The Clarendon - 137 Riverside Drive

Anita and Millicent Willson were the daughters of vaudeville entertainer George Willson.  They followed in his footsteps, and in 1897 were performing as "bicycle girls" in Edward Rice's production of The Girl from Paris at the Herald Square Theatre.   The beautiful 16-year old Millicent caught the eye of William Randolph Hearst, who was more than twice her age.

Millicent Willson Hearst at around the time the family moved into the Clarendon.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

The intentions of wealthy older men towards pretty showgirls were always suspect; so Anita Willson, who was a few years older than Millicent, tagged along as chaperone on the initial dates.  On April 28, 1903, six years after meeting, the couple was married.

Hearst as he appeared in 1904.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

Hearst, whose passion for politics equaled or surpassed his fervor for publishing, had taken his post as a member of the U.S. House of Representatives a month earlier.  At the end of his term, in March 1907, he looked for a new home for his family, which now included three-year old George.

At the time the Upper West Side was seeing private mansions, most built not more than 15 years earlier, being razed and replaced by modern apartment buildings.  At the southeast corner of Riverside Drive and West 86th Street developer Ranald H. MacDonald was completing his 11-story Clarendon, designed by Charles E. Birge.

The Clarendon offered nothing in terms of outward ostentation.  Completed in 1908, its neo-Renaissance facade of limestone and red brick had, instead, the personality of a wealthy dowager--aloof and proper.  Intended for upper-class residents, there would be just two apartments per floor.  The living rooms were 22 by 30 feet, and the dining rooms 19 by 23 feet.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide pointed out "The rooms in all cases are grouped around the foyer hall, and in no case is it necessary to pass through a bedroom to enter a room, a very important point."

Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, April 25, 1908 (copyright expired)

An advertisement described the apartments as "consisting of ten to twelve rooms and four bath rooms to each apartment" and noted "The servants' quarters are cut off with a separate entrance from the public hall, thus giving the same privacy one would have in a private house.  Separate servants' elevator lands tradesmen, etc. direct to the kitchen door."

A typical floorplan showing the two apartments per floor.  Architects' and Builders' Magazine, February 1908 (copyright expired)

The exception was the uppermost apartment.  Hearst negotiated with MacDonald to configure the top three floors into a single, lavish residence.  The family moved into their 30-room apartment in April 1908, paying $24,000 per year in rent--just under $640,000 today.

Ranald MacDonald, too, moved into his new building.  His apartment was the scene of his mother's funeral on November 18, 1910.

The Clarendon by then was filled with millionaires.  Their wealth was reflected in their expensive limousines and touring cars.  In 1914 Charles W. Baker owned a Pierce Arrow and a Cadillac; William J. Sloane, Francis L. Leland, Richard E. Breed and Amos L. Beaty all owned Packards; while Julius Siegbert had a Cadillac.

But it was, of course, the Hearsts who drew attention.

Hearst had launched unsuccessful bids for President (in 1904), for Mayor twice, and for Governor in 1906.  His disappointing campaigns did not dampen his enthusiasm for politics, a fact reflected in many of the entertainments the Clarendon apartment.

On February 20, 1911 they hosted a dinner for Congressman Champ Clark and his wife.  Among the many guests were three senators and three congressmen and their wives.  A special train had been hired to bring these guests from Washington.  The New York Times commented "After dinner there was music by Franko's Orchestra and Miss Ada Sassoli, harpist.  Elsie Janis and Joseph Cawthorn gave monologues and impersonations."

When the Hearsts gave a dinner in honor of William's mother, Phoebe, a few weeks later, more senators and representatives were brought in from Washington.  The guests were entertained by a host of performers after dinner that evening, including the famous comic duo Weber and Fields.

A rare incidence of another resident's stealing the headlines came on February 20, 1912 when Francis L. Leland, the president of the New York County National Bank, gave the Metropolitan Museum of Art a gift of bank stock valued at more than $1 million.

Museum vice-president Robert A. de Forest told reporters "While the gift is absolutely unconditional, the trustees of the museum, in my judgment, will hold it as a principal fund, the income of which will be used chiefly, not entirely, for the purchase of art."  The donation became the Leland Fund, the annual income from which, at the time, was estimated at $48,000.

By 1913 Hearst's nearly manic collecting of art and antiques required more space.  Most problematic, though, was an oversized medieval tapestry he had brought back from Europe.  He needed to raise the ceiling height to accommodate it.

Hearst approached Ranald MacDonald with a request to enlarge his apartment.  Most likely considering the future likelihood of leasing the gargantuan space, MacDonald refused.  And so in true Hearst fashion he purchased the entire building.  The price was reportedly around $1 million.

He brought back Charles E. Birge to increase his apartment to include the 8th through 11th floors, as well as adding a somewhat awkward-looking mansard on the roof which included a giant skylight to illuminate the two-story space below.  He could now hang his tapestry.

Hearst installed built-in cabinets to display his collection of silver salvers, and brought in 15th century stained glass and carved woodwork.  According to Andrew Alpert in his Historic Manhattan Apartment Houses, "There was a Georgian dining room, a French Empire bedroom and bits and pieces of almost every other architectural and decorating style that ever existed.  Perhaps the most archetypal 'Hearstian' room, however was the triple-height vaulted stone hall."  That room housed the mogul's substantial collection of medieval armor.

The Gothic Hall was three stories tall, high enough to display the oversized tapestries and long enough to house the armor collection.  The room doubled as the "banquet room" on evenings of especially large dinners.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

Construction did not slow down the Hearsts' entertaining.  For their 10th wedding anniversary--their tin anniversary--they hosted a dinner and dance on April 28, 1913 attended by notable names in politics, the military, and society.  The New York Times reported "The menus were engraved on a thin scroll of tin, with a photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Hearst at the top of the scroll.  The entire service for the supper was in tin."

A month later, following the dedication of the Maine Monument in Central Park, they gave a reception, dinner and dance for the officers of the United States Atlantic Fleet.  Mingled among the impressive display of dress uniforms were the Secretary of the Navy, Josephus Daniels; Secretary of War, Lindley M. Garrison; senators, admirals, and the Governor of New York.

On December 3, 1915 The New York Times reported on the arrival of twin boys in the Hearst household.  The couple now had five sons.  The newspaper whimsically said "The oldest, George, is 11 years old; William is 7; John 5, and the last two, for whom no names have yet been chosen, are not old at all."

The family's live-in staff at the time included a parlor maid, kitchen maid, cook, waitress, maid and steward.

The "South Library" contained a rare carved mantel and superb columns.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

Two frequent visitors around this time would later cause the Hearsts much unwanted publicity.  Count Johann Heinrich von Bernstorff, the German Ambassador visited often until about December 1916.  Bernstorff's close friend, Bolo Pasha was another repeated guest.

The problem for the Hearsts was that they were later exposed as German spies.  Hearings in the United States Senate in 1918 resulted in full pages of testimony being printed in newspapers nationwide, telling of the agents coming and going from the Clarendon apartments.

One of the witnesses, the Clarendon's superintendent Charles H. Jerome, told of the drastic steps Hearst took to avoid reporters and investigators.  On August 12, 1918 he testified "While I was at 137 Riverside Drive Mr. Hearst had an iron bridge built from the roof of 137 Riverside Drive to the roof of an adjoining apartment call The Netherlands, and that Mr. Hearst often used that bridge as a means of leaving 137 Riverside Drive without passing down by way of the elevator and out of the front door.

"During this time persons looking for Mr. Hearst, including process servers and the like, used frequently to stand in front of the building waiting for him to come out, and by this means he avoided being overtaken by them and served with papers."

The New-York Tribune published a photo of Hearst's escape bridge on August 14, 1918 (copyright expired)

Life in the Clarendon was less tranquil beginning in 1919.  Hearst had been carrying on an affair with film actress and comedian Marion Davies and that year he started construction on his massive California mansion, Hearst Castle.  Upon its completion he spent little time in New York, openly living with his mistress.

Millicent, at least initially, kept up appearances.  On December 30, 1922, with 19-year old George home for the holidays from college, she gave a party for his friends.  The New York Herald reported "Young men and women, home for the holidays from schools and colleges, had a merry reunion last night as guests of Mrs. William Randolph Hearst."  The article noted "Typical holiday merriment started with a dinner.  Then there was an hour of vaudeville and the showing of some new motion pictures.  A dance followed, divided into two parts by supper."  There was no mention of George's father.

Nevertheless, Hearst did make appearances and Millicent maintained her role.  On December 20, 1927 the couple hosted a dinner prior to the Cholly Knickerbocker Charity Ball.  The guest list included three princes, Mrs. William H. Vanderbilt, Mr. and Mrs. Hermann Oelrichs and Mrs. Anthony J. Drexel Biddle, Jr. among other high-society names.

The following year Millicent's dinner guests included Prince Ludovico Spade Potenziani, the Fascist Governor or Rome and his daughter Princess Miriam; and later Grand Duke Alexander of Russia and the Grand Duchess Marie.

By now she was separated from her husband; although they never divorced.  On October 18, 1929 her guest of honor was Winston Churchill.  The New York Times said "The dinner was served at a long flower-banked table in the Tapestry Room, and later there was dancing in the gallery.  During the evening a specially arranged motion picture news reel was shown, its various flashes depicting some of the guests at important events in the past."  Among those guests were the Vincent Astors, the William K. Vanderbilts, the Jay Goulds, Lord Feversham and Prince Serge Obolskeky.  The article mentioned that Rudy Valle's orchestra played for the dancing.

In the early 1930's Eleanor Roosevelt was the guest of honor in Millicent's dining room several times.  But by now, unknown to most, William Randolph Hearst's financial empire was crumbling.  While rival newspapers thrived, circulation of his major publications plummeted.  Instead of cutting back on expenses, he continued to spend lavishly on art and refused to sell his magazines or newspapers.

He began selling off real estate after his financial advisors informed him he was tens of millions of dollars in debt.  By 1938 it was not only his real estate, but his beloved collections that were on the market.  A series of auctions sold off paintings, furniture, silver, tapestries and other valuable belongings.  At one sale John D. Rockefeller, Jr. purchased $100,000 of antique silver for his Colonial Williamsburg project.

The gargantuan Clarendon apartment could not last.  On August 27, 1939 The New York Times reported that "Plans were filed a few days ago for renovations to the old twelve-story apartment house at 137 Riverside Drive..by architect C. B. Ferris."   The building had been lost in foreclosure to the Mutual Life Insurance Company, and agents said the plans "were in an indefinite state and the exact nature of the proposed work was still undecided."

Eight months later they were decided.  On April 7, 1940 Mutual Life Insurance Company announced that the Clarendon "is being altered into smaller suites." 

The chopping up of sprawling turn of the century apartments was rarely reversed.  The former Hearst apartment, at least in part, would be an exception.  In 1994 a project was initiated by architects Siris/Coombs to create a three-story penthouse for a new tenant (the building was converted to a co-op in 1985).   Completed in 1997, the triplex includes 7,000 square feet of living space and 10,000 square feet of outdoor terrace space.

According to the Levine Builders' website, interior finishes include "Venetian plastered walls and Brazilian mahogany wood floors; and Portuguese tiles and English "corkstone' in the bathrooms."

Real estate agents are wont to create romantic and often blatantly untrue stories around properties.  The new penthouse got that treatment in spades.  While admittedly some elements remain of the former space, including 15th century stained glass; it was routinely hawked as the former William Randolph Hearst apartment.  It was also said to have had a rooftop skating rink used by Marion Davies.  The concept of a skating rink is dubious enough; the thought that Millicent Hearst would allow the "other woman" into 137 Riverside Drive is outrageous.

The apartment was placed on the market in 2014 for $38 million; reduced to a more affordable $24 million the following year.   It sold for $20 million in 2016.

The Clarendon's more than 110 year history has seen the coming and going of noteworthy residents--many with remarkable stories.   Yet none could compete with the Hearsts, whose larger-than-life drama played out in their larger-than-life home.

photographs by the author
many thanks to reader John Chalupa for suggesting this post

The Chester A. Arthur House -- 123 Lexington Avenue

Even the brownstone has been stripped off the once-refined home of President Chester A. Arthur -- photo by Alice Lum

When the Virginia-born Ellen Lewis Herndon was introduced to Chester A. Arthur, a New York City man, in 1856 rumbles of unrest between the South and the North were already being felt.  The romance resulted in the 30-year old Arthur marrying his 22-year old sweetheart on October 25, 1859 in New York City’s Calvary Episcopal Church.

Despite any tension the oncoming war might cause—Ellen’s family were slaveholders and Chester was a general in the New York State militia—theirs was a loving and happy marriage.  They moved into the Herndon family’s Manhattan townhouse on Gramercy Park where they lived for two years.

Ellen, called Nell, was a refined Southern belle accustomed to a house filled with servants, elegant entertaining, music and the best of food and wine.  Chet, as she called him, learned much from his bride, including stylish dress—his fashion sense would later become a hallmark.

In 1860 the couple’s first child was born.  With the arrival of William, the family moved to a nearby upscale residential hotel on Broadway.  The additional space also lent itself to the Arthurs’ grand entertaining.

The beautiful Ellen Herndon Arthur was trained as an operatic singer -- photo from the collection of the Library of Congress.

Immediately following Lincoln’s issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation, Chester Arthur resigned his post with the military.  He felt that the President’s action would only prolong the already wearisome war.  He turned his attention to his legal practice, which flourished.

At No. 123 Lexington Avenue was the brownstone-fronted home of the Bush family.  The rowhouse was identical to the eight others that lined the block between East 28^th and 29^th Streets.  Four stories tall over a high English basement, it stretched three bays wide.  The cast iron railings that rose along the wide brownstone stoop turned to form balconies at the parlor windows.

The house was pictured in an Arthur biography shortly after his death (copyright expired)

Now Chester and Ellen Arthur would purchase the former Bush residence as their first permanent home.  According to Bill Harris and Laura Ross in their The First Ladies Fact Book, “Nell embellished it with the finest furniture and accessories that money could buy, and she hired a staff of Irish immigrant servants to help her step up her lavish entertaining.”

Along with the couple came infant Chester Junior.  William had died in 1863 at the age of two and a half; little Chester arriving the following year.  By now Chester Arthur was one of Manhattan’s most successful attorneys.  His affiliation with the Republican party and his legal practice brought him in contact with the city’s wealthiest and most influential men; and earned him memberships into exclusive social clubs.  As was expected of socially-conspicuous couples, the Arthurs held a much-coveted box at the opera.

A year before daughter Ellen was born, Arthur was appointed Collector of the Port of New York by President Ulysses S. Grant in November 1871—earning him the more-than-comfortable salary of $50,000; about $925,000 a year in today’s dollars.  When the new president, Rutherford B. Hayes, asked him to step down in 1878, Arthur penned a well-publicized letter of refusal from the Lexington Avenue house.  So Hayes fired him. 

Chester Arthur became well-known for his side whiskers, expensive taste in clothing, and love of food, drink and entertaining.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

On January 10, 1880 Chester was in Albany attending meetings.  Ellen, left home alone, attended a concert.   While she waited for her carriage in the rain, she caught a chill, which worsened to a cold the following day, then rapidly turned to pneumonia.

Chester Arthur received word in Albany and immediately headed to New York.  By the time he reached No. 123 Lexington Avenue Nell was comatose.  Arthur remained at her bedside for nearly 24 hours, up to the moment she slipped away, never having regained consciousness.

Chester Arthur deeply grieved his wife’s death.  The beautiful and refined Ellen had apparently been the center of his life.   Within months the Republican Party chose him to run as Vice President, a move meant to balance the ticket of presidential nominee James Garfield--a Midwestern congressman running with a polished New York City sophisticate.  He accepted; however he privately said “Honors to me now are not what they once were.”  He reportedly told the eight-year old Nell, “There is nothing worth having now.”

Arthur shielded his grief from the outside world and he and Garfield won the election.  Chester Arthur’s tenure as Vice President would not be long.  He was in New York on July 2, 1881 when a telegram arrived at the Lexington Avenue house from James G. Blaine, Secretary of State.  The first line read “The President of the United States was shot this morning by an assassin named Charles Guiteau.”

Throughout the day a flurry of messenger boys brought telegrams up the brownstone stoop of No. 123 Lexington Avenue; returning to their offices with messages from Arthur.  The first was to Blaine, and said in part “Your telegram, with its deplorable narrative, did not reach me promptly, owing to my absence.  I am profoundly shocked at the dreadful news…I await further intelligence with the greatest anxiety.”

James Garfield hung on until September 19, 1881.  In the meantime, Chester A. Arthur was concerned about being perceived as snatching the reins of office while the President lived.  He remained in his Lexington Avenue house , refusing to go to Washington.  Word arrived on the evening of September 19 that Garfield had died.  At 2:15 a.m. the following morning Judge R. Brady of the New York Supreme Court administered the oath of office in the parlor of No. 123 Lexington Avenue—only the second time that a United States President took the oath in New York City.

Arthur takes the oath of office in the parlor of 123 Lexington Avenue -- Harper's Weekly, October 1, 1881 (copyright expired)

Later that day The New York Times reported “Thoroughly fatigued by the extraordinary events of the preceding 24 hours, President Arthur retired to his private apartments in his residence, No. 123 Lexington-avenue, soon after 11 o’clock Tuesday night.  Although prompted by his sensitive regard for the laws of hospitality to remain in the parlor and entertain the few privileged callers, who lingered at that late hour, he was prevailed upon by his more considerate friends to go to bed and try to obtain much-needed rest.”

The following morning Arthur descended the steps of his house, boarded his carriage and headed for Washington D.C.  Within weeks Burton T. Doyle and Homer H. Swaney would advise Americans about their new president in Lives of James A. Garfield and Chester A. Arthur.  “The household now called to the White House by the death of president Garfield has no lady to preside over it.  President Arthur lost his wife a year ago last January, and sadness over her loss is among his griefs…He has two children, one a youth of 17, named after his father, but called Allan by the family; the other a girl of 11, named Nellie.  These, with the servants, constitute the household of the modest Lexington avenue residence.” 

Chester’s sister, Mrs. Mary McElroy, had helped a great deal in the household since Ellen’s death and the writers predicted “Mrs. McElroy will most probably be the lady who will preside at the White House.”  And indeed she was.

Arthur’s term in the White House was marked by glorious entertainments, dinners and dances.  Yet he desperately missed New York and his Lexington Avenue home.  He routinely returned to New York and spent periods resting and working from his make-shift executive office in the Fifth Avenue Hotel.  He was also beginning to show symptoms of Bright’s Disease, a kidney condition.

In 1885 Chester Arthur returned to his Lexington Avenue home permanently, his term in office being over.  He took up his legal practice again; but his health was failing.  On May 19, 1886 The Sun wrote of his first venture out of the house “in many weary weeks.”  The newspaper noted “His face was colorless, and he was sixty pounds short of his normal weight as he walked feebly down the steps of his residence at 123 Lexington avenue and stepped into his closed landau, the carriage he used in Washington, and was whisked away behind a pair of bays.”

A month later, on June 25, 1886 The Times reported “Ex-President Arthur went to New-London, Conn., yesterday, where he will spend the Summer, at the Pequot House, in the endeavor to regain his health.  Soon after 1 P.M. he stepped from his house, No. 123 Lexington-avenue, dressed in a suit of mixed gray clothes, high white hat, dark brown necktie, and patent leather shoes.  His flowing side whiskers, which were one of the distinguishing features of his person, were gone, and the mustache was of recent growth.  His face was pale, but his eyes were bright, and he walked with much vigor for one who has been confined to the house for so long a time.”

The former President would not improve.  On November 17, 1886 he oversaw the bundling of his personal and officials papers, which he ordered to be taken out of the house and burned.   The following day he was dead.

On November 19 The New York Times reported that “Ex-President Chester Alan Arthur died at 5:10 o’clock yesterday morning at his residence, No. 123 Lexington-avenue.  The immediate cause of his death was cerebral apoplexy, due to the rupture of a small artery within the brain.”

The President’s body lay in the parlor where the family was visited by the city’s and country’s most esteemed citizens.  Then at 8:30 on November 22 the coffin was closed and removed from the Lexington Avenue house Arthur loved.  It was taken to the Church of the Heavenly Rest on Fifth Avenue where more than a thousand people crowded in.  Police held back the throngs for two blocks above and below the church.

Chester, Jr., and Ellen lived on in the house for only a short period afterward.  Then in September 1902 the house was purchased by publisher William Randolph Hearst.  In reporting the sale the New-York Tribune said “The house…is one of the most famous houses in that avenue…President Arthur had a great fondness for the house, principally on account of the many happy years he had passed under its roof.  This fondness he showed in many ways.  When he was Collector of the Port under President Grant he lived there.  Later, when he was elected vice-president, he did not close the house, and seek a grander and more modern dwelling uptown or tear down the old building and rebuild a better house.  He just stayed in the old house and made no more changes than were necessary.”

William Randolph Hearst had no intentions of making “no more changes than were necessary” to the historic property.  The newspaper noted “Alterations to cost $800 are to be made to the premises.”  The money was spent on demolishing the English basement and installing a garage for Heart’s motorcars.

Hearst apparently lived in the Arthur residence for about seven years, for a letter to him dated October 24, 1906 from John G. Agar is addressed to No. 123 Lexington Avenue.  But then on October 15, 1909 the New-York Tribune reported that “The old house No. 123 Lexington avenue, which was for many years occupied by the late President Chester A. Arthur, is to be remodeled.  The ground floor is to be made into a store.  There will be apartments on the upper floors.  The property is owned by William Randolph Hearst.”

In 1909 historic significance was consigned mostly to battlefields and, sometimes, structures like Fraunces Tavern.  Although Mount Vernon had long been recognized; it was the home of the nation’s first President—a distinction that far outshone the Arthur home.

Hearst obliterated the basement and parlor floors for a commercial front.  The house next door still retains its elegant cast iron balcony.-- The Presidents of the United States, 1914 (copyright expired)

There was no public outcry as Hearst commissioned architect James C. Green to convert the upper floors to bachelor apartments and commercial space below.  The New York Times reported “A new front is to be built up to the third story, new show windows installed, partitions removed and new stairs built.”

On February 8, 1919 The Evening World briefly lamented “The Chester A. Arthur house, in Lexington Avenue, has fallen prey to the march of trade to some extent, although not so completely as T. R.’s birthplace.”

Once tree-lined and fashionable, the block in the 1920s had succumbed to commerce.  No. 123 is third from the corner. -- photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

Throughout the 20^th century a variety of stores and residential tenants came and went.  Author and
“soldier of fortune” George Witten lived here in the 1920s; as did James Clellon Holmes in the 1940s, who was sometimes visited here by Jack Kerouac.   In 1944 an Indian grocery store, Kalustyan’s, opened in the ground floor.

By the mid-1950s the house was neglected and in February 1955 the landlord, Abraham Yarmark, was arrested for violations.  One tenant complained he had been without gas for 47 days and authorities said there were more than 400 violations against Yarmark.

Kalustyan's is protected by a security grate in 1976 -- photo National Parks Service

Within months it was sold to Dr. Leo Lindenbaum.  “The house now contains a store, an office, and six apartments,” said The Times.   As the 20^th century drew to a close, Kalustyan’s had expended into the former parlor level with a restaurant.

Where Ellen Arthur entertained and the widowed Chester Arthur took the oath of office, an Indian restaurant is bathed in neon lighting -- photo by Alice Lum

Although the Native New Yorkers Historical Association, now disbanded, placed a plaque in the building in 1981, the house that was home to a standing United States President is horribly abused and totally forgotten.

The 1913 Maine Monument -- Central Park

photo by Alice Lum

American public opinion against Spain in regard to its rule over Cuba was already heated in February 1898, mostly because of the agitation and yellow journalism of publishers like Joseph Pulitzer and William Hearst.  When Cuban riots protesting the new government broke out in Havana, President William McKinley ordered the USS Maine to protect American citizens and interests.

At 9:40 p.m. on February 15 a colossal explosion blew apart the Maine, killing 266 sailors.  Although there was no clear evidence that the catastrophe was anything but an accident and McKinley urged calm, journalists like Hearst were less forgiving.  Both he and Pulitzer printed sensational accounts of “atrocities” committed by the Spanish.  On April 11, a reluctant William McKinley declared war on Spain.

Remnants of the destroyed USS Maine in Havana Harbor -- photo Library of Congress

Just four days after the tragedy, William Randolph Hearst began a patriotic drive to erect a monument to the lost sailors.   His New York Morning Journal began a fund drive and immediately the public responded.  Benefits were staged and collections were initiated in schools, theaters, social clubs and political groups.

On February 28 the Executive Committee of Theatrical Managers held a meeting in the Knickerbocker Theatre “to consider some plan for giving benefit performances throughout the country to secure money for a monument to be erected in memory of the officers and men who lost their lives on the battleship Maine,” reported The New York Times. 

Manhattan’s socially elite rubbed shoulders with theater folk in the Metropolitan Opera House on Sunday evening, March 20, for a similar entertainment.  The performers ranged from stage actress Marie Dressler to comic vaudevillians Weber and Fields, from Shakespearean great Madame Helena Modjeska to entire opera companies including the Broadway Theatre Opera  Company, the Whitney Opera Company and the Castle Square Opera Company.

As an addition lure to the blockbuster event, the promoters titillated the public with a teaser.  “The theatrical managers who have the affair in charge promise a startling surprise, which, however, they refuse to divulge before the entertainment,” reported The New York Times.

To ensure the greatest receipts, tickets were not priced; but sold at auction.  On March 14 the Opera House was filled as the patriotic fervor of the cause took hold.  As patrons filed in for the auction they were “kept in good humor by the stirring strains from Innes’s Regimental Bank.”  Even those who would be performing joined in the bidding.  The first box sold was to Weber and Fields who paid a hefty $250.  By the time the last seat was auctioned, $5,000 had been raised for the monument fund—about $136,000 in today’s dollars.

Fund raising and other logistics would drag on for years.  In the meantime the two men commissioned to create the monument were hard at work.  Architect Harold Van Buren Magonigle had won the commission of designing the enormous memorial over 45 other submissions.  He would work hand-in-hand with sculptor Attilio Piccirilli who would execute the many sculptural elements.  Piccirilli, along with his five brothers, would later be responsible for the beloved New York Public Library lions.  In 1913 Magonigle and Piccirilli would work together again on the Riverside Park Firemen’s Monument.

Four years after fund-raising was begun, the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide succinctly reported on June 14, 1902 that the suggestion to place the Maine Monument in Longacre Square was approved by the Municipal Art Commission.  The site, later to be renamed Times Square, was perfect.  The New-York Tribune explained, “The site then approved was at the junction of Broadway and Seventh avenue, at 45^th Street, and was an irregular triangle in form.”  It was almost custom-made for the monument that would take on the basic shape of a ship.

The original design did not get approval from the Municipal Art Commission -- American Architect & Building News, July 28, 1900 (copyright expired)

But as the designs were worked and reworked, someone forgot about the monument.  “Through some oversight, however,” the New-York Tribune reported on July 8, 1910, “this space later was given for a public comfort station.”  The perfect site for the lofty Maine Memorial had been taken over by a toilet.

In 1908 application was made to situate the planned memorial at the Merchants’ Gate to Central Park.  By now more than $100,000 had been raised through public donations.  The Municipal Art Commission was quick to strike down the idea.  “The Columbus monument is now the central feature of the circle and should so remain.  It is impossible to place the Maine Monument, which is over sixty feet in height, in such close proximity to the Columbus column without dwarfing the latter and greatly detracting from the effect of both,” announced president Robert W. de Forest.  The commission was also concerned about pedestrian maneuverability.

Finally, on July 7, 1910, both the design for the Maine Monument and its location were approved by the Municipal Art Commission.  Highly esteemed Commission members Charles F. McKim, Daniel C. French and Frederick Dielman had made “minor changes” to the designs and it was now deemed acceptable.  Unexpectedly, the Commission changed its mind on the Central Park entrance site.  The New-York Tribune reminded readers the site in 1908 “was disapproved on the ground that, as then proposed, the monument would interfere with the circulation of pedestrians.  But it is now possible to take the monument further back in the park and thus entirely overcome this objection.”

“The sculpture will be executed in Knoxville marble,” said the newspaper, “with the exception of the crowning group, which will be of bronze.”

Another two years passed as Magonigle and Piccirilli toiled on the monument.  On February 15, 1912—14 years after the explosion in Havana harbor—the cornerstone was laid.  The New York Times noted, “It will cost about $175,000, most of which was collected by popular subscription from more than a million men, women, and children.”

On November 30, 1912 the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide noted, “The marble sculptures for the Maine monument will be on view in the Picirilli studios, at 467 East 142d street, from noon to 6 p.m., on Saturday, Nov. 30, and Sunday, Dec. 1.”  The long process of erecting a monument to the lost sailors was finally coming to an end.

A canopied reviewing stand is in place and gigantic American flags are positioned over the monument in preparation for the unveiling on Memorial Day 1913 -- photograph Library of Congress

Six months later, the groundwork was well underway for the unveiling.   In May preparations were made for the arrival of the entire Atlantic fleet—21 battleships.  The participation of another ship, the cruiser Cuba, required deep consideration by legislatures.  The fact that it was not an American vessel was less touchy than its biracial crew.

On May 15, 1913 The New York Times reported, “The House today voted $5,000 for Cuba’s participation in the Maine Monument exercises in New York.  An amendment which was passed by a vote of 33 to 29 provides that the company of soldiers to be sent shall include both whites and blacks.”

As the unveiling neared, a police guard was placed at the monument.  The Sun explained, “The policeman on duty yesterday said he had been instructed to look out for mischievous boys who might deface the monument.”

Fittingly, on the afternoon of Memorial Day 1913, the monument was unveiled in what The Editor and Publisher and Journalist called a “brilliant spectacle.”  The newspaper said “citizens by unnumbered thousands, some the most distinguished in the country, stood with bared heads while 15,000 soldiers and sailors stood at present arms.”

Thousands of sailors and soldiers stand by while little George Hearst, in a white sailor suit, prepares to unveil the monument -- photo Library of Congress

After James Grant Wilson, president of the monument committee, had finished speaking, William Randolph Hearst’s young son, George, dressed in a sailor suit, tugged on the lanyard.  The flags veiling the monument slowly pulled apart and simultaneously the Brooklyn Navy Yard band struck up the National Anthem.  At the same time 252 saluting guns from the Navy boats in the harbor went fired.

photo by Alice Lum

Former President William Howard Taft was the principal speaker and for the first time he openly voiced his opinion that “the Maine had been blown up from the outside by a hostile hand.”  The Sun said, “Mr. Taft spoke of Cuba as our foster child and as she errs in the childhood of her history we must bear with her.”

The monument was both impressive and complex.  A 40-foot-high pylon (reduced from the originally planned 60-feet) was inscribed with the names of the men lost on the USS Maine.  “It is flanked by two colossi,” reported Editor and Publisher, “representing the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans…the Atlantic typified by a young man in the fullness of his strength, the Pacific by an old man half slumbering.”  The allegorical sculptures were over 14 feet tall.

The Pacific Ocean was depicted as a sleeping, elderly man -- photo by Alice Lum

At the foot of the pylon was a sculptural grouping entitled The Antebellum State of Mind: Courage Awaiting the Flight of Peace, and Fortitude Supporting the Feeble.  The figures were about double life-size.  Above the grouping was the inscription “To the Valiant Seamen who Perished in the Maine—By Fate Unwarned, in Death Unafraid.”

The foremost grouping was entitled The Antebellum State of Mind:  Courage Awaiting.  A sculptured ship’s prow supported the figure of a young boy “holding wreaths of olive and laurel, suggesting the new era inaugurated in Cuba through the Spanish war,” explained Editor and Publisher.  In the rear was another grouping, The Post-Bellum Idea: Justice Receiving Back the Sword Entrusted to War.

The marble ship originally floated in the pool of a fountain fed by two dolphins -- photo Library of Congress

Atop the pylon a gilded bronze figure of Columbia Triumphant in her seashell chariot was pulled by three enormous sea horses.  The bronze used in the casting of the sculpture was taken from the recovered canon of the USS Maine.  It is generally accepted that New York sculptors’ favorite model of the period, Audrey Munson, posed for the figure of Columbia.

Three gilded bronze seahorses pull the seashell chariot of Columbia -- photo by Alice Lum

Despite its impressive monumentality, not all critics were pleased with the design.  On July 15, 1916 the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide complained, “The Maine monument is as regards composition not entirely successful.  The extreme animation of the silhouette conveys nothing of that sense of repose which a monument should symbolize and the naval emblems (sea horses) and figures are too excitedly grouped.”

The critic was pointed in his assessment.  “There is a lack of dignity in this monument that gives the impression that it is essentially a paper design.  On the drawing board beautifully drawn and exquisitely rendered it could not fail to charm; but the designer did not achieve his purpose, having failed to give sufficient character to the executed mass.”

Art critic Helen Henderson, in her A Loiterer in New York, fired back.  "Civic indifference towards sculpture reached a sort of climax with the unveiling of the Maine Monument and the more than usually stupid snap-shot criticisms of the press roused a storm of protest from the sculptors of the country, demanding intelligent criticism as the first step towards advancement in every phase of public betterment."  Saying that "The Maine Monument suffered more than most from a perverse misconception of its intention, from certain railing criticisms and heedless witticisms," she noted that "sculptors have rallied to the defense of Piccirilli, and claimed for him the consideration deserved for his 'high-minded consecration, and skill in the handling of marble, heretofore unknown in this country.'"

Despite the contention, the patriotic fervor that was responsible for the monument clung on.  The same year that the Record & Guide panned the design, the U.S. Army took advantage of the symbolism by erecting a recruiting tent next to the monument.  The Evening World remarked on April 6, 1916, “You boys that mother didn’t raise to be soldiers had better keep away from Columbus Circle for the next eight weeks of your Uncle Sam will get you if you don’t watch out.”

Similarly, politicians and activists over the next few decades used the monument as a backdrop for speeches and rallies.  A disgusted Nellie Candall Sanford fired off a letter to the editor of the New York Times in April 1922 protesting as the Maine Monument being used as “a rostrum and billboard combined.”  In particular she complained of one orator.  “That the speaker’s remarks were mischievous, unpatriotic and thoroughly un-American is perhaps beside the question, but I submit that the Main Monument is a tribute to our honored dead and not a platform and billboard for any propaganda whatever.”

Only six years after its unveiling the monument showed signs of neglect and disrepair.  The Evening World published an editorial deriding the Park Commissioners for allowing the inscriptions to become nearly illegible due to weathering.  An embarrassed Park Commissioner Philip Berolzheimer responded, “I am glad The Evening World called attention to the condition of the monument.  It is a fine thing to have people take a real interest in the show things of the city, particularly when they have been erected as memorials for worthy deeds.  I will take steps at once to see that the carving on the monument is again brought out plainly and any other necessary repairs made.”

For years an annual memorial ceremony was held at the monument.  Wreaths were laid, speeches given, and veneration given to the lost sailors of the USS Maine.  But, as The Lookout magazine said in 1913, the same year the monument was unveiled, “in a busy, careless city the average person so soon forgets.”

photo by Alice Lum

Today thousands pass by the marble monument every day.  Few pause to read its inscriptions and even fewer remember the human disaster that launched a war.