Edward L. Angell's 1890 312 and 314 West 103rd Street

 

Edward L. Angell would design dozens of rowhouses, most of them on the Upper West Side.  Like his contemporary, Clarence Fagan True, Angell worked in historic styles, creating romantic and sometimes lighthearted designs.  In 1889, three years after opening his office, he was hired by developer Robert B. Baird to design two townhomes at 312 and 314 West 103rd Street.

Completed in 1891, each was distinctly different, yet their blend of Romanesque Revival and Queen Anne designs worked harmoniously together.  Each three-stories tall above English basements, their basement and parlor levels were clad in brownstone and their upper floors faced in beige brick trimmed in brownstone.

Angell gave 312 West 103rd Street a straight stone stoop flanked with solid wing walls.  The paired parlor windows sat below a delicately leaded fanlight.  Carved Renaissance Revival panels at this level happily co-existed with a neo-Classical frieze below the second floor.  Pairs of brick pilasters topped with stone capitals flanked the grouped windows of the second floors.  Their transoms and those of the third floor were filled with stained glass.  The top floor was decorated with a terra cotta plaque depicting a fantastical winged cherub, the lower portion of which morphs into vegetation.  

Angell created an asymmetrical roofline by placing a molded cornice and blank parapet at the west, and a slightly higher paneled parapet, crowned with stone urns, and pyramidical roof at the east.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The house next door was approached by a dog-legged box stoop of rough-cut stone.  The parlor openings were capped with heavy lintels and classical pediments, the brackets of which fully flanked the stained glass transoms.  The Queen Anne asymmetry appeared on the top floor, where the two western bays were slightly taller than the eastern window.  Above them, the facade continued past the eastern cornice to a decorative pediment fronting a brick parapet.  

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Charles E. M. Gross and his wife, the former May Leticia Miller, purchased 312 West 103rd Street in August 1890.  The house became the scene of social gatherings.  On February 13, 1901, for instance, the New York Evening Telegram announced, "Mrs. Charles E. M. Gross, of No. 312 West 103d street, will give a reception on Saturday of this week.  She will be assisted in receiving by her mother, Mrs. Henry J. Miller."

Just two months later, on April 12, 1901, May died.  Her funeral was "private," with only family members present.  Shockingly, three months later, on June 4, Charles married May's sister, Leonore.  The couple sold 312 West 103rd Street two years later, in June 1903, to Franklin Pierce.

In the meantime, real estate agent James E. Gafney and his family were the first occupants of 314 West 103rd Street.  Born in 1854, Gafney was, as well, the secretary and a director of the New York Contracting & Trucking Co.  (In the latter position, he became a favorite of Tammany Hall bigwigs.)  He and his wife, the former Sarah Mahoney, had one daughter, Edna M.

Edna (who would never marry), graduated from Normal College in 1901 and got her temporary teacher's license that year.

Around 1906, 314 West 103rd Street was sold to real estate operator Susan Devin.  She leased it that year to broker Henry Clark Townsend and his wife, the former Katharine Hayes Goodall.  The couple had four children, Marian Goodall, Henry Clark, Katharine, and Frederick Barrett.  Also living with the family was Katharine's widowed mother, Marian Le Petit Goodall.  

An artist, Marian Goodall was described by The New York Times as having, "great ability as a water colourist."  She died here on March 16, 1907.  In reporting her death, The Times mentioned, "She was the descendant of distinguished French ancestry."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Next door, attorney Franklin Pierce was well-known to New Yorkers.  A member of the Academy of Political Science, he was retained in 1908 as counsel of the King Committee--a group organized by William F. King to investigate graft within the district attorney's office.  Pierce's wife, the former Anna May Shepherd, held two degrees from Rio Grande College in Ohio.

The Pierces sold 312 West 103rd Street in March 18, 1911 to William J. Urchs for $30,000--about $993,000 in 2025.

By then, Patrick M. and Margaret J. Lenane owned 314 West 103rd Street.  The couple dealt in real estate and owned multiple properties throughout Manhattan.  The couple had two children, Mortimer V. and Eleanor B.

Mortimer V. Lelane was in Phoenix, Arizona when he died on April 10, 1913.  His body was returned to New York and his funeral was held in the parlor of 314 West 103rd Street on April 17.  Within two years, Patrick and Margaret died, leaving Eleanor with extensive Manhattan holdings, including the 103rd Street house.

Eleanor Lelane remained here until about 1917, when she leased the house to Professor Franklin H. Giddings, a member of the American Anthropological Association, the Century Club, and the American Economic Association.  She continued to lease the residence.  In June 1921, she signed a five-year lease with Anna Minet.

The end of the line for 314 West 103rd Street as a private home came in 1933.  December 2, The Sun reported that Eleanor B. Lelane had leased the house, saying the lessee "plans to remodel the building into one and two room suites." 

In the meantime, William J. Urchs sold 312 West 103rd Street to Dr. Henry C. Becker in March 1922.  He leased rooms through the 1940s.  The house was converted to apartments, two per floor, in 1952.

Both houses lost their stoops at mid-century and 312 West 103rd Street lost its parapet and pyramidal roof.  A three-year renovation of 312 completed in 2004 resulted in three apartments; and 314 was remodeled in 2008.  It created one apartment each in the lower two levels, and a duplex in the upper two stories.

photographs by the author

The 1890 Sylvia Apartments - 59 West 76th Street

 

In 1889 developer Frank L. Fisher commissioned architect Edward L. Angell to design a "flat and store" building at the northeast corner of 76th Street and Columbus Avenue.  Called The Sylvia, Angell's tripartite Renaissance Revival structure was completed the following year.   The residential entrance was on West 76th Street.  It sat above a stone stoop and was flanked by polished columns that upheld an elaborately carved entablature.  Affixed to the façade, a few feet from the corner, a decorative stone plaque announced the building's name amid a profusion of Renaissance inspired carvings.

Angell treated the mid-section in alternating beige-gray brick and white stone, resulting in a striped effect.  The three-story upper level sat upon a slightly projecting intermediate cornice.
  

There were 15 apartments in The Sylvia--ranging from six to eight rooms and a bath each.  The ground floor along Columbus Avenue housed commercial spaces.  The initial commercial tenants were Milton Schnaier's plumbing business at 347-359 Columbus Avenue, and a paint store in 345.  An advertisement in The World on March 21, 1895 sought "Boy Wanted, 15, to learn paint business.  Apply 8 A.M. 345 Columbus ave."

The location was exceedingly convenient for Milton Schnaier, who lived upstairs.  In 1894 he hired a bookkeeper, Jacob Recht.  The young man seemed to work out--at least for four years.  Then, on December 9, 1898, the Brooklyn newspaper the Times Union, reported that Recht had appeared in the Tombs Police Court "charged with embezzling $2,100 from his employer, Milton Schnaier, a plumbing contractor at 347 Columbus ave."  It had been discovered that for the entire period of his employment he had been "systematically falsifying his accounts."  The total of Recht's pilfering would amount to about $66,800 today.

Schnaier's neighbors in The Sylvia were for the most part respectable professionals, like Deputy Assistant District Attorney Charles E. F. McCann, and Professor L. A. Baralt, a member of the psychological section of the Medico-Legal Society.  

Press coverage normally revolved around social issues.  On April 19, 1896, for instance, the New York Herald reported that Mr. and Mrs. Charles Anthony Geoghegan, who had been married in St. Lawrence's Church on Park Avenue and 84th Street a month earlier, "have sent out cards for Thursday afternoons and evenings during April and May."  ("Cards" announced when socialites could call.)  The article noted "Mr. and Mrs. Geoghegan are living at the Sylvia, No. 59 West Seventy-sixth street."

But the limelight became a bit more scurrilous after actor James E. B. Earll and his wife, the notorious actress Hope Booth, moved in following their marriage in 1895.   Hope, who claimed to be related to Shakespearean actor Edwin Booth, was known more widely for wearing little or no clothes than for her acting abilities.  In 1896, at the age of 23, she appeared at the Casino Roof Gardens in an act entitled "Ten Minutes in the Latin Quartier; or A Study in the Nude."  She and the manager of the theater were promptly arrested.

Hope was performing at the Howard Athenaeum in February 1901.  A fight broke out in the lobby over a poster depicting Hope in her revealing costume, which several men attempted to steal.  The Morning Telegraph explained on February 28, 1901, "When Miss Booth learned of the episode, she felt that the admirers deserved to know her.  She, therefore, made an appointment with them.  The result was that she was introduced to other clubmen and a hastily arranged private dinner party was scheduled for Saturday night."

The gentlemen's dinner party was held in a private dining room in a hotel.  "She had just attired herself in a set of silk fleshings prepared to impersonate Venus, when a bellboy burst hastily into the room with the announcement that a rumor of the proceedings had reached the street, and that everyone had better leave at once," said the article.  Hope escaped in a bathrobe.  The Morning Telegraph reported "Miss Booth was seen at her apartments, 59 West Seventy-sixth street, yesterday, and admitted there was considerable foundation to the story," (except she insisted she had worn "silk fleshings" and was not nude as the rumors said).
 

Hope Booth - from the collection of the New York Public Library

Real trouble in the Earll-Booth household began two months later.  A telegraph boy named Julian Goldy was walking Earll's "big brindle bulldog" on April 29.  It got away from him and "twice sank his teeth in the calf" of Charles C. Reilly in the grassy grounds of the Museum of Natural History.  The New-York Tribune reported "At the hospital he was told that his wounds were exceedingly dangerous.  He was advised to go to the Pasteur Institute."  Reilly demanded that the bulldog be destroyed.

The Morning Telegraph mused, "But for this animal, no skeleton would have been dragged from Miss Booth's closet and rattled yesterday in the halls of justice."  That was because James E. B. Earll had been summoned to court on July 15 to explain why he had ignored a previous summons, the consequences of which could now be $5,000.

Earll insisted he had never been served a summons.  But a process server took the stand and recounted how he had appeared at The Sylvia apartment, and when the man in the Booth apartment refused to accept the summons, he threw it at him and left.  Earll protested, saying "He never served me.  Who could it have been?"

And then the circumstances dawned on everyone in the courtroom.  The Morning Telegraph ran the headline, "Who Was The Man?"  It seems that in Earll's absence, Hope was entertaining someone else.

To deflect guilt, Hope sued her husband for divorce, claiming that he "registered in the Hotel Bartholdi on January 18 with a woman whose name is unknown to her."  She attested that "He enjoyed an income of $55,000 a year and often receives rich presents in money from his mother, who is worth from $700,000 to $1,000,000."  In reporting on the procedures, The Morning Telegraph said, "she believes she has been the most persecuted of all women."

But there was more woe in Hope Booth's future.  On June 16 The Morning Telegraph said "Miss Hope Booth, whose greatest delight in life is to poise coyly on the tip of a papier mâché moon, clad only in such raiment as the statues demand, arose from a long siege of illness yesterday to find she had sustained an awful loss."  Hope had been given an automobile by "a millionaire coal merchant."  Her monogram was inscribed in silver on both doors.  But that morning the car had been repossessed.

"The blow was too, too much for the embryonic star.  She took to her bed.  What with a divorce action pending against James E. B. Earll, her husband, and other domestic troubles, this last shock made the camel's burden many pounds overweight."

But Hope bounced back.  Following her divorce, she married drama critic Renold Wolf on February 4, 1903.  Her story ended sadly, however.  She was committed to a sanitarium in Italy in 1909 and could not return home until friends wired money.  She divorced Wolf the following year and died in a hotel on Third Avenue in 1933, not having left her room for years.

In the meantime, The Sylvia continued to be home to white-collar residents, many of them in the legal field, like George F. Lyon, a special deputy clerk in the court system, and city magistrate Nathan Klein, here for several years beginning around 1912.

In 1913 a six-room apartment with bath in The Sylvania rented for between $600 and $800, or about $1,775 per month in today's money.

Rudolph Diamant moved in in 1917.  The well-paid accountant was a member of the American Statistical Association.   He decorated his apartment with original art, and when the Society of Independent Artists staged its sixth annual exhibition in the Waldorf-Astoria in March 1922, he brought home two more paintings--Martin J. Jackson's Independence Day, and Racers by Margaret M. Law.

By then the stores at street level had, of course, changed hands.  Milton Schnaier & Co. was taken over in 1919 by Harry Vurman, 349 was home to the D. & W. Luggage Shop and 341 housed a delicatessen.  

On May 1, 1924 three gunmen, Arthur Cawley, Salvatore Orlando, and Gerald Pantusco went on an armed robbery spree, hitting the Columbus Avenue deli and a drug store a block away at Columbus and 74th Street in the process.  As they fled the pharmacy, they encountered three policemen and a gun battle erupted.  Two of the robbers were apprehended, but 21-year old Arthur Cawley was shot to death.

Resident Ruben Dorfman was involved in a bizarre and perhaps humiliating accident on the day after Christmas in 1932.   The 45-year-old had parked his sedan on the fourth floor of a garage on West 68th Street four weeks earlier.  Now, it refused to start.  The New York Times said, "He tinkered with the machine for half an hour, during which period the operator of the vehicle elevator came and went with other machines."

Dorfman's relief when the engine finally turned over was short-lived.  The car lurched backwards and plunged five stories down the elevator.  Dorfman was extricated from the wreckage by a police emergency squad and was taken to the hospital with multiple fractures and internal injuries.  The Daily News reported that he "is dying in Flower hospital as a result" of the accident.

Dorfman's car at the bottom of the elevator shaft.  Daily News, December 27, 1932.

The Excellent Food Shop occupied 347 Columbus Avenue in the mid-1940's.  In June 1947 an armed robber, James Ford, made off with $48 in an early morning holdup.  At the time there was one customer in the place, 60-year old Louis George.

In an amazing instance of déjà vu, a month later, on July 12, Louis George was again the only customer in the restaurant at 2:15 a.m. when Ford returned.  The gunman took the $12.25 that was in the register, then turned to George.  When he did not produce pocket money fast enough for the thief, "the thug kicked him," according to the Daily News.  "Reeling, George's hand fell on an icepick.  George grabbed it and stabbed his assailant in the side, chest and neck."

The wounded crook ran out the door but was knocked down by a passerby.  Arrested, James, was taken to the Bellevue Hospital prison ward and charged with assault and robbery.

The original 76th Street base and elaborate entranceway can be seen in this photo taken around 1941.  NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

A renovation to The Sylvia completed in 1976 resulted in six apartments per floor.  The project obliterated Edward L. Angell's striking 76th Street base, including the elaborate entrance.  The entire ground floor was refaced with artificial stone that unsuccessfully attempts to mimic the original.  Thankfully the marvelous carved plaque was preserved.

Dobson's restaurant moved into the ground floor and would remain until 1989 when The Gap took over the space.  It was later home to Putumayo, another clothing store, and in 2015 Peruvian Connection opened its boutique in No. 341 Columbus Avenue.

photographs by the author

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The Lost San Remo Hotel - Central Park West and 75th Street

 

Real Estate Record & Guide, December 20, 1890 (copyright expired)

The economic potential of the rapidly developing new neighborhood known as the West End prompted developers to purchase, in some cases, full blockfronts and fill them with long rows of substantial homes.  Following the death of millionaire Joshua Jones his estate placed the vacant block between Central Park West and 9th Avenue (later Columbus Avenue) and 74th to 75th Streets at auction.   The sale created a frenzy.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported on January 12, 1889 "Never did an auction sale of New York city property create greater interest...Never was such a sight seen in the annals of real estate as the eager, hustling, excited crowd that thronged to overpouring the Liberty street salesroom on November 23d last."  

Michael Brennan purchased what was perhaps the most valuable property--the blockfront facing Central Park.  If his announcement of putting up apartment houses on the site caused trepidation to some, The Record & Guide offered calm: "Michael Brennan, the well-known builder, will improve five lots on the Central Park West front with handsome apartment houses which will be an ornament and not a detriment to the block."

Brennan's initial idea of erecting side-by-side apartment houses quickly changed to a single "family hotel" or "apartment hotel."  He hired architect Edward L. Angell to design the 10-story structure which was intended to vie with the best residential hotels in the city.  A year into construction the Record & Guide commented "It towers above every surrounding structure, and vies with the great 'Dakota' apartment house in importance and magnificence."

Residence hotels differed from apartment houses in that they offered the services like maids and hallboys (on hand to carry packages, run errands, etc.).  Residents of the San Remo ate their meals in a common dining room on the top floor which offered sweeping views of the park.  The arrangement eliminated the need for large domestic staffs and the accompanying stress of managing servants.   Residents would keep a small staff, including a lady's maid and butler and at least one maid.  That maid would have available a "complete steam laundry" within the building.

The San Remo would contain about 90 apartments ranging from two rooms and a bath to nine rooms and two bathrooms.  Each of the more than 100 tiled bathrooms had a window.  The apartments were trimmed in oak, sycamore, ash and cherry executed by master woodworker J. S. Roddy (deemed by the Record & Guide "a recognized leader in the art of polishing and finishing hard woods).  Mantels matched the wood in each room.  The main dining room was 50 by 100 feet and the Record & Guide pointed out that there would be "a smaller dining-room for children and nurses."  

The cutting edge building had an "electric plant" (i.e., dynamos) in the basement to power electric lights.  (The fixtures were combination gas and electricity, since even with its own generators electric service was not yet dependable.)  Other innovations were mail chutes in each apartment, so no one needed to walk out his door to mail a letter, and a system for "filtering of the water used for drinking purposes throughout the hotel."

Enjoying the luxurious appointments and amenities did not come cheaply.  Rents in 1891 ranged from $800 to $2,400 per year--about $5,800 per month for the most expensive.

A typical floor plan.  Real Estate Record & Guide, December 20, 1890 (copyright expired)

The San Remo Hotel opened on October 1st, 1891.  An advertisement in the New-York Tribune promised, "There will be no duties, no cares, no eternal worry about servants."  Another ad said "The Hotel is conducted solely for families who wish to avoid the annoyances and inconveniences of 'housekeeping,' and for that reason the suites will not be furnished, but every service, including electric light, steam head and chamber service will be furnished free of charge."

That advertisement boasted "This model family hotel has no parallel in its unique and splendid appointments," and added "From the upper stories of the hotel the waters of the Hudson, and those marvels of nature, the 'Giant Palisades,' can be plainly seen."

The Tribune Monthly, June 1892 (copyright expired)

There were now three great apartment buildings on Central Park West--the San Remo, the Dakota, and the Navarro Flats.  The Sun's Guide to New York in 1892 said "These apartments are typical of the more sumptuous sort" and opined that they were the result of the recent "insufficient supply of domestic servants."

Residents of the southernmost apartments would have to endure the inconvenience of construction before too long.  On October 13, 1894 The Record & Guide reported that Brennan had purchased adjoining lots on 74th Street for $90,000 (about $2.7 million today).  "Mr. Brennan will erect on the lots a ten-story addition to the hotel."

No matter how upscale, every apartment building or hotel suffered unfortunate press from time to time.  Among the initial residents of the San Remo were Enrique Bregaro and his wife, the former Sophie Tegner.  Born in Italy, Bregaro was a partner with his brother in the commission firm of Bregaro & Co., headquartered in Puerto Rico.  The firm imported large amounts of sugar, coconuts and molasses to New York.

While the San Remo was under construction, Bregaro had boarded in the house of the widowed Naomi Tegner.  On September 3, 1892 he married her daughter, described by The New York Times as "a handsome blonde, about forty years old."  The newlyweds moved into the San Remo upon its completion in October.

Shortly afterward Bregaro experienced back problems and sought treatment.  His physician told him it was not serious, but Bregaro, according to friends, "expressed the fear that he would be permanently crippled, and this thought upon which he brooded without good cause, made him at times, morose and melancholy."

On the morning of December 6 Bregaro got out of bed, put on his trousers and slippers and went into the dressing room.  A few moments later Sophie was startled by a gunshot.  "She jumped out of bed, and running into the dressing room, found her husband lying on the floor, with the blood gushing from a hole in his right temple."  A widow after only three months of marriage, Sophie "was prostrated by the tragedy" and could not talk to investigators.

An even more shocking incident occurred on January 5, 1897 when a the San Remo's head chef got into a heated dispute with an employee.  He ended the conflict by stabbing the servant with a kitchen knife.  Thomas Grassingen made it home to Second Avenue but then, realizing that he was dying, sent for a doctor to take his ante-mortem statement.  (An ante-mortem statement was necessary in the 19th century to prosecute such a case.)

Another employee-gone-wrong was bellboy John F. Hart.  Lillah Smith was out of her apartment between 5:00 and 10:00 p.m. on June 31, 1897, and when she returned she found her jewelry was gone.   The following day two men pawned jewelry which matched the description for $58.  The shop owner notified detectives who took the items as evidence and arrested the men.  Lillah Smith was taken to Newark where she identified Hart and her jewelry.  Hart broke down and confessed at which point his accomplice, John Hammond, tried to chew up the pawn tickets.  A detective rescued the soggy evidence from his mouth and the young men were imprisoned.

The family of Edward W. Scott lived here by 1899.  A disturbing one-line article appeared in The World on November 8 that year:  "Edward W. Scott, a wealthy importer whose home is at the San Remo hotel, has disappeared and foul play is suspected."  Scott had received a telegram at his office two days earlier "calling him out of town," according to the New-York Tribune.  Knowing he would be back before night, he did not bother to notify his family.  But he did not return home that night.

Scott suffered from what appears to have been the early stages of dementia.  He was found two days later when he asked the gateman at the Fort Lee Ferry where he was.  "He was weak and could not say how he had come there," said the New-York Tribune.  The article went on, "his ideas of locality became somewhat confused, and he was unable to communicate with his family."

Scott was brought home to the San Remo and his family quickly tried to cover up what was at the time an embarrassing medical condition.  His brother told a reporter "My brother had a serious attack of illness some time ago, and he has at times had spells of apparent unconsciousness since.  He is better now, and is on the road to compete recovery."  

Warren D. Hanford and his wife, Alice, were prominent residents.  Born in Vinton, Iowa, Hanford had arrived in New York in 1898 and shortly afterward joined the Mercantile Exchange.  He quickly became its vice-president.  The Egg Reporter would say "He became one of the most successful merchants in the trade."

The couple was married in November 1901 and moved into the San Remo.   Three months later, as had been the case with Lillah Smith, Alice Hanford discovered that pearls and other jewelry were missing.  She left for breakfast on February 8, 1902 and, according to the New-York Daily Tribune, "returned to her apartment and found that her jewel casket, kept in the top drawer of her dresser, had been taken."  She valued the lost items at the equivalent of $153,000 in today's money.  The jewelry, which included a "diamond fleur de lis pin, one large solitaire diamond engagement ring, an old pearl ring surmounted by small diamonds, a pearl necklace, and pair of diamond cuff buttons and a woman's gold watch," were almost all wedding presents.

It did not take detectives long to arrest the elevator boy, 20-year old James Sweeney.  He claimed he knew nothing of the crime.  But his story fell apart after a messenger arrived at the station house with a note for him.  Detectives read the message from Mabel Hyman before delivering it to the prisoner.  Sweeney wrote a return note which was given to the same messenger boy.   Detectives followed him.

Mabel spilled the truth when questioned, implicating a third person, George Marvin, as well.  Both were arrested.  The New-York Daily Tribune reported "Sweeney was furious when he found the woman had told all she knew."  All three confessed.

Happily for Alice, on February 13 The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported "The jewels stolen from Mrs. Warren D. Hanford, at the San Remo Hotel...have been recovered and are now held by the police to be used as evidence against James Sweeney, the bellboy, who is charged with the theft."

May Darach lived in the building at the time.  As was the case with most well-to-do women, she was highly involved in charity work.  She was the president of the Settlement House for Crippled Children on West 69th Street and her name routinely appeared in newspapers in connection with the home.

An early postcard shows the San Remo towering above the treetops of Central Park.

Washington M. Haddock was described by The Brooklyn Daily Eagle as "wealthy and a Civil War veteran."  According to staff at the San Remo, it was the custom of the middle-aged man "to take a walk every evening."  But it seems that no one noticed that he did not return on the night of August 5, 1904.  

The following morning at around 4:00 a delivery driver for Swift & Co. was driving up Central Park West when he saw a body lying near the street car tracks in the half-light.  Haddock had died from apoplexy--known today as either a cerebral hemorrhage or stroke.  The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported "All the jewelry and other belongings were found on the body.  There was no suspicion at all, Dr. O'Hanlon said, of foul play." 

Other well known residents of the San Remo were John R. Foley, partner in the real estate firm John R. & Oscar L. Foley; insurance executive Archibald C. Haynes and his wife, the former actress Minna K. Gale ("who played with Booth and Barrett," according to the New-York Daily Tribune); and husband and wife authors Kathinka Schucking Sutro and Emil Sutro.

Emil Sutro was an expert in speech and language.  His works, like his 1899 Duality of Voice, delved into the minute details of speaking, such as "movements of the tongue," "extirpation," and breathing, as well as addressing speech problems like stuttering.  Following his death in 1906 Kathinka lived on in the San Remo apartment.  She was the author of several novels, including In Two Hemispheres.  She died in her apartment at the age of 75 on March 24, 1910.

In 1904 brick-paved street car tracks run alongside Central Park.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

Michael Brennan still owned the San Remo in 1913 when he embarked on significant changes.  The Real Estate Record & Guide reported on October 4 that "The dining-room on the top floor...is to be transformed into apartments and a new dining-room installed on the main floor.  That latter will in reality take the place of the present ballroom."  The relocation required a new set of kitchens in the rear of the building.

A bitter feud between the night watchman, Judson E. Rodgers, who had worked there for 12 years, and a porter, John McGoldrick, began in April 1919.  According to Edmund Brennan, Michael Brennan's son and the manager of the hotel, Rodgers felt Brennan showed partiality to McGoldrick, especially in regard to his vacation time.  The tensions grew for three months before snapping at around 5:00 on the morning of July 28.

The two got into a quarrel which ended with Rodgers shooting McGoldrick in the back.  When the body was found by a scrub woman, Bridget Genner, Brennan sent for police.  Detective James Maher arrived and was directed to Brennan's rooms.  Unaware that his boss was still in his apartment, Rodgers had waited in ambush in a hall closet.  As Maher approach Rodgers jumped out, assuming it was Brennan, and fired a shot.  The bullet struck 30-year old detective in the head and he died instantly.  The Evening World reported "Rodgers then shot himself through the head."

The unlucky detective was an unintentional victim. The Evening World, July 28, 1919 (copyright expired) 

At a time when fussy Victorian apartment hotels were falling from favor, the San Remo received an updating, completed in 1921.  The new manager, Robert D. Blackman, boasted of the modernization.  An ad on February 13, 1921 said in part:

For years this hotel had has a splendid reputation--but it needed remodeling, redecorating--and a rearrangement of many of the suites.  All of these things have been done, and in the most up to date and modern manner.  And the meals and the service are as perfect as one can make them.

Another advertisement played up the improvements and put a positive spin on the out-of-date elements, saying "its rooms are old-fashioned in size and new-fashioned in equipment and conveniences," adding, "I often wonder why so many people live in apartment houses when they can have so much more for their money in an up-to-date apartment hotel--the San Remo, in particular."

Among the residents in the remodeled apartments were nationally-known landscape architect Samuel Parsons and his wife the former Martha E. Francis.  Parsons joined the firm of Calvert Vaux in the 1870's, as Superintendent of Planting in Central Park.  In 1905 he was appointed Park Commissioner by Mayor George B. McClellan while doubling as the city's landscape architect.  His work extended beyond New York City to include the design of a 1,400-acre park in San Diego, California.

Muriel Manners was acting in the chorus of Kid Boots on Broadway in 1924.  In November that year she took George Sanchez, described by the Daily News as a "reputed sugar magnate," to court.  According to Muriel, she attended a party with Sanchez where she asked him to watch her bag which held $320.  It was a tidy sum for the showgirl to be carrying around--equal to about $4,780 today.  She got her purse back, but not the cash.  Sanchez's lawyer had promised to return the money, but by November 21 when she told her story to the judge, he had not.

The Daily News, November 22, 1924

A peculiar story appeared in the newspapers in February 1928.  Dr. Thomas Lawton notified police that his wife, Madeline, had left to visit her sister on Sunday, February 12, but never arrived there. Three days later the Times Union said "The doctor visited relatives and friends in a vain effort to trace her."  He told reporters that Madeline had been injured in a train wreck a few years earlier and "has been in a highly nervous condition since."  Newspapers published a description of the 35-year old woman, including the outfit she was wearing when she left the apartment.

The mystery deepened when her sister, Mrs. J. V. Lupo told reporters on February 15 that Madeline had phoned her to say she was well and in New York City.  "She did not give me her New York City address because she did not want her husband to know where she is."  Friends may have thought this suspicious since in leaving her husband she also left their two children, 4-year old Betsy Ann and 7-year old Jane.

Dr. Lawton played on the sympathies of readers with this posed photo of him gazing at his sleeping daughters.  Daily News, February 16, 1928 

But the story seemed to be true when Madeline left a message  at her husband's office.  "Tell the doctor to cut out all this newspaper stuff.  He knows why I have gone away.  I'm not coming back until I'm good and ready."

As the 1920's drew to an end, the Victorian apartment hotel could no longer compete with the sleek Art Deco apartment buildings lining up along Central Park West.  The San Remo was demolished in 1929 to be replaced by its namesake, designed by Emery Roth which survives.

photo by Bilby

The Lucius H. Biglow House - 340 West End Avenue

The enclosed stoop ensured protection in times of bad weather.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

In 1889 wealthy builder and developer Dore Lyon began construction on five upscale rowhouses on West End Avenue, Nos. 340 through 348.  Designed by prolific architect Edward L. Angell, the showpiece of the group was the corner house, No. 340.

Four stories high above a deep basement, the Romanesque Revival style residence was faced in brownstone and brick.  Swirling foliate carvings, chunky colonnettes, and muscular crockets atop the rooftop finials added to the medieval style.  The two-story bowed front on the avenue provided visual movement.   No brooding mansion with shadowy interiors, its abundance of windows on three sides flooded the rooms with natural light.  To the rear of the house was the service entrance, protected by a high wall and entered through an especially handsome wrought iron gate.

Dore Lyon and his wife, the former Anna E. Parker, moved into No. 340, upon its completion in 1890.  Anna was a colorful figure in New York society.  She not only styled herself as a pundit on etiquette; but involved herself in so many clubs, associations and committees that she was dubbed by the press "The Queen of Clubs."

In 1892 the Lyons commissioned architect Charles Israels to add an eye-catching bowed oriel on the second floor directly above the entrance.  Its carved decorations masterfully blended with the originals.  It may have been at this time that the glass and iron enclosed marquee was installed over the stoop, which hugged the 76th Street wall.

The bowed oriel was a pleasant after thought.  The window directly below was originally the entrance.

The couple had one child, Grace.  In 1893 they erected what one newspaper deemed "a magnificent mansion" as their summer estate in Saratoga, New York.  The following year, in February, they sold No. 340 to Lucius Horatio Biglow.

The apparently busy Biglow was a partner in the highly successful music publishing firm of Biglow & Main; the president of L. H. Biglow & Co., printers and stationery suppliers; president of the Metropolitan Realty Company; and, according to The New York Times later, "Director in a dozen other concerns."  The capacious West End Avenue house made sense for his family.  He and his wife, the former Anna Graham, had seven children, William, Elsie, Ray, Herbert, Elizabeth, May, and Lucius, Jr.

The Biglow family summered in Ridgefield, Connecticut, described by The New York Times in 1893 as "a favorite Summer resort for numbers of New York City people."  Biglow had purchased an 18th century fieldstone house, once the home of Revolutionary War leader Colonel Philip Burr Bradley, and had it Victorianized to a modern "cottage."  Melding his surname with Anna's maiden name, he named the estate with its park-like grounds Graeloe.

The Graeloe estate was impressive enough to warrant picture postcards like this one.

Julius Biglow became involved in the issues of the Upper West Side and on April 7, 1899 was accepted as a member of The West End Association.  Among the issues addressed that evening were the "driving regulations on Broadway (Boulevard), now being constantly violated by truck drivers," and illegal dumping of sand and dirt near by the 79th Street dock.


The issue of driving regulations being violated became personal six years later.  Ray, who was 17 years old and already attending Yale University, was home that spring.  He was arrested with two others motorists, charged "with racing their cars," according to The New York Times on April 6, 1905.

The teen was sketchy in the details he gave police, using only his middle name Graham and saying he attended Harvard.  He had shocking confederates in his joy ride.  Twenty-nine year old George Mitchell was the chauffeur to wealthy real estate operator Joseph M. Ohmeis.  He had taken Ohmeis's automobile and riding along were prize fighters James J. Jeffries and "Joe" Kennedy.   Even more surprising was the driver of the third vehicle--James A. Roche, the Chief Inspector for the Bureau of Highways.   Raymond's father apparently put up his $500 bail (more than $14,000 today) and one can imagine the discussion that took place on their way back to No. 340 West End Avenue.

Two weeks earlier the Biglow family had suffered a tremendous shock.  The term "butler" today brings to mind refined, white-gloved men with English accents who announced visitors by delivering calling cards on silver trays.   And, indeed, the duties of butlers in the Fifth Avenue palaces of families like the Astors and Vanderbilts were restricted to such activities.  But in the mansions of the families like the Biglows, the responsibilities were much wider.

James Fahey was the Biglows' butler in 1905.  On March 20 he was cleaning windows on the fourth floor.  Somehow he lost his balance and fell to the rear areaway.   The New-York Tribune reported "Fahey's skull was crushed at the base of the brain."  He died in Roosevelt Hospital that afternoon.

The rear service area is protected by an ornate iron gate.  It was the scene of Fahey's tragic fall in 1905.

Also attending Yale at the time was Lucius, Jr.  A big man on campus, he was captain of the football team and a member of the rowing team.   Following his graduation he became Yale's head football coach.

On February 4, 1909, the year after his own graduation,  Ray was married to Harriet Chamberlain Moseley in New Haven, Connecticut.  There were two hundred guests at the "old fashioned breakfast."  When it was time for the cake-cutting, the room was surprised when the bride's uncle, Rear Admiral Frank A. Cook, handed her his sword to cut the cake.

The Sun reported "This sword was presented to Rear Admiral Cook by his father when as a boy he first entered the navy.  It was carried by him all through the War of the Rebellion and the Spanish war."  Admiral Cook was captain of the Brooklyn during the Spanish-American War and was wearing that sword at his side when Admiral Pascual Cervera y Topete surrendered to him.

The Biglow family was at Graeloe on September 27 that year when Lucius fell ill.  He died there on September 30 at the age of 72.   His will left $25,000 to Anna (about $680,000 today), $15,000 to his sister, and the rest of the estate was divided among the children.   Anna's fortune was increased five months later when she sold the house to Ralph L. Spotts for $85,000.

Later that year he had a two story addition constructed on the rear roof. 

A 1925 photograph shows the rear roof-top addition commissioned by Spotts in 1910.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Spotts was vice-president of H. B. Kirk & Co., liquor distributors, and a partner in the Cantono Electric Tractor Co.  But his fame came from his expert marksmanship.  On November 21, 1910, the same year he bought No. 340 West End Avenue, The New York Times reported on the shooting matches of the Larchmont Yacht Club.

"Ralph L. Spotts carried off the honors of the day, for he not only won the fist prize of the season as high gun with a score of 119, but he also won the ten and five bird scratch events, and the leg for the Sauer gun.  He also won the 200 target match."

A member of the New York Athletic Club, he was on the 1912 American Olympic trapshooting team.   For years his name appeared in sporting magazines like Field & Stream as he continued to add silver cups and trophies to his collection.

In 1916 Spotts branched out, forming the R. L. S. Realty Company.  On April 15 The New York Times reported he had purchased in a single deal five apartment houses valued at about $1 million.

He was still listed at No. 340 West End Avenue in 1920; but his residency here and the status of the house as a private dwelling would soon come to an end.

Like most of the first floor windows, the dining room window once had a profusion of stained glass.  The masterful ironwork below is both whimsical and lovely.

At the time Thomas F. Clark ran his private school, The Clark School for Concentration, in four buildings at the corner of West End Avenue and 72nd Street.  An advertisement in The Century in April 1920 read: "For Boys and Girls.  Boarding and day pupils; prepares for any college.  An intensive system of individual instruction.  Separate boys' and girl' buildings in fine residential section of New York."   It produced graduates like stage and film actress Ann Dvorak, and actress and off-Broadway producer Lucille Lortel.

On November 20, 1922 the school sold its properties for a hospital project and moved into the five-story mansion at No. 78 Riverside Drive on the corner of 80th Street.  By 1925 the school added the former Spotts residence as a women's dorm.  An advertisement in the Columbia Spectator that year noted "The Dormitory of the Clark School on 340 West End Avenue, can accommodate 22 women for the summer session."

The dormitory appears to have remained at No. 340 until 1940 when the property was sold to be converted to apartments, just three per floor.  The stoop with its unique enclosure was stripped off and the main entrance moved to sidewalk level.  It was most likely at this time that the colorful but out-of-date stained glass transoms were removed.

Despite the alterations, the former mansion retains its imperious presence.  Somewhat surprisingly, the stone wall around the basement light moat survives with its wonderful 1890 ironwork.  With little effort the one can imagine a time when wealthy families lived here, catered to by a staff of servants.

photographs by the author

The Dr. John J. Moorhead House - 101 Manhattan Avenue

When the Ninth Avenue elevated railway reached 104th Street in 1879, development in the neighborhood increased.  New Avenue, one block west of Central Park West, received its new name, Manhattan Avenue, in 1884.  Speculative rowhouses soon began appearing along the street.

At the same time, in 1886, Edward L. Angell opened his architectural office.  His career would largely be spent designing structures on the Upper West Side.   The fledgling architect received a significant commission in 1889 when developer Joseph Turner hired him to design the 11 townhouses that would engulf the entire Manhattan Avenue blockfront from 104th to 105th Street.

Construction began in August 1889 and was completed just nine months later.  Angell married the popular Queen Anne and Romanesque Revival styles to create the picturesque row.  Acting as bookends of sorts, the end houses at Nos. 101 and 121 were mirror images.

The fronts of the houses were clad in rough-cut brownstone at the English basement and parlor levels.  Angell focused the restrained decoration of the warm brick upper facades to the top floor, where engaged brownstone columns separating the three arched openings implied an arcade.  He gave a nod to Manhattan's Dutch roots by added a brick and terra cotta scalloped Flemish Renaissance parapet.

Each house was slightly more than 19 feet wide--noticeably narrower than the average rowhouse--suggesting Turner intended them for middle-class families.  But the cost of construction, $10,000 each (more than a quarter of a million today) meant the end price was out of reach for those buyers.

The disparity seems to have taken a toll.  Six months after the houses were completed, on November 12, 1890, the entire row was sold at foreclosure auction.  Six of the houses--Nos. 101 through 111--were purchased by Otto Ernst and his wife, Marie, who leased them.

No. 101 became home to doctors, first to Dr. W. Muler and then Dr. Charles W. Gardiner.  Following the deaths of the Ernsts, the house was sold one more time, to Otto Gravenhorst in 1898, before Dr. Joseph Moorhead purchased it in February 1900.

Born in Ireland, both his father and grandfather had been physicians,  The Manhattan Avenue location was, perhaps, surprising considering that the 58-year old doctor was dedicated to serving the tenement district.   He had come to New York at the age of 23 and set up his practice on the Lower East Side.  Committed to his indigent patients, he maintained his Second Avenue medical office, making his commute from the Upper West Side long and difficult.

Moorhead and his wife, Mary Jane, had three daughters, Helen, Jane, and Mary, and a son John Joseph (an infant had died earlier).   John was 26 years old when his father purchased No. 101.  He, too, was a doctor and already had an impressive background.  He was valedictorian in his June 1890 class at the exclusive Trinity Chapel School, received his undergraduate degree from New York University, and won the Valentine Mott Gold Medal upon graduation from the University Medical College.  He was now an Attending Surgeon to the New York University and Bellevue Hospital Medical College clinic.

The bachelor doctor may have held an impressive position, but he could still be a puckish young man.  When he was asked to be an usher at the wedding of his friend, Perry Carter Pentz, to Ella M. Sanger, he and several other ushers plotted a prank.  The Sun explained on November 26, 1902 that the "jokers" intended "to follow the bride and bridegroom in three carriages, which were filled with boxes of rice, noodle hearts, old shoes, confetti and such things, and to advertise the marriage by a continuous shower of these articles."

Pentz was two steps ahead of his ushers, though.  First, he ensured he had "a very fast pair of horses to draw him and his bride."  Then he hired "six husky men" to wait in a carriage at West End Avenue and 102nd Street.  After the newlyweds' carriage passed, they pulled out to block the ushers' vehicles, then jumped out and held the reins of the pursuing carriage horses.

The Sun reported "The pursuers jumped out and gave battle but the six men held their own until the police came up.  The bluecoats were at first inclined to arrest the six brigands, but when the story came out they only laughed"

Moorhead and his cohorts had lost the trail of the newlyweds.  When they were unable to find them at any of the hotels, they "acknowledged themselves beaten and opened bottles at their own expense in a Twenty-sixth street restaurant."


That John's father approved of the publicity is questionable.  Deeply religious, for decades Joseph Moorhead was an elder of the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church.

Joseph Moorhead was beloved by the residents of the Lower East Side community where he would eventually be credited with bringing about 2,000 babies into the world.  He refused to charge his neediest families.

A heartbreaking example of the patients he treated was 7-year old Emma Hein.  Her family lived in a tenement at No. 407 East 19th Street in 1903.  On Monday afternoon June 16 her frantic parents called for Dr. Moorhead.   But the little girl was already dead.  The hot night before they had spent a penny on ice cream from a cart vendor as a treat for Emma.  Moorhead diagnosed the cause of her death as ptomaine poisoning, caused by "a small amount of green [i.e. tainted] ice cream eaten on Sunday night."

Moorhead may have intended to move his practice to the Manhattan Avenue address.  If so, he gave up the idea and by May 18, 1906 when daughter Mary was married to Thomas Henry Alison, he and Mary Jane had moved back to the Second Avenue house.  The wedding took place in their parlor.

In the meantime, John continued to live in the Manhattan Avenue house.  On October 31, 1907 he was married to Helen Armstrong Howell in the Rutgers Presbyterian Church on Broadway at 73rd Street.  Not surprisingly, Rev. Dr. J. Ross Stevenson of the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church officiated.

The 25-year old bride was well educated, having attended the private Brearley School in Manhattan, then Bryn Mawr College and the University of Grenoble in France.  The Woman's Who's Who of America noted the "favors woman suffrage" and "out-door sports."

photo from New York University: Its History, Influence, Equipment and Characteristics, 1903 (copyright expired)

Nine months after the wedding, on July 14, 1908, Joseph and Mary Jane Moorhead sold the Manhattan Avenue house to John and Helen.  The house was appraised at approximately $13,000 (about $350,000 today) and the couple took out an $8,500 mortgage.

By now John regularly published articles, like his "Injury by Electricity" that appeared in the April 2, 1910 issue of The Journal of the American Medical Association.  The increased industrial use of electricity had given rise to severe injuries and trauma to workers; the treatment of which doctors desperately needed to understand.

Later that year, in September, the Moorheads leased No. 101 to John H. Fisher and his wife.  The New York Blue Book still listed the couple here in 1911.

With the outbreak of war in Europe both John and Helen became involved well before the United States entered the conflict.  In 1914 he was in England, helping the British Army Medical Corps.  He told reporters on September 13 that he "was disappointed at not being able to go to the front."   The New York Times wrote "He offered his services, but they were declined on the ground that he was too old."  (He was 40 at the time.)  Helen was the Chairman of the Ladies' Auxiliary of the American Relief Committee.

As the conflict escalated, John's age became less of an issue.  Following the war he received the Gold Medal of Honor and the Distinguished Service Cross from the United States, was twice decorated by the Government of France, and was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal from New York State.  The Moorheads moved back to No. 101 Manhattan Avenue around this time.

In the meantime, Joseph continued to treat his patients from his Second Avenue office until finally retiring around 1923 at the age of 81.  It appears that he and Mary Jane moved in with John and Helen, and their daughter, Anne.  Mary Jane died in the Manhattan Avenue house on February 17, 1923.

The treeless block as it appeared in October 1927.  The Moorhead house is just out of the frame to the left.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

In 1937 Cole Porter suffered a disastrous accident on Long Island when the horse he was riding fell on his legs, crushing them.  Reportedly actress Elsa Maxwell remarked to him in the hospital "It just goes to show fifty million Frenchmen can't be wrong.  They eat horses instead of ride them."


The composer's condition, however, was no laughing matter.  A team of doctors were convinced that his legs would have to be amputated.  Dr. John J. Moorhead was consulted.  He talked with Porter's wife who stressed that the loss of his legs would cause him devastating depression.

Moorhead promised to delay major treatment and, if fever did not set in, he would attempt to reconstruct the legs.  Porter later credited Moorhead with saving his life.  "He made me go back to work when I was still under drugs," he told friends.  And even though Porter was still wheelchair-bound, Moorhead pushed him to travel.

By now John's and Helen's marriage had failed.  When he married Alice Foote Fleischmann on August 22, 1938 The New York Times mentioned that he was "professor of Surgery at the New York Post Graduate and Reconstruction Hospitals, is the author of surgical textbooks and an autobiography."  The couple would not stay in the Manhattan Avenue house, however.  "After Sept. 15 they will make their home at 115 East Sixty-fourth Street."

It may have been John's planned travel to Honolulu to lecture physicians that prompted the sale of No. 101 in May 1941.  His first lecture was on Thursday, December 4 and was attended by some 300 doctors, about half of them from the Army and Navy.   His experiences in the First World War made his talks more relevant.

The 67-year old was scheduled to speak at 9:00 on Sunday morning, December 7, on the topic of "Burns."  With 50 doctors in the audience, bombs began raining on Pearl Harbor.   American journalist Blake Clark later recalled "Dr. Moorhead had recently demonstrated a new survival instrument that locates metal in the body.  The instrument proved its worth that morning, saving precious hours that would have been spent waiting for X rays to be developed."

Perhaps because of its narrow proportions, No. 101 was never converted to apartments.  With some minor alterations, it is not significantly changed outwardly since it was home to the doctor with the incredible personal history.

photographs by the author