebert, a translation of medieval hymns.

Erastus C. Benedict died in 1880.  His funeral was held in the South Reformed Church at Fifth Avenue and 21st Street on October 25.  The New-York Tribune noted "The dead man was attired in his Chancelor's robes, his university cap lying upon his breast.  The coffin was covered with black velvet, was lined with white sating, and had silver mountings."

Six years, later on May 14, 1886, Caroline Benedict died at the age of 76 in the 10th Street house.  Her funeral was held there two days later.

The following month the Benedict estate sold the property to Helen L. and Henry A. Oakley.  The couple paid $26,000, or about $700,000 today.  Like Benedict, Oakley was a familiar name within Manhattan's social and political circles.  In addition to his legal practice, he was a vice-president of the Board of Managers of St. Luke's Hospital, a vice-president of the Church Club of New-York, and treasurer of the Citizen's Committee on High-Licence (an organization which pushed for restrictions on "liquor traffic and the diminution of crime and taxation that will surely follow").

Living with the childless couple was Julia Hawks Oakley, the daughter of Henry's deceased brother, Richard A. Oakley.  Some of Manhattan's wealthiest citizens were present when she was married to Edwin Stevens Allen on June 2, 1890 in Calvary Episcopal Church on Park Avenue at 21st Street.   Julia's maternal grandfather, the Rev. Dr. Francis Lesoer Hawks, had been rector of the church three decades earlier; and a stained glass memorial window to him was decorated with flowers for the ceremony.

Oakley's reputation was stainless and the charitable organizations he served had no reason to worry about his handling their funds.  And somehow he almost always managed to obtain positions that enabled him to receive the donations directly.  On August 10, 1893, for instance, an announcement appeared in The Sun saying "a society has been formed in this city to agitate for the abrogation of the Russian extradition treaty."  The notice added "The membership fee is $1, which will be received by Mr. Henry A. Oakley."

Helen and Henry lived well, spending summers at fashionable resorts and moving among polite society.  On July 2, 1893 The New York Times advised "Mr. and Mrs. Henry A. Oakley of 10 West Tenth Street have taken a cottage at Harrington Park, N.J."

But Henry's wealth and sterling reputation were about to come crashing down.  For some time he had served as treasurer of American Church Missionary Society.  In the spring of 1895 a review of the books revealed that a massive amount of money was missing.  The New-York Tribune described the organization's resultant condition saying the society's finances "have been crippled by the shortage."

The Society announced it "did not intend to bring any legal proceedings" against him.  However on March 7 the New-York Tribune reported "The muddling of the accounts of the American Church Missionary Society...has led to the retirement of its treasurer, Henry A. Oakley."

As partial reparation title to the 10th Street house was transferred to the American Church Missionary Society, which initially leased it to James P. Paulding and his wife.  Paulding was a partner in the brokerage firm of Paulding & Slosson, was president of the F. O. Norton Cement Company, and a director in the Colwell Lead Company.   In 1897 the Society sold the house to the couple, who paid exactly $33,069.74--the equivalent of $1 million today.

Paulding was also a supporter of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals--and so he was familiar with bravery medal it awarded once a year.  That knowledge came into play on November 17, 1902.  He was passing by Madison Square Garden where the annual Horse Show was taking place.  The show attracted the cream of Manhattan society and their costly carriages lined the streets in front of the venue.

Something frightened a work horse pulling a delivery wagon and it took off among the "fashionable equipages in front of Madison Square Garden," as reported by The Evening World.  Policeman Casey darted out into the street, grabbing the frightened horse by the bridle.  "He was dragged and kicked by the horse and cut by the lines while holding on for over a block.  But he steered the horse in and out among the fine private carriages"

When Casey finally brought the horse to a halt, he looked for his new blue helmet which he had worn for the first time.  When he found it, it was crushed.  Paulding overheard him say "Well, that's a shame.  I just paid $2.40 for that and now I'll have to get another."  (It was, actually, a pricey loss for the civil servant, about $70.50 today.)

Paulding assured the officer not to worry about the helmet, "for he should have as many more as he wished."  He then went directly to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals to nominate Casey for the annual medal.

Paulding died in the couple's summer residence in Barclay Heights, Saugerties, New York, on August 2, 1916.  Two years later, in May, his widow sold the 10th Street house to Archibald C. Kains and his wife.  The couple would not remain long, selling it to Margaret E. Rutledge, a fledgling real estate operator, in 1921.  The house was priced at $60,000, more than $820,000 today.

Margaret converted the former mansion to an upscale rooming house.   Over the next two decades it would be home to tenants like Mrs. Harold Whitley.  She was involved in a terrifying incident on March 5, 1932 when she and Margery Clement were passengers in a bi-plane piloted by A. C. Eustis.  The trio was heading from New York to Norfolk, Virginia.  Eustis lost his way, could not find the airport, and realized that he was running out of fuel.  He made a forced landing on the beach at Ocean View, Virginia where the uneven surface flipped the plane.  No one was seriously injured, but locals immediately sent out the alarm that "the Lindbergh party had crashed in the bay."

A tax photograph shows the lost stoop and a layer of white paint.  photo via the NYC Dept of Records

Other tenants in the 1930's were Assistant District Attorney James L. Murray and actress Eleanor King and her lawyer husband Lowell M. Birrell.

In 1956 a significant conversion resulted in two and three apartments per floor.  It was most likely at this time that the lintels were shaved flat and the stoop removed.  Tenants entered through the new entrance at the former English basement level.

Half a century later, an astounding renovation was begun by Eric and Andrea Soros Colombel.  The couple purchased the house in 2006 for $11.5 million and started "top-to-bottom updates and renovations," as worded by The New York Times.  (Andrea Colombel is the daughter of billionaire financier George Soros.)

When the renovations were complete, the stoop and the lintels had been restored to their 1844 appearance.  Inside was a different story.  The enlarged building (now 8,500 square feet) had 21 rooms, including seven bedrooms and eight and a half baths.  The basement level, once the workplace of the Benedicts' cook, laundress and maids, contains a stone-walled fitness center complete with a ballet barre, a sauna and steam shower.

The new interiors would stun the Benedict, Oakley and Paulding families. photos via dailymail.co

The Colombels sold the mansion in the fall of 2015 to Michael A. Karp, founder of the University City Housing Copany, for $20 million.

photographs by the author