63 Prince Street as it appeared in the 1820s. Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly, June 1877 (copyright expired) |
In 1820 Maria Hester Monroe was married in the Oval Reception
Room of the White House. The youngest
daughter of President James Monroe, she was just 17 years old and hers would be
the first White House wedding. The groom
was Maria’s cousin, 20-year old Samuel L. Gouverneur. His father, Nicholas Gouverneur was the
husband of Maria’s aunt, the former Hester Kortright. Hester was the sister of Maria's mother, Elizabeth Kortright Monroe.
The New York Herald described the bride, who had been
educated in Paris, as “endowed with the hereditary grace and beauty of the
Kortrights.” The newspaper hinted at the groom's wealth, saying he was “very handsome and very
opulent.”
Marrying the daughter of the President of the United States
had advantages. James Monroe appointed
Gouverneur Postmaster of New York. The
newlyweds relocated to Manhattan and in 1823 Gouverneur purchased two
undeveloped lots from Philip Brasher. They
were located at the northwest corner of Prince and Orange Streets, in the area
between Houston and Canal Streets—a section just seeing the rise of handsome
brick homes. (Orange Street would later
become Marion Street, then Elm Street, and finally Lafayette Street.)
Samuel Gouverneur paid Brasher $2,159 each for the 25-foot
wide lots (a little over $50,000 today).
He erected two fine residences, one of which, the preferable corner
house, became the Gouverneur home.
The elegant Federal-style structure left no doubt about the
financial class of its owner.
Two-and-a-half stories tall above an English basement, it featured the
extras expected in high-class homes. The
arched entrance included sidelights and a delicate fanlight, the brownstone
lintels were handsomely paneled, and the commodious attic level was lighted not
only by the two high dormers, but by an attractive arched opening at the side.
Despite James Monroe’s impressive military and political career—two
terms as President, Minister to France and to England, Envoy to Spain, Secretary of State, and author of the Monroe Doctrine, for instance—he was
burdened with financial difficulties following his departure from office. Following the death of his wife, Elizabeth,
on September 23, 1830, Monroe was forced to sell his Virginia plantation and
move to New York to live with his daughter and step-son.
Decades later The Sun would remark, “as the Gouverneurs were
among the socially elect of New York it was the scene of festivities and the
gathering place of men of distinction, especially while it was the home of the
ex-President.”
Less than a year later, at 3:30 on the afternoon of Monday,
July 4, 1831, the 73-year old former President died in the Prince Street
house. A newspaper reported “For several
days his death had been momentarily expected” and that “he expired without a
struggle.” His death on Independence
Day, following the demise of both John Adams and Thomas Jefferson on July 4
five years earlier, was remarkable.
The funeral, on Thursday July 7, was the largest ever held
in New York up to that time. Following
what The Illustrated American later described as “a public funeral from his
residence,” the casket was removed to City Hall. After addresses there, the cortege moved
along Broadway to St. Paul’s Church where the second funeral was held.
The New York American reported “When it was concluded, the
coffin was brought out and placed in the hearse, which waited at the north door
of the front entrance of the church; and after a brief interval the procession
commenced in the designated manner at about half past five o’clock. It was computed to extend two miles.” The former President was buried in a Gouverneur
plot in the fashionable Marble Cemetery.
On April 16 the following year Samuel Gouverneur sold No. 63
Prince Street to Miles R. Burke for $10,750.
Fabulously wealthy, Burke lived in the house until his death in 1835. The extent of his fortune was reflected in
the “handsome legacies” of his will. He left to the Sunday School of St. Thomas
Church $3,000 (nearly $80,000 in 2016); and $2,000 each to the Institution for
the Blind, and the Orphan Asylum.
Burke's estate sold the house to John Ferguson for $12,000. Ferguson, who had six sons, lived in the
residence with his wife until his death in July 1846. The family retained possession until March 18,
1873 when it was sold to John H. Contoit for $32,500.
By now the neighborhood had succumbed to commerce. Wealthy families had moved northward and former
mansions were taken over by business. John
Contoit was the proprietor of the pleasure garden known both as the New York
Garden and Contoit’s Garden. (In his 1896
Reminiscences of An Octogenarian of the City of New York, Charles H. Haswell
remembered that at Contoit’s one could get ice cream, pound cake and lemonade
and “you could be served with a glass of veritable claret, and, if I recollect
right, one of cognac too.”)
The elegant parlors, bedrooms and dining room of 63
Prince Street were now occupied by small factories and a restaurant. Pubic interest in historic locations in the
19th century rarely turned to residences—other than exceptional
homes like Mount Vernon. The focus most
often was on battlefields and other military spots. So when newspapers and magazines first began
pointing out 63 Prince Street as the “Monroe House” around 1890, it was
rather remarkable.
On February 20, 1900 The New York Times wrote “Probably not
one in a thousand citizens recognized in the recent sale of the house at 63
Prince Street, the old residence of President Monroe when he retired from the
White House after his eight years of service.”
The article said that the house “looks much the same as it did when it
was the residence of President Monroe, only more dilapidated. One still sees the Colonial columns and the
fluted arch over the doorway, looking now like soiled bits of cast-off finery.”
In the building at the time of The Times article was a
furrier and a Hungarian restaurant.
Signs were plastered on the façade and across the once-dignified
doorway. But a movement among at least
one historic group was stirring. And in
the spring of 1905 the Women’s Auxiliary to the American Scenic and Historic
Preservation Society planned a bronze memorial tablet for the house.
The New York Times, on April 2, admitted “The old Colonial
house, 63 Prince Street, where Monroe died, is falling to decay. There is a cheap restaurant in the once
beautiful drawing-room, a shoe factory occupies the second floor, and from the
quaint old dormer window swings the sign of a small furrier. In the restaurant, which the proprietor has
agreed to clean up and vacate for the day, the Auxiliary Committee will hold
its exercises.”
The ceremonies were held on April 28, 1905, the President’s
147th birthday. Along with military
dignitaries and soldiers, mounted police and society figures were what the
New-York Tribune deemed “an interesting group of the old statesman’s
descendants.” The unveiling of the
plaque was executed by young Gouverneur Hoes, Madison’s
great-great-grandson.
An impressive crowd watched the unveiling of the tablet (between the first and second floors) on April 28, 1905. New-York Tribune (copyright expired) |
After the impressive ceremonies, everything returned to
normal. The historic nature of the house
slipped into the background once again as employees upstairs got back to work
making furs and shop workers grabbed lunch on the first floor.
Four months after the plaque was installed, fire broke out
in the cellar at around 1:00 in the morning of August 15. The Times reported “The cellar is occupied by
Vessa & Daddata, dealers in rags.”
Luckily, the fire did not spread beyond the basement and damage was
limited to about $500. But it would be
just the first of a string of fires in the venerable structure.
Despite the abuse, restoration of the historic property was well-within reach. photo by Samuel Landsman from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York |
In 1919 the entire block of properties along Prince Street
between Lafayette and Crosby Streets was scheduled to be sold as a unit. The impending deal almost certainly doomed
the building and sparked renewed interest by historical groups.
On November 2, 1919 The Sun commented “unless some historic
society comes to the rescue it will very likely pass from its present regime as
an old rag shop to utter obliteration and a modern structure will rise on its
site.”
The problem of saving it “from the maw of commercialism” was
the $200,000 necessary to buy the entire row of properties. The article explained “If the house could be
purchased of itself there probably would not be much difficulty in raising the
necessary funds.” One solution, however,
was offered by Louis Annin Ames, president of the National Society of the Sons
of the American Revolution. He thought
that rest of the buildings could be razed and made a commemorative park to
Monroe.
The block of real estate was sold on November 12, 1919 to “an
unknown speculator,” according to The New York Times. “The sale created great interest among patriotic
societies, who desire to preserve this famous landmark,” said the newspaper. The fact that a speculator, rather than a
developer, purchased the site created hope—since he would most likely hold it
for resale rather than erect a new building.
And, indeed, the old Federal mansion survived. But, as it turned out, it was not the
wrecking ball which was the immediate threat, it was fire. On October 4, 1922 a fire broke out in the
vacant building which was quickly extinguished.
Then another occurred on February 28, 1923. And another on May 5, 1923. Despite the troubling coincidence, fire
investigators did not suspect arson.
“It was thought that the building was used by a gang as a
poker club, and that the first two fires…were caused by accident. Later the building has been carefully watched
and no one has been seen to enter or leave," reported The Times.
Finally in May 1925 the block front was sold to
developers. The Times reported they “will
raze the historic residence and erect a loft building.” The newspaper listed the names of individuals
and groups who had been fighting for the preservation of the house—including the
James Monroe Memorial Association (formed in 1923), the Women’s Monroe House
Memorial Association, Governor Al Smith, Mayor John Hylan and the now-deceased President Warren Harding.
The loss of the dilapidated old mansion seemed inescapable. “The buyers will erect a fifteen-story loft
to cost $1,600,000,” reported The Times.
Less than a month later, on July 29, 1925, the house
suffered its fifth fire within two years.
“The fire started in a bale of old newspapers collected by Mario Matera,
the present occupant,” reported a newspaper.
Once again the fire was extinguished before serious damage could result.
Undeterred, preservation groups forged on in hopes of saving
the Monroe House. Almost miraculously,
funds were raised to purchase the building and a lot at 95 Crosby Street
was obtained. Plans were set forth to
move the old mansion and in October it was carefully raised from its
century-old foundation and placed on a flat bed truck.
One dormer has been stabilized in anticipation of the coming move. The original eight-panel door from 1823 still survived. From the collection of the New York Public Library |
The New York Times reported “on account of the age of the
building the movers were compelled to exercise the utmost care and progress has
been slow.” The progress was slow
indeed. Three weeks later the one-block
move was still in process. And then came
tragedy.
On November 20 the movers realized that a fire escape on the
northeast corner of Prince and Crosby Streets projected too far to allow the building
to pass. Everything halted as workmen
attacked the problem.
“The fire escape was dismantled and workmen were swinging
the old house in when part of the upper floor collapsed,” reported The Times. Bricks that rained down onto Crosby Street
were “carefully salvaged” and the public was promised that the house would be
restored completely when it was placed in position. But the weakened structure could not endure
the move of only a few more feet. The
roof caved in and the back wall collapsed.
The ruined building sat until September 1927 when all hope
was given up. It was offered for sale,
raising the ire of State Senator Thomas F. Burchill and Assemblyman Frederick L
Hackenburg, the latter denouncing “This could never happen abroad.”
photo American Craft Council |
Among America’s earliest attempts at preservation
of a historic residence, the embattled Monroe House was demolished to be replaced by a modern
loft building.
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Tom, pls reread 1st paragraph. Nicholas was married to Hester, Elizabeth's sister wasn't he?
ReplyDeletewhoops! Thanks for catching that!
DeleteElizabeth Kortright Monroe, not Madison. Sorry, I always mix them up too.
DeleteIt's the story of The Little House that Almost Could, but Didn't. How sad that all of those efforts came to naught.
ReplyDeleteVery interesting! Did someone buy the house? What finally became of it?
ReplyDeleteAs the last line of the article says, it was demolished.
DeleteSo, David Bowie died in a building next to the one where James Monroe died. Hmm...
ReplyDeleteBowie lived at 285 Lafayette, across the street.
Deletekeep forgetting to check if there is a plaque on the existing building
ReplyDeleteThe Daily News reported in October of 1925 that the house was moved to 95 Crosby St, not 65. Is there a source for it being moved to 65? Thanks!
ReplyDeleteThe 65 was a typo. Sorry about that. Corrected now.
DeleteWhat became of the original plaque placed on the building in 1095?
ReplyDelete