The Park & Tilford Bldg - 100 West 72nd Street

In 1835 John M. Tilford, then 20 years old, left the family farm and came to New York City where he obtained a job as a grocery store clerk.  After saving his wages, he joined another clerk, Joseph Park, in 1840 to form "in a small way," as described by Men of the Century in 1896, to form Park & Tilford.   The little store on Carmine Street was the seed of what would be New York City's finest grocery retailer.

The Carmine Street store was in a converted Federal-style house.  King's Views of New York (copyright expired)

By 1886 Park & Tilford had four New York stores as well as a branch in Paris (used mainly for merchandising and exporting).  The term "grocery" had little to do with the word we commonly use today.  Park & Tilford catered to the carriage trade and stocked a dizzying array of goods--wines, confectioneries, gourmet foods and delicacies, cigars, and personal items.  The New York Times deemed Park & Tilford "The very beau ideal of what a first class grocery store should be."

Following John Tilford's death in January 1891, his son, Frank, was elected to succeed him.  A year later he recognized the developing Upper West Side as a prime location for yet another store.    In March 1892 the firm purchased the one-story business building at the southwest corner of Columbus Avenue and 72nd Street.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported "Park & Tilford will shortly commence the erection of the fire-proof building...to be used entirely for their business."

McKim, Mead & White received the commission to design the new structure.  The firm filed plans on April 22 for a "six-story brick, stone and terra cotta building" to cost $85.000 (more than $2.25 million today).

The Renaissance Revival style building was completed in September 1893.  Vast show windows at street level sat between heavy granite piers that supported an entablature announcing the store's name.  The entrance was flanked by fluted Scamozzi columns and embellished with a large circular window embraced by elaborate carving.

The rusticated, brick-faced upper floors were divided into three sections by wide terra cotta bands.  Early photographs show the terra cotta picked out in vividly contrasting colors.  A neo-Classical frieze ran below the pointy, crown-like pressed metal cornice.

King's Photographic Views of New York 1911 (copyright expired)

The New York Times remarked "The building was erected for west side partronage, and it is the firm's intention to make it an establishment of which the people of the west side may well be proud.  Their reputation for dealing only in reliable and first-class groceries has already won for them a warm welcome and a generous number of customers."

The building opened on September 23 and, according to The Times, "was attended by hundreds, who admired the building and the artistic display of goods."  The article added "There is no business building more handsome on the west side" and the New-York Tribune called it "a decided architectural ornament to the neighborhood."

The Tribune noted that the "best class of trade" on the Upper West Side had "suffered much inconvenience by being obliged to order their groceries and household provisions from down-town houses."   They could now rest easy.  "This inconvenience will be no longer felt, for the new store of Park & Tilford...is as complete and perfect in every detail as the most exacting buyers can demand."

Park & Tilford's vast array of merchandise was hinted at in the Tribune's reporting that the new store "is completely stocked with the best quality of standard articles, including a most desirable and extensive assortment of superior perfumery and toilet requisites."  The newspaper said "The ground floor of the building has been decorated and stocked in such a manner that it is no exaggeration to say that it is a work of art."

Frank Tilford was apparently pleased with the location, for he almost immediately began construction of his mansion across the street from the store.  The Real Estate Record called it "palatial" in December 1895.  And The Heroes of the American Revolution and Their Descendants, described it as "one of the handsomest edifices in that particularly handsome part of the city."

At No. 119 W. 72nd St, Tilford's home was almost directly across 72nd Street from the store. Real Estate Record & Guide, Dec 1895 (copyright expired) 

Below the Park & Tilford store were a basement and sub-basement.  Here behind-the-scenes work went on, like the candy-making shop.  In July 1909 the Cold Storage and Ice Trade Journal reported that the firm had improved its "candy factory" with a "10-ton Vesterdahl direct expansion refrigeration machine."  The up-to-the-minute addition would have nearly-deadly consequences later.

On the afternoon of December 17, 1916 six men working in the sub-cellar discovered a fire and pulled the alarm; but before they could reach the exits an ammonia tank to the refrigeration system exploded.

The New-York Tribune reported "All managed to crawl to the stairs or elevators before collapsing.  They were found by volunteers among their fellow employes and dragged to the street."

As fire fighters responded, more ammonia tanks exploded.  The first group of seven reached the sub-cellar with a line of hose, and then tried to retreat.  "All dropped before reaching the elevator," said the article.  A second wave, from Hook & Ladder 40, headed towards the fire and came across them.  But, "by the time they were hauled to the street most of their rescuers were overcome."

Fire fighters worked in shifts, covering their faces with wet towels--half fighting the fire and the other half pulling stricken firemen to the street.  Deputy Chief Burns finally refused to allow any more men to enter the building.  It was new fire-fighting technology that saved the building.  "Captain McElligott and his oxygen helmeted men worked their way into the smoke and fumes filled cellar with a line of hose, but it was a half hour before they had cleared the air sufficiently to permit the other firemen to enter."

In the meantime, the Tribune praised Park & Tilford's emergency preparation and the discipline of the employees.  "Almost 300 employes of Park & Tilford, scattered over six floors, gave an excellent demonstration of the fire drill system.  Summoned by a series of signals, the employes, most of them women, formed in line and marched through the smoke and fumes without disorder to the street."

Park & Tilford sold the building in 1920.  In 1925 architect Bernard Hersbrun was hired to renovated it to what became known as the Papae Building.  There was now a bowling alley in the basement, stores on the first floor, and offices and meeting rooms above.

The meeting rooms were routinely leased by clubs and union groups.  In December 1932, for instance, the election of officers of the Boston Terrier Club of New York was held here; and the following July the New York State Association or Retail Meat Dealers met to discuss a 48-hour work week and minimum wages.

On February 13, 1934, two months after Prohibition was repealed, The New York Times reported that the Retail Druggists Association of New York and the Pharmacy Owners Association had met in the Papae Building.  Surprisingly today, the reason for the meeting was to compose a letter to Governor Herbert Lehman "with a plea that he permit the sale of liquor in the drug stores."  The group, representing 5,000 pharmacies, said they were in "imminent peril" unless "drug stores were permitted to sell alcoholic beverages under the same license system that now governs the liquor dealers."

Considering all the union meetings being held in the building, it was not surprising that Cafeteria Local Union 460 of the I. W. W. leased an office in 1933.  What was surprising was that the "union" had only one member, 22-year old Arthur Fried.

The artful con artist studied up on labor unions in the library, printed letterheads and rented the office.  Then, according to police in January 1934, "he called on cafeteria owners, commanded them to pay their help 'union' rates and when they refused, hired sandwich men at $1 a day to picket their places."  For a $25 payment Fried would call off the business-deflating picketers.

Fried's scheme actually worked.  Until Nathan Brandwine called the police.  It was the end of the one-man Cafeteria Local Union 460.  Fried was arrested and charged with attempted extortion.

The Socialists of the Seventh and Ninth Assembly Districts held its meetings in the Papae Building in the early 1930s.   But a far different type of assemblage drew police attention in the spring of 1935.

To gain entrance to a large, private space on the sixth floor, a visitor needed an admission card.  One was obtained by a plainclothes patrolman in March, and he was shocked by what he uncovered.  At 10:45 on the night of March 12 the place was raided.   The audience, the management and the performers--150 people in total--were arrested for "participating in or attending an indecent performance."

The New York Times explained "the performance consisted of indecent motion pictures, after which performers started an improper presentation."   It required several back-and-forth trips by patrol wagons to transport the arrested throng.   All but one of the girls performing were in their teens, the oldest being 20.   Three of them, who were waiting to take part in the performance, escaped.

By the last quarter of the 20th century the neighborhood of Columbus Avenue and West 72nd Street had severely declined.   But on October 28, 1973 Robert E. Tomasson, writing for The New York Times, called West 72nd Street "a major commercial thoroughfare that has undergone a marked rejuvenation in the last few years."  Part of that rejuvenation was the 1972 renovation of the Park & Tilford building to apartments.

The chamfered corner provided additional light to the selling floors.

McKim, Mead & White's ground floor had been obliterated by now.  Most passersby likely assume that the architecturally sympathetic fluted pilasters that today grace the storefront are original.  The terra cotta now longer wears a colorful palette, and the exuberant cornice cresting was long ago lost.  But the Park & Tilford building, where well-to-do shoppers browsed among champagne and imported French delicacies, still commands a dignified presence.

photographs by the author

The 1874 Acker, Merrill & Condit Stable -- 134-136 West 10th Street

At noon on April 16, 1873 the "Valuable Plot of Ground with buildings" at Nos. 134 and 136 West 10th Street was sold at auction.  There was only one dwelling on the 40-foot wide property.  It was a commodious 25-foot wide brick house which appears by the description (two story, attic and basement) to have been a Federal style structure.  In the rear was a two-story brick stable.

The free-standing house with its grassy yard had been at one time home to a well-to-do family.  That was in evidence when the furnishings were auctioned 12 days later.  The listing included "Rich double and single Parlor Suits, Carpets, Mirrors, Paintings, Engravings, carved black walnut Bedsteads and Bureaus, best hair Mattresses," and such.

At the time Acker, Merrill & Condit Co. owned and operated several high-end grocery stores.  The term "grocery" had little to do with the word we commonly use today.  Acker, Merrill & Co. catered to the carriage trade and stocked a dizzying array of goods--wines, confectioneries, gourmet foods and delicacies, cigars, and personal items.  Founded in 1820, its main competitor now was the equally well-known Park & Tilford.

Nearly a year to the day after the furnishings of No. 136 West 10th Street were removed, Acker, Merrill & Co.'s architect, Charles Wright, filed plans for a three-story brick stable on the site.  Before construction was completed later that year the plans were reworked to include a fourth floor.  Wright's handsome Italianate stable was faced in red brick and trimmed in stone.  The architect distinguished the openings with scalloped lintels with dropped ends and placed delicate brackets below their sills.  The bracketed cornice upheld a triangular pediment which announced the construction date.

The symmetry of the design--upset only by the double-wide hay loft opening at the third floor--was carried on to the street level where two wide carriage bays and two doorways were in perfect balance.

The capacious facility housed Acker, Merrill & Condit Co.'s delivery trucks and horses.  Life for the work animals was hard, occasionally requiring them be placed a discounted prices.  On July 19, 1877, an advertisement appeared in The New York Herald that read "For Sale Cheap--Three horses.  Apply at 134 West 10th st., New York."

Nearly 35 years after building the stable, Acker, Merrill & Co. sold it to Charles F. Hickey of Brooklyn.  Or at least they attempted to.  The firm gave Hickey a $30,000 three-year mortgage on the property--in the neighborhood of $825,000 today.   A year before the term was up, Hickey renewed the entire amount.

Eventually, Acker, Merrill & Co. seems to have given up on Hickey and on December 27, 1918 The Sun reported that it leased the building to the Peerless Trucking Company.   At the time motorized trucks were slowly replacing horse-driven drays on the streets of New York.   By the summer of 1922 Peerless Trucking & Transfer Co. was ready for a total change-over.  At "10 a.m. sharp" an auction was held in the 10th Street stable to liquidate the outdated equipment and the horses.

The auction announcement listed 27 "good work horses," 28 trucks of different types, 22 sets of single and double harnesses, 32 blankets and "all stable utensils."  The auctioneers guaranteed "These horses are young and acclimated and used to all kinds of hard work.  Anyone in need of a first-class work horse should not miss this opportunity."

The old stable continued life as a trucking depot and then as a garage by the late 1960's.  Then, in 2006 it received a remarkable makeover.  The ground floor was converted to a "community facility" while the upper floors became a total of seven apartments.  Among the building's high-profile residents were actor Kiefer Sutherland.

Half of the street level space became home to the Village Preschool Center.  According to its website the facility, for children between 2 to 5 years of age, offers daily French lessons, science, music, and "reading readiness" activities.   "Our graduates are extremely prepared, academically and socially," the website says, "to move on to kindergarten."

The sympathetic remodeling and restoration of the 145-year old livery stable preserved an important component of the historic fabric of this charming section of the Village.

photographs by the author

The 1907 Chepstow - 215-217 West 101st Street

 

photo by Anthony Bellov

In February 1906, the Central Realty Co. announced plans to erect “a 10-story elevator apartment house” on the northeast corner of Broadway and 101st Street.  The firm promised, “The building will have the very latest improvements, and apartments will be arranged in suites for housekeeping purposes.”  (The term “housekeeping” meant the apartments would have kitchens, unlike those in the popular residential hotels.)

The Chepstow, as it was called, was completed in 1907.  The architectural firm of Mulliken & Moeller had produced a handsome brick and stone structure in the Renaissance Revival style.  A two-story base of white limestone supported eight floors of red brick.  The architects placed the regal, Renaissance-inspired residential entrance on the side street.  Its wide, arched doorway sat deeply recessed behind polished granite columns that upheld an ornate balcony with Corinthian columns and a carved heraldic panel. A faux balcony directly above carried on the motif, with intricate Renaissance Revival carvings and a large panel of a crown surrounded by foliate decorations.

image via the NYC Municipal Archive

On the Broadway side were a large store on the corner, occupied by the upscale grocery firm of Park & Tilford, and a smaller shop at 2668 which was leased by florist Charles Haberman.  On September 7, 1907, The American Florist noted that Haberman “is now in a fine store in the new building 2668 Broadway.”

The sprawling apartments contained eight or nine rooms with three baths.  They filled with well-to-do white-collar residents.  Among the original occupants was John James Stevenson, a professor of Geology at New York University and a member of the Geological Society of American and the exclusive Century Club.  Professor Stevenson would remain in the Chepstow into the 1920’s.

Mitchell Harrison, his wife, and their six-year-old son were also early tenants.  Harrison was a former newspaper advertising agent and, according to The New York Times, “a man of independent means.”   The couple lived in St. Louis until 1908 when, said the newspaper, Harrison “gave up his advertising business… because of ill health.”  His medical condition seems to have been more psychological than physical.  In January 1909, Harrison took to his bed and never got out.  He was diagnosed with “nervous prostration.”

On March 21, Harrison’s brother-in-law, Louis M. Lifter stopped by.  The New York Times reported that Mrs. Harrison “joined them, and the three read and talked together.  Harrison seemed to be very cheerful, yet he had at the time a note in his bed addressed to his wife asking her forgiveness for his suicide.”  After a while, he said he wanted to sleep and the two left the bedroom.

They had barely sat down in the living room when a loud report was heard.  Mrs. Harrison ran to the bedroom and “saw a little cloud of smoke floating upward from the bed.”  She threw open a window and screamed to the street for help.  “Get a doctor!”  Harrison was still alive when the doctor arrived but died before the ambulance got to the building.  The coroner’s physician found Harrison’s letter to his wife in the bed, which read:

I did what seemed to be best under the circumstances.  Please forgive me and bear up under your trouble for baby’s sake.  It breaks my heart to leave you—I so dearly love you and our darling boy. 

        God bless you both.  Your Loving Husband

Artist Mabel R. Ward lived in the Chepstow in 1912, as did Robert Adamson and his wife, the former Ethel McClintock.  Adamson had been a newspaper editor and political writer until January 1, 1910 when he became secretary to Mayor William Jay Gaynor.

The mayor and his son set sail for Europe on the RMS Baltic on September 4, 1913.  Seven days later a telegram from Rufus Gaynor arrived at the Chepstow for Robert Adamson.  It read, “Father died Wednesday at 1 o’clock.  Death due to heart failure.  Notify mother.”  Gaynor’s successor, Mayor Ardolph L. Klein, kept Adamson on as his secretary.  Then, after managing his campaign in 1913, on January 1, 1914, Mayor John Purroy Mitchel appointed Adamson Fire Commissioner.

A heart-warming incident played out in the Adamson apartment on Thanksgiving Day 1916.  Firefighter Jack Walsh had earlier “scaled a seven story building and rescued a young lady at the risk of his life,” according to The Advocate.  The 32-year-old was on duty that day, when his captain informed him that he was to report to the Commissioner’s apartment.  He later told a reporter, “As I entered the Commissioner’s house I was greeted by Mrs. Adamson, and still I wondered what the urgent call was all about.  A minute later the ‘Big Boss’ appeared and said, ‘Fireman, glad to see you.  Did you have your turkey yet?”  The young hero not only shared Thanksgiving dinner with the Fire Commissioner and his wife, but was handed $100 in appreciation for his bravery, donated by a citizen.

Augustus C. Corby, the vice-president of the Metropolitan Bank lived here in 1921.  He had just returned home on the night of June 15 when he had to rush back to the bank.  Frederick J. Schweer, Jr., a young clerk had taken a pile of bank books and records into a large vault when the heavy door slammed shut.  Schweer was now trapped inside an airtight vault and the bank’s employees had all gone home.

Around an hour later, at 7:00 the night watchman, John Connolly, was making his rounds and heard a steady tapping on the door of the vault.  He first thought someone was trying to break in, then realized an employee was trapped inside.  Connolly rushed to the telephone and called Corby, who had the combination.  Before leaving his apartment, Corby notified police.  The Massachusetts newspaper, the Greenfield Daily Recorder reported, “His automobile was outside and he broke all traffic regulations getting to the bank.”  Once there, and with policemen standing by, he opened the vault.  The article said, “The boy was unconscious when lifted out.  An ambulance surgeon from Bellevue hospital, who had been waiting more than an hour with a pulmotor, began work on him.”  Schweer had been rescued with only moments to spare.

At the time of the nerve-wracking rescue, tenants paid the equivalent today of $3,900 per month for an eight-room apartment, and $4,400 for nine rooms.  The Broadway stores had been divided into three shops that year.  Morris Burnstein’s cigar store was in the corner space, the Buckingham Haberdashers moved into the middle store, and the northernmost space was a lingerie shop.

Expectedly, families living in the Chepstow employed servants, at least a maid and a cook.  The Jordan Lamberts’ maid was Viola Smith.  Although the building, of course, had electricity, the 25-year-old was using an alcohol lamp on the night of November 15, 1925.  Her choice nearly ended her life.  The Daily News reported, that while carrying the lamp, she tripped and fell.

“Her clothes and the pantry caught fire.  Mrs. Lambert rushed to the screaming maid and beat out the flames with her hands, suffering slight burns as she did so.”  Viola Smith was taken to Knickerbocker Hospital, where her condition was deemed serious.

The days of expansive suites and affluent residents came to an end in the World War II years.  In 1945, the Chepstow was converted to a warren of single occupancy units.  Living in a room here in 1955 was Frank “Frisco” McBride, a 31-year-old portrait artist in the Times Amusement Corp. Arcade on Broadway near 52nd Street.

Around 3:00 on the morning of September 16 that year, an inebriated McBride was on Broadway, just north of Times Square.  A man, possibly accidentally, knocked him to the sidewalk.  The Herald Statesman reported, “McBride got up, clutching a beer can opener, and ‘proceeded to terrorize about 150 people in the vicinity,’ police said.”  When Detectives Ury and Massello attempted to apprehend him, McBride lunged at Massello with the opener.  In the affray that followed, Detective Ury’s right index finger was broken.  At the station house McBride explained his actions saying, “I must have been crazy drunk.”

A renovation completed in 1965 resulted in nine apartments per floor.  Whether Edward McBride was a relative of Frisco McBride is unclear, but he was living here in 1973 when he was arrested on May 10 with two other men.  They were charged with robbing a man named Larry Grant of his 1971 Chrysler and cash, as well as with gun possession.  As the police van was transporting them to the 24th Precinct Station on West 100th Street the following morning, the rear doors swung open.  All five prisoners, including McBride, jumped out—two of them handcuffed together—and fled without the policemen in the front of the van realizing what had happened.

But eluding police while in handcuffs proved both difficult and awkward.  McBride walked into the Criminal Court Building on Centre Street a day later to give himself up.  He told officials that “he had spent most of Friday riding subways around town and had gone to see ‘Fists of Fury’ that evening at the National Theater in Times Square, sitting through it four times.”

photo by Anthony Bellov

As the 20th century drew to a close, Oscar and Toni’s bar occupied the corner store.  The 1994 New York: The Rough Guide called it “a neighborhood bar that’s popular with locals, especially students from nearby Columbia University.”  It made way for the Broadway Dive in 1999.  Fodor’s Travel Guide said, “It may be called a dive, but this dimly lit, wood-clad bar, covered with various animal busts, is more like a craft beer emporium.”  

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

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The Beaux Arts Beauty at No. 141-147 Fifth Avenue

photo corenyc.com

In 1896 Fifth Avenue between Washington Square and 23rd Street had ceased to be a fashionable residential area. Where only four decades earlier there were wide, dignified brownstones and trees, commercial loft buildings were now rising.

Robert L. Cutting had purchased his four-story mansion at No. 141 Fifth Avenue in 1854 and his next door neighbor, Clarence A. Seward, at No. 143 took possession in 1864. On April 23, 1896 the two residences were sold. The New York Times remarked “Both have been famous mansions in their day, identified with old New-York society.”

“Beginning on May 1, the present buildings will be torn down and a nine-story fire-proof store and lofts building will be erected in their stead,” the newspaper reported.

Real estate developer Henry Corn, who was active in the commercial development of lower Fifth Avenue, had purchased the mid-block houses. Rather than the nine-story building The Times predicted, he commissioned Robert Maynicke to design an 11-story Beaux-Arts building in limestone and terra-cotta.

Maynicke at the time was busy – designing scores of commercial buildings throughout the city. The new structure would cost $200,000. The Merchant Bank of New York occupied the lower floors and, while Maynicke’s design was dignified and restrained, its repeating layers of rectangular windows between pilasters provided a structure that was more monotonous than truly exceptional.

N. C.McCready purchased the building from Corn in 1897 for $462,500 and set about acquiring the corner plot to the north which he bought in 1898 for $341,000.



Ficken's taller addition can be seen in the architectural drawing by CentraRuddy



The following year McCready hired architect Henry Edwards Ficken to extend the building to the corner, instructing him that the addition was to be in “the same character” as the existing structure. Ficken perfectly melded his design with Maynicke’s structure, creating a flawless transition. The architect raised the addition by two floors and added a dramatic three-story dome at the corner. His cast-iron façade curved around the corner and he added embellishments such as balconies and round windows to make the formerly ho-hum building a show-stopper.

The building filled with various tenants – J. B. Thompson and Company taking an entire floor in 1900 and J. F. Feeley & Co., lace dealers, taking space in 1906.

Park & Tilford’s was an important tenant, selling everything from “fancy groceries” to ladies’ toilet articles. In 1911 New Yorkers were stunned when druggist Percy W. Shields was arrested for stealing more than $30,000 worth of imported perfumes from the store. The pricey French perfume called Ideal Houbigant, sold for an extravagant $10 per bottle.

McCready’s heir, Caroline A. McCready, sold No. 141-147 in June of 1912 to C. Grayson Martin for around $1.5 million. The New York Times accompanied its report of the sale with a photograph showing scores of men in straw boaters crowding the sidewalks around the building. It tagged the shot “Congestion during Noon Hour.”

Indeed, the influx of manufacturing lofts in the area was causing problems on the avenue. Just six months after the sale, real estate assessor Henry Brady said “The neighborhood is particularly objectionable for retail trade, on account of the many sweat-shops, the workers in which congregate in large crowds along Fifth Avenue from Fourteenth to Twenty-third Street.”

By the middle of the 20th Century the area had become somewhat bedraggled. No. 141-147 had lost its wonderful corner balcony and the first floor had been savagely altered. The Corinthian pilasters and delicate detailing were ripped away for modern store fronts.

In 2005, as lower Fifth Avenue experienced a revitalization, SL Green and Savanna Partners purchased the grand old building for about $60 million. The owners hired architect John Cetra of CetraRuddy to restore the façade and convert the building into 38 apartments.

In addition to adding two new floors, invisible from the street, Cetra not only brought the old building into the 20th Century, he took it back to the 19th Century. The long-vanished corner balcony was reconstructed. The missing stone and terra cotta ornamentation, including the Corinthian capitals and pilasters of the ground floor, gargoyles and urns, were reproduced in fiberglass. The handsome cupola was totally restored and 3,200 square-foot apartment installed within.

the restored three-story dome - photo by Alan Schindler

The renovation was completed in 2007, resulting in a merit award nomination for the architects for “adaptive re-use project.”

The unique dome apartment with its three terraces was advertised that year for $12 million.

Architect's illustration of the $12 million dome apartment -- by CentraRuddy

One of lower Fifth Avenue’s grand dames, No. 141-147 Fifth Avenue has come back to life.

The Matthew P. Bogert House - 224 West 10th Street

Although city directories listed Levi Onderdonk as "carpenter," he was in fact an established builder, or contractor, and well-respected citizen.  By 1843 he was a manager of the New-York City Tract Society, a position he would hold for at least a decade; and was repeatedly re-elected as Assessor of the 9th Ward.  In 1847, the same year he began construction on his own residence on Charles Street, he joined with two other carpenter builders, Abraham Demarest and Stephen C. Stephens, in a speculative project.

The men purchased property on Amos Street, between Bleecker and Hudson Streets from former New York City Mayor William Paulding Jr. and began construction on three brick-faced homes.  Three stories tall above deep brownstone-clad basements and 20-feet  wide, they were intended for financially-comfortable families.   No. 126, like its two identical neighbors at 128 and 130, had a handsome Greek Revival doorway with sidelights, stylized Corinthian pilasters and an especially ample transom.  There was nothing especially out of the ordinary about the architecture until one's eyes rose to the cornices. where each of the unique brackets took the form of a stylized flowers.

By the early 1850's the house was home to the family of Matthew P. Bogert.  He and his wife, Matilda, had been married in in 1843.  The couple would eventually have seven children.   In 1854 one, a 3-year-old named Warren, came down with "consumption," a dreaded condition which today would most often be diagnosed as pulmonary tuberculosis.  The toddler died at 9:00 on the night of May 2.  His funeral was held in the house at 8:00 in the morning two days later.

In 1857 Amos Street was renamed, resulting in the house receiving the new address of No 224 West 10th Street.

Bogert served on the jury of a highly-publicized court case in 1861.  The Union Navy had captured a commercial ship, the Savannah, working on behalf of the Confederate government.  The crew of the private vessel, which was attempting to run blockades and supply aid to the Confederates, were charged with privateering.  On October 23, 1861 the trial began.  The New York Times headline read "The Savannah Privateer / Trial for Piracy / Great Throng in Court."

The same year that Matthew Bogert sat on that jury, 35-year old John R. Hill was appointed to the New York Police force.  Although the fighting was far to the south, like Bogert, the Civil War would personally affect him.  On July 11, 1863 the nation’s first attempt at a military draft played out in New York with a lottery.  When the 1,200 chosen names were published, it was obvious that only the city’s poor and immigrant population was included—the wealthy had bought exemptions or used their political power to circumvent the draft.  The result was the Draft Riots—a three-day reign of terror and carnage unlike anything seen in the country before.  Innocent people were murdered; and draft offices, newspaper buildings, and the homes and neighborhoods of the city’s black population were burned. 

Among the policemen wounded in the conflicts was John R. Hill.  In August a city committee distributed a fund "for the relief of Police and others suffering from the riots."  Hill received $100, or just over $2,000 today.

Abuse to police officers routinely came from far less dramatic circumstances.  On September 6, 1867 Officer Hill was on West Street when a man asked him what was "the proper charge for a hack to go up town," according to The New York Herald.  After Hill informed him of the correct fare, the driver, Patrick Kelly, who had tried to overcharge the man, "commenced abusing the officer and called him by several vile names."  Hill arrested Kelly, who received a "scathing reprimand" from Justice Dowling at the Tombs Police Court and fined $10.

It is unclear when Hill and his wife, Sinia, moved into No. 224, but they were here certainly by the early 1870's.  The couple had four children.

In 1875 Hill was moved from patrol duty to the First District Police Court. His salary increased to $1,200 with the promotion, in the neighborhood of $28,300 per year today.  Well respected within the law enforcement community, he became Treasurer of the Police Mutual Aid Fund of the "Tombs squad."

Hill fell ill in June 1881 with what most likely did not initially seem serious.  But on Wednesday, June 29 the condition developed into pneumonia.  It worsened and on July 4 he lost consciousness.   The following day he died at the age of 56.  The New York Herald reported "He was a member of Atlas Lodge and a regular attendant of the Jane Street Methodist Church.  He leaves a wife and children, two of whom are grown to manhood."

Newspapers across the city lauded his service.  The New York Times reminded readers of his injuries during the Draft Riots, and the New York Evening Express remarked that he "leaves behind him an enviable record."

Now without an income Sinia Hill applied to the city for a police widow's death pension.  She began receiving an annual stipend of $300 within the month.

Sinia remained in the 10th Street house until the 1890's.  But with much reduced finances (her annual pension would equal about $7,600 today) she took in boarders.  One of them, Alexander Senter, brought scandal to her home.

On August 30, 1890 The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported "Mabel Palmer, 13 years of age, made a charge of criminal assault against Alexander Senter, 38 years old, of 224 West 10th street, New York, at his house while she was there on a visit."  Senter was held without bail.  The newspaper entitled its article "Assaulted His Little Guest."

Around the mid-1890's the house was purchased by the Richardson family.  Elizabeth C. Richardson was just 24 years old when she died here on January 20, 1899.  Like Sinia Hill had done, the family took in a boarder.  On January 4, 1905 an advertisement in The Evening Telegram offered "a handsomely furnished three, four room apartment, modern improvements, hot water."

Sarah S. Richardson died in the house on July 23, 1907.  Her funeral, like Elizabeth's, was held in St. Luke's Chapel.

The Richardson family maintained possession of the house for several more years.  Their boarder in 1910 was Charles C. Polk, a tailor, who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time on November 10.  

Labor disputes between unions and management were often violent and, at times, deadly.  A city-wide teamster strike resulted in armed guards riding on the horse-drawn wagons driven by non-union men.  That did not always stop union men, armed with iron bars or worse, from attacking them.   The situation boiled over on November 10, when The Evening Post reported "Shooting of the non-combatant passerby, apparently inevitable in all long-continued strikes in which there is rioting marked to-day's violence of the union drivers and the non-union strike-breakers."

Charles C. Polk was the unfortunate non-combatant passerby.  James Black had pulled a wagon owned by grocers Park & Tilford out of the company's West 15th Street stables.  With no guards to protect him, Black was armed.  As the wagon emerged, he was stoned by a mob, but, according to The Evening Post, "he dodged and used his whip so effectively that the horse got into a gallop quickly and the outpost of the mob was distanced as it ran after the wagon, cursing the driver."

But at Sixth Avenue a massive gang of union men swarmed over the wagon.  When Black pulled out his revolver, the men backed down; but his luck ran out at 49th Street where, in an unlucky turn of fate, Charles C. Polk was walking down the sidewalk.  A new mob surrounded the wagon, one of the men grabbing the horses reins and attempting to unhitch it.

The article went on, "Black fired his pistol this time, aiming at the man at the horse's head, but the one that hit the pavement rebounded and struck Charles C. Polk of No. 224 Wet Tenth Street in the side."  At the sight of the innocent man lying bleeding on the pavement, the strikers dispersed.  Polk was taken to Flower Hospital where he later recovered.

George H. Richardson was appointed a Commissioner of Deeds in June 1915.  It was a civil service job similar to that of a Notary Public; but it was secure city position and a foot in the door.  The following year he was promoted to Deputy of Elections with a salary of $1,000 per year, or about $23,600 today.  In 1918 he received a substantial raise to $1,200.

In 1926 No. 224 was sold to a real estate firm which, according to The New York Sun on August 25, "will remodel the property."  The renovations were not significant enough to warrant documentation with the Department of Buildings as apartments; however the property was clearly being operated as a rooming house.

Lena Moody lived here in 1931 when she and a friend were involved in a fatal automobile accident on a road trip to Philadelphia.  Journalists of the period felt an obligation to designate the race of Blacks and that was the case on August 26 when The Philadelphia Inquirer reported "Mrs. Sarah Clark, 39, negro, of Seventh avenue, New York, and Mrs. Lena Moody, 42, negro, of 224 West 10th street, New York, were killed when an automobile in which they were riding collided at C street and Roosevelt boulevard, early yesterday morning, with the car of John Sokel."  Sokel was apparently white, since the article did not bother to say so.

In 1967 the house was converted to a duplex in the basement and first floor, and two apartments on each floor above.   Among the residents in the 1990's was female playwright, author, screenwriter and educator Michael Angel Johnson.

Major change came in 2013 when a one-year renovation was initiated.  In 2014 a listing boasted that the house was "newly gut renovated."  The single-family structure now held six bedrooms, four-and-a-half baths and a 1,000 bottle wine cellars among the other upscale amenities.

photo via scottparksrealty.com

Marketed at $13.5 million, it was purchased by actor Bradley Cooper in May 2018.

photographs by the author

The 1886 Mary Howe Nolen House - 349 West 123rd Street

 

Architect M. Louis Ungrich was busy in the spring of 1885.  On May 30, the Record & Guide reported that he was "preparing the sketches" for six apartment buildings for Henry Muhlker, ten rowhouses for F. K. Keller and Frank Tilford, and a tenement for Augustus Eichele.  

The houses for Keller and Tilford, on the north side of West 123rd Street between Morningside Avenue and Manhattan Avenue, were intended for middle-class residents.  Just 16-feet-wide, they were completed in 1886.  Three stories tall above stone basements, they were faced in red brick and trimmed in brownstone and terra cotta.  Ungrich designed the Queen Anne-style homes in five mirror-image pairs in an A-B-C-D-A-B-C-D-A-B configuration.

Among the D models was 349 West 123rd Street.  Slightly more understated than the A and B models, Ungrich gave it a splash of Renaissance Revival with terra cotta lintels over the doorway and parlor window.  The parlor level openings sat within quoined stone frames.  Interestingly, the proportions of the window nearly matched that of the doorway and the two lintels were nearly identical.  The openings of the second and third floors shared single stone lintels, and a sloped shingled roof covered the attic level.

Keller and Tilford initially leased 349 West 123rd Street.  An advertisement in the New York Herald on March 29, 1887, offered: 

Handsome New House, 349 West 123d St., near Morningside Park, decorated, ten rooms and bath; three years' lease.

The new occupants seem to have been adherents of the Temperance movement.  The restriction of alcohol in the household may have been too much to bear for their cook.  The well-trained culinarian was specific in looking for a new position.  On February 1, 1888 she advertised in The New York Times:

$40--Cook; Professional from Ems. (Imperial Medal of Merit); in first-class family; no children; no abstainers.  Call at 349 West 123d-st.

The salary she required (presumably monthly) would translate to about $1,360 in 2025.

The house and the one next door at 351 were sold in May 1890 to Annie B. Wakefield.  She resold No. 349 four months later to Mariam Howe Nolen, the widow of George H. Nolen.  She had three children, George Jr., Spencer, and Mary Howe.  

Mariam Nolen worked as what today would be called a real estate agent.  She took in a boarder to augment finances.  Living with the family in 1894 was John L. Florence, a commissioner of deeds.  (The civil service position was similar to today's notary public.)

Spencer Nolen died at the age of 28 on March 21, 1896.  His funeral was held in the house three days later.

It was almost assuredly through Mariam's real estate work that she became acquainted with "Mrs. D. H. Nellis, known as Mrs. Blakely" as described by The Sun.  Mrs. Blakely was a member of the Real Estate Exchange and she rented houses owned by W. E. D. Stokes and collected his rents.  On February 4, 1898, she appeared in court to answer a complaint from the owner of a livery stable for an outstanding bill of $75.  During the proceedings it was revealed that she had several other outstanding financial obligations.  The Sun quoted her testimony:

My mother lent me $1,500, which I used for personal expenses.  I borrowed $900 from Mrs. Nolan [sic] of 349 West 123d street; $400 from Mr. F. Barnes, a stock broker, last October; $400 from Mrs. Duke of 255 West Seventy-second street.  I used all for expenses.

The amount Mariam Nolen loaned her would translate to about $35,100 today.  Whether she ever recouped the loan is unclear.

Sarah Hortense Herrington boarded with the Nolen family at the time.  She died on May 8, 1898 and her funeral was held in the parlor two days later.

By then, Mary Howe Nolen was a force among the kindergarten movement.  A graduate of Hunter College, she worked with the Department of Education overseeing kindergarten classes.  Her diplomatic but stern oversight was reflected in a letter the 28-year-old wrote to a teacher, Adele Miln, in 1899, that said:

Please be prepared next Wednesday morning to show the teachers how you adapted "Marching to Jerusalem" to the playground without chairs.  You had chalk circles on the floor.  I shall have to trouble you to bring your own chalk and any other portable equipment necessary.  Also please bring a list of playground games that are especially successful with small boys.  If you do not err, yours is a boys' playground so you will have need to plan these carefully for yourself.  I do not want to put any extra labor upon you, but you are always helpful and willing, so don't fail me.

In 1902, Mariam transferred title of 349 West 123rd Street to Mary.  She held the title of Supervisor of Kindergarten at the time.

The Nolens continued to take in a boarder.  In 1902 Andrew J. Smith lived here, and in 1912 Ernest A. Needham boarded with the family.  Needham was a retired commission merchant and in failing health.  

On the night of September 3, 1912, he walked into the dining room and poured carbolic acid into a glass and drank it.  The act was witnessed by Mariam Nolan, who "ran to the street and summoned policeman Singer," as reported by The Sun.  Singer "found Mr. Needham on a couch in the dining room."  He was transported to the J. Hood Wright Hospital where he was deemed to be "in a serious condition."  It was so serious, in fact, that a priest was called.  Mariam told reporters, "He has been in poor health and seemed much discouraged about it."

Ernest A. Needham survived the attempt.  He died in the house a year later, on November 12, 1913.  The New York Times mentioned, "funeral private."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

There would be two other funerals in the parlor in rapid succession.  Three months later, on January 22, 1914, George H. Nolen died; and the following year, on June 25, 1915, Mariam Howe Nolen died.  Her funeral was held in the house on June 27. 

By the post-World War I years, Mary Howe Nolen was president of the Parents' Kindergarten Association of the Model School.  The group was founded in 1889 "to establish some model kindergartens in districts where the children were in greatest need of them," as explained by The Outlook in 1912.  Mary would head that organization into the mid-1920s.

Mary Howe Nolen died on March 25, 1948 at the age of 77.  

The Nolen house became home to Alonzo B. Morris, a real estate operator.  By the second half of the 20th century, it had been converted to a two-family home and it continues as such today.

Although the stone and terra cotta have been painted, the exterior of the Nolen house is virtually intact.  And, somewhat surprisingly, the original interior shutters still hang in the upper floor windows.

photographs by the author

The Lost C. P. Huntington Mansion -- 2 East 57th Street

The imposing arched entrance faced 57th Street, away from busy 5th Avenue -- photograph by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWE6C420#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWE6C420&PN=1

In the first years after the Civil War Richmond, Virginia struggled to get back on its feet.  New York City railroad mogul Collis P. Huntington visited the city regularly; eventually purchasing what would become the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad.  Enormously wealthy, he was nevertheless uncouth, uneducated and according to newspapers “ruthless” and “scrupulously dishonest.”

While in Richmond the married millionaire noticed the 19-year old daughter of a boarding house operator, Arabella Yarrington.  Encouraged by her mother, the two began a steamy affair.  When Huntington’s business in the South was completed in 1869, he returned to New York City.  Not far behind was the entire Yarrington family; including John Worsham who posed as Arabella’s husband.

The following year Arabella bore a son, Archer,—the paternity of whom was never quite decided—and not long afterward she was tragically widowed.  (In actuality, John Worsham had returned home to his real wife in Richmond; but the story of his death was sufficient for newspaper accounts.)

Whether Elizabeth Huntington was aware of the scandalous affair or not; she quietly lived on in the Huntington mansion at Park Avenue and 38^th Street.  Her husband first established the Yarringtons in a house near Gramercy Park; then in 1877 bought Arabella the brownstone house at 4 West 54^th Street.

Arabella Yarrington Worsham was now firmly ensconced in what was rapidly becoming the most exclusive residential neighborhood in Manhattan.  The address alone, however, was not enough to get her access into the drawing rooms of her high-toned neighbors.

Collis and Arabella continued their illicit romance for years while Elizabeth Huntington battled cancer.  Finally, in 1883, she succumbed.  Her death frankly made things a bit easier for Arabella and Collis.

On Friday July 7, 1884 Huntington transferred the deed to his Park Avenue mansion to “Belle” and the following day they were married in the parlor of 4 West 54^th Street.  He was 64 years old and his bride was now 34.  Before long Collis would adopt young Archer.

Arabella Yarrington Worsham Huntington sold the West 54^th Street house to Ohio oil tycoon John D. Rockefeller and the newlyweds moved into the Park Avenue house.  Despite her boorish husband and humble upbringing; Arabella was educated and polished.  She spoke French fluently and had a sophisticated eye for art, a well-honed knowledge of history and books, and a refined understanding of decorative arts.   In short, she had everything a wealthy woman of the 19^th century could desire—other than social acceptance.

In 1889 the Huntingtons were ready to elbow their way into Vanderbilt territory on Fifth Avenue.  One historian suggests Arabella “made” Collis build her a new mansion.  At any rate, he purchased the enormous plot of land (five 25-foot lots) at the southeast corner of 57^th Street--across the avenue from the massive chateau George B. Post had designed for Cornelius Vanderbilt II.

Like Vanderbilt (or perhaps because of him) Huntington called on Post to design his mansion.  On November 2, 1889 the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide announced that excavations for the foundation had commenced.  Although Post was tight-lipped about the design, the Guide promised “The house is to be, of course, most expensive in character, and it has been hinted in a cable from Europe that it is to be occupied by the Prince and Princess Hatzfeldt.”  (Princess Clara von Hatzfeldt was the foster daughter of Huntington and despite society’s hopes of having titled neighbors, the titled pair would go on living in Europe.)

Workers install the massive carriage gates.  American Architect and Building News, July 14, 1894 (copyright expired)

The mansion would take five years to complete, at a cost of $2.5 million.  Huge blocks of rough-cut stone formed the façade, interrupted by Renaissance-inspired openings on the second and third floors, and a ribbon of stone balustrade that encircled the structure above the parlor level.

The entrance, on 57^th Street, was deeply recessed within a gaping stone arch.  To the side was a picturesque oval wing which, except for the lack of expanses of glass, the passerby might expect was the Huntington conservatory.  Instead it contained the heated “plunge bath” or “swimming bath.”  The remarkably modern complex included massage rooms, Turkish bath, dressing rooms, toilets, and a cozy fireplace nook with built-in seats.

The Huntington house (right) sat in the most exclusive New York neighborhood.  To the left is the white marble French mansion of Mary Mason Jones.  The iron fence at lower left belongs to Cornelius Vanderbilt III -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

Arabella’s hand was no doubt responsible for much of the interior decoration.   Artist Elihu Vedder embellished the dining room with wall and ceiling frescoes representing the four seasons.  The commission was hefty enough for him to turn down an invitation to do mural painting for the World’s Fair in Chicago.  Later, in 1916, art historian Joseph Walker McSpadden would approve of the mural, describing “each of the four figures being treated in an original manner.”

As the house neared completion trouble came when union woodworkers realized that non-union carvers were at work inside.  On May 3, 1893 The Evening World reported “Non-union carvers are employed on the new building of Railroad Magnate C. P. Huntington, Fifty-seventh street and Fifth avenue, and the Board of Walking Delegates is threatening to make trouble unless union men be employed at not more than eight hours per day.”

Apparently the dispute was settled and the house was completed within the year.  The mansion was fully plumbed and there were 10 full bathrooms.  The Engineering Record noted “In the second and third stories are six porcelain roll-rim decorated bathtubs on marble legs, and in other stories are three porcelain-lined roll-rim cast iron bathtubs.  In the boudoir bathroom is a decorated porcelain roll-top sitz bathtub with silver-plated fittings.”  The publication added that “the bathrooms are finished with white marble and ceramic tiles.”

The bay window on the Fifth Avenue side would later be lost to the avenue's widening.  At the opposite side the oval wing containing the swimming pool can be glimpsed.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWE6C420#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWE6C420&PN=1

Running a massive Fifth Avenue mansion required substantial service areas.  The Huntington house included a steward's room with two refrigerators, laundry room, laundry drying room, kitchen and scullery, butler’s pantry, and refrigerator room.

Now in their impressive home that rivaled any of the mansions that surrounded it, the Huntingtons focused on social acceptance.  The surest route into Manhattan’s inner circle was through Ward McAllister, the self-appointed gatekeeper of established society.  It was McAllister, along with Caroline Astor, who devised the list of “The Four Hundred;” those with the acceptable pedigree to be invited to Mrs. Astor’s ballroom.

Willing to buy his way into Manhattan society, Huntington negotiated a deal with McAllister.  For a $9,000 fee McAllister would host a dinner party in their honor followed by an invitation to the exclusive Patriarchs’ Ball and a personal introduction to Caroline Astor.

Once Ward McAllister had fulfilled his promises, Collis Huntington saw no reason to part with his $9,000 (a substantial quarter of a million today).  It was a socially-fatal miscalculation.  McAllister not only rubbed shoulders with New York’s wealthiest citizens, but with the gossip columnists, too.  The Huntington name was smeared in the newspapers and Arabella’s last grasp at social inclusion failed.

Even if her name was not included on the invitation lists of the grandest balls and receptions; Arabella Huntington’s life was not a harsh one.  Among their other homes was an expansive lodge, “Pine Knot,” on Racquet Lake in the Adirondack Mountains.  In August 1900 the Huntingtons were at Pine Knot with family and house guests that included Archer and his wife; Arabella’s sister and brother-in-law, Mansfield Hillhouse; Isaac E. Gates, Collis’s brother-in-law and advisor; William E. Coley; Arabella’s lifelong friend, Miss C. M. Campbell; and Huntington’s private secretary George E. Miles.

Just after going to bed on August 13 the 79-year old Collis suffered a coughing fit.  The San Francisco Call reported “His wife and he occupied the same apartment, and when the coughing attack came on Mrs. Huntington gave him a glass of stimulant, as she had always done before.  This seemed to relieve him for a moment.”

But the aged millionaire realized that this time it was worse than the earlier attacks.  “I am very, very ill,” he said to Arabella.  They were his last words.  A few seconds later he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Arabella ran to the servants, directing someone to get a doctor.  The guests, who had just finished playing whist, emerged from their bedrooms.  “Dr. Taylor came with all speed, but when he reached the sick man’s bedside life was extinct,” said the newspaper.

A special train brought the body of Collis P. Huntington to Grand Central terminal on Wednesday August 15.  The casket was placed in the library of the 57^th Street mansion awaiting the private funeral that was held two days later.

In an incredible memorial to its deceased president, the Southern Pacific system ceased all operations for the few minutes that the casket was removed from the hearse to the grave site.  The San Francisco Call said “The shops will cease their bustle, engines will pause upon the rails and ferries will rest quietly upon the water while the body of him who was once the head of all is borne to the grave.” 

The assessment of Huntington’s gross personal New York State estate, released on November 28, 1903, was $35,594,586.  His entire estate would reach nearly $45 million.  There were two principal heirs—Arabella, obviously, and Collis’ nephew Henry Edwards Huntington.  The New York Times mentioned that “Others who receive bequests are Mr. Huntington's adopted daughter, Clara Elizabeth Huntington, who is now Princess von Hatzfeldt; his adopted son, Archer Milton Huntington, and other relatives.”

Princess von Hatzfeldt was not pleased with the reading of the will.  She received “an income of $1,000 for life.”

Included in her $22 million inheritance Arabella received the house, valued at $1.2 million, along with the artwork and valuable furnishings.  The walls of the mansion were hung with masterpieces by artists including Reynolds, Romney, Van Dyck, Corot, Diaz, Murillo, Turner, Gainsborough, Hals, Rousseau, and Sir Thomas Lawrence.  The library contained priceless rare volumes including the original manuscript of Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography.

Quickly Princess von Hatzfeldt began legal proceedings to set aside the will.  “It is asserted that suit was begun in New York some months ago for a daughter’s share of the estate,” reported The New York Times on July 7, 1901.  Arabella and Henry pooled $6 million as a settlement to Collis’s adopted daughter.

In the meantime, Arabella lived on in the mansion, traveling through Europe, and collecting antiques, rare books, and artwork.  In 1907 she added to her art collection with Rembrandt’s Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer.

As the years passed, commerce inched closer to the house and in the summer of 1911 it would directly affect the Huntington house when the avenue was widened.

“The most important alteration made necessary by the new law that required the residences on Fifth avenue to move back their stoop lines seven and a half feet will take place in the residence of Mrs. C. P. Huntington, at the southeast corner of Fifty-seventh street and Fifth avenue,” said The Sun on June 28.

Although the Huntington entrance faced 57^th Street; the reduced property lines encroached on the 5^th Avenue façade.  “It has been decided to remove the bay window which stands on the Fifth avenue façade of the house.”

The newspaper noted that the heavy construction of the home presented a problem.  “The Huntington house, which was designed by George Post, is in the Italian style and is constructed of blocks of stone which make any changes in it extremely difficult.”

Within the year what was until recently unthinkable was happening—the grandest of the New York City mansions were falling under the wrecker’s ball to be replaced by business buildings.  On April 7, 1912 The Sun wrote “With the building of the Vanderbilt houses on Fifth avenue at Fifty-first, Fifty-second, Fifty-fourth and Fifty-seventh streets; the Huntington residence at Fifty-seventh street, and the Flagler residence, now Harkness, at Fifty-fourth street it was thought a ‘Chinese wall’ had been constructed making the invasion of business north of Fiftieth street and the Cathedral impossible, but the barrier has given way and all the central residence property south of Fifty-nine street must follow the trend, the ‘homes of luxury’ becoming the ‘marts of trade.’”

Four months later, on August 25, 1912 The New York Times noted the near-completion of “an eight-story structure, on a 25 foot plot at 12 East Fifty-seventh Street, a few doors beyond the dignified Huntington residence.”  And yet, unlike many of her neighbors, Arabella Huntington stayed on (along with her across-the-street neighbor, Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt).

While Arabella collected and traveled, Henry E. Huntington increased his own wealth by developing the Los Angeles electric traction railroads and indulged himself in rare books.  The other principal heir to Collis Huntington’s immense wealth, he had invested more than $5 million in art and books by 1913, including a $50,000 Gutenberg Bible.  Their entwined business interests along with their similar tastes in art and rare editions—not to mention their combined inheritance—brought Arabella and Henry together.  In July 1913 the nephew and aunt became husband and wife.

A newspaper report from Los Angeles on July 16 registered no shock among society.  “The marriage of Henry E. Huntington to the widow of his uncle, the late Collis P. Huntington in Paris to-day caused no surprise here where the engagement often had been reported and often denied.”

At the time of the wedding Henry had just completed an enormous mansion at San Marino, California.  The newlyweds, now both in their 60s, would come to divide their time between coasts—as well as on the 500-acre Chateau Beauregard estate near Versailles, France.

By July 19, 1915, when Huntington hired a full-time librarian, his collection of rare books had topped 40,000 volumes.  Within another decade it would be 1,200,000.

Arabella closely watched changes in Fifth Avenue and social reform.  When her step-daughter joined the 25,000 women who marched on Fifth Avenue for Women’s Suffrage on October 23, 1915, she showed her ardent support.  The Sun reported “Many suffrage flags decorated shops and houses along the way.  Collis P. Huntington’s home at Fifty-seventh street was decorated with yellow pennants and a group of faces watched from the windows.”

By the end of World War I the two great mansions opposite one another at Fifth Avenue and 57^th Streets were among the last holdouts of an era already passed.  “The houses of Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt and Mrs. Collis P. Huntington at Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue are doomed to be overshadowed by a thirty-story office, store, apartment and theatre building, to be erected on the southwest corner of Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue, by George Backer at a cost of about $6,000,000,” reported The New York Times on December 21, 1919.

New York saw less and less of Arabella Huntington as the years passed, however.  “It was her custom for years to reside during the Winter in the big gray stone house, often compared to a castle, at the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street, but recently she has spent more and more of her time in California,” The New York Times noted in 1924.

She came back that summer, in July, but was seriously ill.  Her personal physician, Dr. William B. Coley, was in constant attendance.  But finally on September 16, 1924 the remarkable and colorful Arabella Huntington died in the house at 2 East 57^th Street at the age of 72.  The New York Times diplomatically side-stepped her exclusion from society’s inner circle.  “Mrs. Huntington had never been a conspicuous figure in New York’s social life, largely because of her absorption in more serious matters.”

In fact, she had given generously to a variety of causes—many of which reflected her forward-thinking social positions.  “She did a great deal for the education of the negro in the South, mindful of conditions observed there in her youth,” The New York Times pointed out, “her benefactions including large gifts to Tuskegee Institute and to Hampton.  The striking shirt waist workers of 1909 received help from her.”

She donated the ground on which the American Geographical Society Building was built on Broadway and 156^th Street; and gave freely to the Huntington Laboratory of the Harvard Medical School.

Archer Huntington inherited life rights to the mansion.  Upon his death, if he had no children, the property was to go to Yale.  Archer viewed the hulking mansion that sat among tall office buildings as more of a white elephant than a prize.

When this photograph was taken in June 1925, the mansion's days were numbered.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

Within the year he donated the extensive Huntington art collection to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and on August 5, 1925 petitioned the courts for permission to sell the mansion.  Archer had received an offer of $3.8 million, which would go to Yale.  His eagerness to sell might have been encouraged by the substantial real estate taxes of just under $60,000 he was suddenly paying on the property. 

Archer Huntington argued “the building now standing on the premises is unsuitable to any commercial or business uses, or for residential apartments.” 

Four months later he got his wish.  As wreckers poised to demolish the 31-year old mansion, he reminisced to reporters, calling it “probably the best built house in the world of our time.”  Archer spoke of the 3 million bricks it took to construct the cellar alone.  “My father liked to do things that way.  He spent a great deal of time selecting the stone and going to the builders.  He wanted to make it a monument to American architecture and art, but commerce does not see it that way.”

Before the wreckers could begin, the mansion was emptied.  On February 25, 1926 the first of the auctions was held—this one of the massive library.  It was followed in March by the astounding collection of furniture—Italian, French, English and American.

There was a chiming clock by Jown Ewer (Eyre) of London for which Arabella had paid $30,000; important American Colonial furniture, including mid-eighteenth century highboys; a pair of Philadelphia Chippendale chairs owned by George Washington (with documented provenance); a Duncan Phyfe sofa table; and Sheraton and Hepplewhite examples.

One group of furniture was removed from the auction list.  Archer had an entire “French Room” dismantled and shipped to Yale University.  Along with the salon he donated the “rare pieces of French furniture” that had decorated it.

Among the Louis XV pieces were a marqueterie chess and backgammon table said to have belonged to Madame de Pompadour, “a large Louis XV writing table which is represented in Tocque’s portrait of M. de Bossy,” a roll top desk, and other important pieces.

Next came the artwork.  On April 11, 1926 The New York Times reported that “Paintings belonging to the late Mrs. Henry E. Huntington have been removed from 2 East Fifty-seventh Street to the Anderson Galleries.”  There were works by Mary Cassatt, Filippo Lippi,  approximately 30 old masters, 94 Italian paintings and “others of the Barbizon, modern French, early Flemish, Dutch and South German schools.”

In death Arabella got a sort of posthumous revenge when her jewelry, assessed at $1,274,904 was said by the appraiser to have “exceeded that owned by the late Mrs. William Astor.”

Three months after the last painting and tapestry were removed from Arabella Huntington’s granite castle it was gone.  In June The New York Times mentioned that Park & Tilford had already leased the four-story building “the Schulte interests are erecting on the site of the old Huntington house.”

The new store would not last long.  In September 1940 Tiffany & Co. opened its new home on the corner.  The sleek, modern architecture and the firm’s famous name obliterated any memory of Collis Huntington's "monument to American architecture and art" that stood there for just three decades.

photo by Alice Lum