Frank Leslies' Illustrated Newspaper published an etching in 1876. (copyright expired) |
In 1874 the neighborhood known as Longacre Square was the
center of the carriage building industry in New York. Manhattan’s grand hotels were far to the
south on Fifth Avenue and Broadway. But
when Cornelius Vanderbilt opened his mammoth Grand Central Depot a few blocks
to the east in 1871, a modern hotel on Longacre Square made sense.
Developer George Ross commissioned John B. Snook (who,
incidentally, was the architect of Grand Central) to design the structure. Sitting on Broadway between 41st
and 42nd Streets, the hotel would take two years to complete. Ross kept the project a family affair, giving
Snook’s son, George Snook, the construction contract. He combined his surname with his wife’s
maiden name, Moore, to come up with the hotel’s name: the Rossmore.
The opening was held on Tuesday, February 8, 1876. Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper commented
“The house is new in every particular, and every improvement in hotel
architecture has been introduced into it.
It is a model building of its kind.”
The eight-story hotel held 250 rooms, “furnished in the most
comfortable and elegant manner.” The
second and third floors offered large suites of rooms, while single and double
rooms filled the other floors. Frank
Leslie’s was impressed with the modern innovations. “Bath-rooms, water-closets, toilets, steam
radiators, electric bells and other conveniences are attached to almost every
room.”
As with all upscale Victorian hotels, the ceilings were
frescoed. The main staircase was walnut,
there were new Otis elevators, and A. T. Stewart & Co. had supplied the
furniture, draperies, curtains and upholstery, all deemed “of superior
workmanship and artistic design.”
Snook’s impressive design included a columned portico,
paired windows, and balconies. The
two-story mansard rose steeply, punctured by a variety of dormers. Interior courts provided light and ventilation
to the inner rooms.
The Rossmore offered all the expected features of a
high-class hotel. “On the first floor,
which is 18 feet in height, are the offices, reading-room, billiard saloon,
bar-room, barber-shop, gentlemen’s parlor, and space for one or two stores,”
reported Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper on February 26. The main dining room, on the second floor,
had a 20-foot ceiling and was capable of seating 300 guests.
The Rossmore Hotel was leased to Charles E. Leland &
Co. Charles Leland was extremely well
known in the hostelry business, having operated the Clarendon Hotel in Saratoga,
the Delavan House in Albany, and other fashionable hotels.
But making the hotel successful proved difficult and it underwent a series of proprietors. Years
later, in 1912, Henry S. Mower remembered, in his Reminiscences of a Hotel Man of Forty Year’s Service, “but after
about two years [Charles E. Leland & Co.] were succeeded by Hawley D.
Clapp, formerly proprietor of the Everett House, who did a fine business, dying
a few years since. He was succeeded by a
son, who managed it for the heirs until, some controversy arising, a receiver
was appointed by the court, he being succeeded by a son-in-law of Mrs. Clapp,
senior. For years it was constantly
changing hands and finally closed.”
The hotel was rescued in 1889 by proprietors Greene &
Putney, who extended it into the older four-story hotel at the corner of 42nd
Street. Perhaps to erase the hotel’s
troubled reputation, they renamed it the Hotel Metropole. The New York Times remarked on the renovations
following the opening on April 27, 1889.
“A most remarkable change has been made in the old hostelry,
and one who knew the Rossmore would scarcely recognize the Metropole as the same
building. A complete renovation has been
made from cellar to garret, and the work of the decorator is conspicuous everywhere. All display excellent taste, bronze and old
gold being the prevailing colors.”
The dining room was now on the ground floor, extending from
Broadway to Seventh Avenue with entrances on both thoroughfares. “The result is that it is one of the airiest
and lightest dining rooms in the city.
The mural decorations are bright and attractive without being gaudy, the
ceilings are well painted, and cut-glass chandeliers are suspended over the
tables,” said The Times.
The barroom and men’s café was, like the dining room, on the
main floor and it too extended through the building.
The older hotel at the corner was annexed. photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York |
Hotels of the period were popular meeting places where
business was transacted in the bars or private rooms. On January 30, 1892 a group of aging Civil
War soldiers came together here. “The
arrangements for the funeral services of Major Gen. Henry A. Barnum were
settled yesterday afternoon at the Hotel Metropole by a committee composed of
the dead soldier’s old comrades and intimates, headed by Gen. Martin T.
McMahon,” reported The Times.
The Metropole’s café was in the corner annex. It was the scene of much excitement on the
warm afternoon of July 7, 1893.
Around 1:00 employees of the hotel gathered in the servants’
hall for lunch. Michael Creegan was
among them. The 23-year old was “an
oyster opener” and other employees said that he had been acting “in an
eccentric manner lately.” Just as waiter
John Roacher began serving him; Creegan drew a jackknife from his pocket and,
jumping to his feet, plunged it into the 26-year old waiter’s neck.
“That pays you for trying to poison me!” Creegan cried. He then ran out and through the café.
The New York Times reported “The patrons of the café of the
Hotel Metropole, at Broadway and Forty-second Street, who were sipping mint
juleps and other Summer drinks, were startled about 1:30 o’clock yesterday
afternoon by the darting figure of a man who disappeared through the door and
up Seventh Avenue. In his hands the man
held a bloody knife, and his eyes had a wild expression.”
A crowd returned Creegan to the Metropole as hotel staff was
waiting for an ambulance from New York Hospital. Roacher identified his attacker, who was taken
to the Jefferson Market Police Court.
The Times reported he would be held “to await the result of Roacher’s
injuries.”
In the meantime, doctors advised that evening that “Roacher’s
condition was serious. The knife blade
had passed close to the jugular vein.”
But a The Times reporter was optimistic.
“He has a strong constitution and may pull through.”
Greene & Putney vied with the best hotels in the city,
often at great expense. For their New
Year’s Day luncheon in 1896 they went all-out—including live game. The New York Times reported “There was a
unique display at the Hotel Metropole.
The large barroom was converted into a market, and there was spread on
the counters a bounteous assortment of things good to eat.”
The “things good to eat” included “huge quarters of beef,
haunches of venison, turkeys, ducks, quail, partridges, chickens, and fish.” Amazingly, “there were little pigs, both
alive and dead; a live deer, and a Southdown sheep, and a cage filled with live
quail.”
At the time patrons would pay $1 to $3 per night for their accommodations—a
range of about $30 to $90 in 2015 terms.
But, like previous proprietors, Greene & Putney could
not make it. On May 1, 1899 Henry W.
Purdy and George H. Wyatt formed the firm Purdy & Wyatt and took over operation. Despite Purdy’s years of experience in the
hotel industry, the pair failed within six months. Valentine Schmitt took over the lease,
announcing he intended to make $25,000 in renovations “principally in exterior
decorations.”
Schmitt’s changes went much further, extending to
refurnishing. But his $150,000 “in
refitting” were to no avail. He, too, failed within a few months and the
hotel was taken over by a highly unexpected set of brothers.
George, James and John Considine were well-known, but
certainly not in hotel circles. George
was a bookmaker and John was a former theatrical manager. The two had until recently been the managers
of pugilist James J. Corbett. The three
brothers took over operation of the Metropole in March 1901.
The Considines had the backing of Tammany political boss “Big
Tim” Sullivan. The clientele of the
hotel noticeably changed. In his 2007
book Imbibe! David Wondrich notes that under the Considines the hotel drew “burlesque
stars and ward heelers. And there were a
lot of pugilists, cardsharps, workers of the short con, organized gamblers,
chorus girls, you name it.”
One of the Metropole’s
frequent customers was Considine’s old friend, Bat Masterson. The Wild West gunfighter who was now
middle-aged had relocated to New York City.
His biographer, Robert K. DeAment, writes in his Gunfighter in Gotham, “The
old Metropole was renowned for a round table frequented by Masterson and other
raconteurs. Jim Considine called them 'the
jolly knights of the theatrical and sporting world.'"
It was most likely the Considines who added the sidewalk cafe that sprouted on the 42nd Street side -- photograph Rotograph Co from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York |
By now Longacre Square (later renamed Times Square) was
quickly becoming the center of New York City’s theatrical district. The Considine brothers’ took advantage of the
location, relying on showgirls and actors not only as patrons but as
entertainment.
On January 16, 1904, for instance, the trade journal Clay
Record reported on the meeting of 150 “brick men” in the Metropole’s
Rathskeller. “Here one
of George Considine’s most elaborate luncheons was served, with all the ‘trimmings’
usually found in rathskellers. A vaudeville
performance added zest to the occasion.”
Like all hotel rathskellers, the Metropole's featured beams, paneling and Bavarian touches like its collection of steins -- photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York |
In September 1907 a 25-year old man, Arthur Fraser, applied
to George Considine for the position of bell boy. Although he had no references, he assured
Considine that he had worked as a clerk in a small Western hotel. But shortly after Fraser was hired, small
pieces of jewelry started disappearing from rooms. “The doors of the rooms were always found
locked, and it was supposed that they were entered by skeleton keys,” reported
the New-York Tribune.
Then, around October 1, George Considine’s own room was
burglarized and a $250 diamond pin was taken.
The next day Louis Cohen, a theatrical man, was robbed of clothing and
jewelry worth $1,000. Considine
suspected his newest employee. What he
did not suspect was that a complex, nationwide ring was about to be uncovered.
“When Fraser was searched, the police say, a number of pawn
tickets were found, and a letter written on the stationery of the Hotel Washington,
St. Louis, addressed to him at the Metropole, in which the writer, who signed
himself ‘Vernon Lobard,’ said he was sending to the Metropole by registered
mail a package containing a gold watch and chain, a diamond horseshoe pin and
some diamond studs and cuff buttons.”
A “syndicate” of robbers established themselves in hotels
across the country. They would send
their loot to other cities where it could be pawned without raising
suspicion. The scheme of exchanging
stolen goods was inspired, even though Lobard’s letter said “that business was
not very good in St. Louis, but that he hoped it would pick up soon.”
In this shot the cafe entrance is to the left, the rathskeller entrance is on 42nd Street -- photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York |
The Considine brothers were wealthy, if not cultured. On May 13, 1905 John Considine’s chauffeur,
Jose Hovesse, was pulled over for “running his automobile a mile in 50
seconds.” Considine was indignant with
bicycle Officer Narney and the desk sergeant at the station, Sergeant Devery. The New-York Tribune quoted the exchange
between the men.
“I’m Considine. How
dare you arrest my chauffeur? I’m a real
sport and don’t take no nonsense from any policeman.”
The sergeant replied “Cut that out and find bail for your ‘chofur’
or else he’ll be locked up for the night and it will be the ‘L’ for yours.”
Political and social reformers watched the Considine
brothers and Metropole Hotel with warranted suspicion. When a “crusade” against illegal gambling
dens was in full swing in December 1906, The New York Times reminded its
readers that “Little Tim” Sullivan and his half-brother, “Larry” Mulligan were
apparently involved in a string of poolrooms (gambling operations).
The newspaper found it unusual when the men met with
District Attorney Jerome at the Hotel Metropole. It reported on December 9, 1906 “There George
Considine took them into a back room and a long conference followed. It is said that the District Attorney learned
much of value to him that night. George
Considine is a business partner of ‘Big Tim’ Sullivan.”
The barroom and men's cafe featured a coffered, vaulted ceiling and a painting of a nude female -- photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York |
The close relationship with the Sullivans became obvious
when George married vaudeville actress Airmee Angeles, “one of the cleverest
young women on the stage,” according to The Times. On September 27, 1906 the newspaper reported “They
will be married on Sunday by ‘Little Tim’ Sullivan, the Alderman. ‘Big Tim’ Sullivan will be best man, and Mrs.
Frank Farrell will be matron of honor.”
George presented his bride with a wedding necklace
containing 77 diamonds. Following their
elaborate “wedding supper” at the fashionable Martin’s Cafe on September
30, Aimee realized the necklace was gone.
At 3:15 in the morning George reported to police that the jewels had
been stolen.
The following morning it was discovered that the “theft” had
been a “practical joke of one of the guests.”
The New-York Tribune reported “it is thought at the café it must have
been undone in fun during one of the demonstrations of affection indulged in
between bride and guests.” It was the
sort of “fun” that would not happen at the wedding receptions of Fifth Avenue’s
best families.
By now Times Square was seeing rapid development and as
early as 1907 rumors that the Metropole would be razed were circulated. On April 24 that year The Times reported on a
story “that Brokow Brothers, the old-time clothing firm, was coming uptown to a
new building which would be erected” on the site of the Metropole.
But the hotel held on for three more years until on March
23, 1910 The Pottery, Glass & Brass
Salesman advised “George Considine has taken a lease for sixty-three years
on the property running from 147 to 151 West Forty-third street, immediately
adjoining the Hotel Cadillac, and will erect a new six-story hotel there, which
he will call the New Metropole.”
A few weeks later, on May 5, The New York Times reported
that the Metropole would be razed “to be displaced by a fine store and office
building.” Within the year the new
$250,000 Heidelberg Building, designed by Henry Ives Cobb, had replaced the old
hotel. It was demolished in 1984.
many thanks to Jeff Austin for requesting this post
The site is now occupied by the 49-floor Times Square Tower http://www.turnerconstruction.com/experience/project/1238/times-square-tower |
Terrific! Thanks for posting this, Tom.
ReplyDeleteGreat background.
ReplyDeleteWhat happened to the Rossmoor Hotel? When the Considines took over in 1899, did they take only the four story annex and call it the Metropole?
ReplyDeleteIt was Greene & Putney, in 1898, who extended the Rossmore into the four-story hotel next door. (See above paragraph beginning "The hotel was rescued...") The Metropole included both the main building and the smaller hotel, now used as an annex, or "extension"
DeleteSo, did Roacher ever recover from his injuries?
ReplyDeleteIf this shows up three times it's on account of wonky behavior on Blogger's part...
he apparently did, since no follow-up articles seem to have appeared later.
DeleteThe city looked so much cleaner back then even with all the livestock manure. Unlike today's livestock that has to wear a mask trying to escape their filthy pen.
ReplyDeleteThe original Metropole was the taller building (8 stories). This was not razed in 1910, really the side of 42nd street was (the "annex") to build the Heidelberg. The larger structure stayed and that's where Louis Martin opened the restaurant in 1910.
ReplyDeleteThe "New" Metropole hotel, on 43rd is where Herman Rosenthal was gunned down, sending Charles Becker to the electric chair.
ReplyDelete