The Starr Family Houses - 309-313 West 75th Street

Clarence True was among the most prolific of architects working on the Upper West Side in the 1890's.  His inspiration was almost always drawn from  historic periods, resulting in structures that ranged from charming, romantic or elegantly grand.

When he designed three upscale townhouses at Nos 309 to 305 West 75th Street for developer Charles G. Judson in 1892, he gave them his own take on the Francois I style.  Completed the following year, each home had its own personality; yet the trio were unmistakable architectural siblings.  Carved decoration, expanses of multiple-paned windows, prominent dormers (one clad in copper) and projecting gargoyles successfully blended 16th century France with 19th century America.

Judson sold No. 309 on November 7, 1895 to Edward S. Hatch for $41,000--just over $1.2 million today.  He quickly resold it to Pauline Starr, who almost simultaneously (on November 27) purchased No. 311.  Another relative, Walter D. Starr, had purchased No. 313 on January 3, 1894.

Pauline's parents moved into No. 309.  Daniel Ebbets Starr was 51-years old and his wife, the former Pauline Gilsey, was 42.  Her father, Peter Gilsey, was the well-known hotelier and owner of the Gilsey House on Broadway.

Pauline's motivation to purchase the two homes may have had to do with her impending marriage.  On December 2, 1896 she married William Watson Caswell in the Church of the Transfiguration.  The moneyed couple would construct a Newport-worthy summer home, Willmount, in Westchester County and by World War I would have a third home in Boston.

Next door at No. 313, Walter D. Starr changed his focus from lumber to real estate.  In 1895, shortly after purchasing the house, he dissolved the Walter D. Starr lumber company.  He formed the Long Island Sand Co., a contracting company, and was also involved in buying and selling Manhattan real estate.

The house contained 14 rooms and three baths.  It was sumptuously furnished; the parlor being decorated in the Empire style.  The Starrs' art collection was noteworthy.  There were more than 100 oil paintings, including works by esteemed artists like George Inness.  The artworks, including life-sized Cararra marble statuary and bronze sculptures comprised what dealer Benjamin S. Wise called "a collection that few private houses possess."

Starr raised the ire of Oyster Bay estate owners in 1900 when he purchased "Cooper's Bluff" near Sagamore Hill.  The bluff was composed of what was described as "the finest building sand."  But when Staff announced his intentions to build a dock to facilitate the removal of the sand, the wealthy property owners revolted.  The New York Times reported on September 10, 1900 that "The objection to the building of the dock is based on two grounds.  One is the destruction of a picturesque section of the shore, and the other is that the digging of sand there will mean the establishment of a colony of Italians in huts or barracks close to the finest places in Oyster Bay."

While Walter Starr wheeled and dealt in real estate, his wife was active in social circles.  In January 1896, for instance, she was a manager of the "tea and bazaar" for the benefit of the Association for Befriending Children and Young Girls.

Daniel Ebbets Starr died at No. 309 on December 27, 1898.  His funeral was held in the Church of the Transfiguration, where his daughter had been married just two years earlier.

The windows of No. 309 originally had many small panes.  Note the gargoyle projecting over the service alley.

Pauline leased the house to Charles A. Nones.  In the winter of 1902 he and his brother, Alexander, who lived on Fifth Avenue, were involved in a horrific accident.  They and W. F. Carlton, who lived in the Waldorf-Astoria, were the passengers in broker Edward R. Thomas's high-powered automobile on February 12.

His Damier Phoenix was an impressive and famous vehicle, first purchased two years earlier by William K. Vanderbilt, Jr. for $10,000 (more than $300,000 today).   Vanderbilt called the car the "White Ghost" and he reveled in the speeds its 23 horsepower engine could attain.  The New York Times remarked it had "gained much notoriety on the Long Island roads."

The White Ghost above was involved in the tragic accident of February 1902. photo via Vanderbilt Cup Races 

Thomas showed off the car's power, speeding along Convent Avenue near 125th Street.  The road was paved with wooden blocks and The Times said it "has long been a favorite speeding ground for the large automobiles owned by private individuals."  The road had several vacant blocks which were used by neighborhood children as playgrounds.

February 12 was a holiday, so there was an especially large crowd of children out playing.  Three boys, James Dillon, John Riley and Henry Theiss were in the street as the powerful automobile approached.  The article said "they did not see the machine until it was fairly upon them, and the first they knew of its presence was when the horn sounded hoarsely in their ears."

The boys scattered but 7-year old Henry Theiss tripped and fell.  The White Ghost ran over his head and stomach, killing him.  The Times dramatically reported "When the clothing was removed a religious medal was found driven into the flesh by the weight of the machine."

Despite witnesses reporting that Thomas was driving at about 40 m.p.h., he was exonerated in court on February 17.  He testified that he was not going at a high rate of speed, that the roadway was wet, and that the boy "jumped right in front of the machine."  Alexander Nones corroborated his story, saying he saw the boy dash into the street.

Later that year, on July 24, Walter D. Starr sold No. 313 to real estate operators Ottinger & Brother.  The end of the Starr family presence on West 75th Street came in 1908 when Pauline sold No. 309 to Francis P. Bent in August 1908.  She had already sold No. 311 three years earlier to Hyman Berkowitz.

Ottinger & Brother sold No. 313 to Arthur R. Freedlander and his wife Lilly in 1906.  The coupled appeared in court over a bizarre legal tug-of-war with artist Arthur R. Freedlander in 1909.   Full-length portraits of well-heeled women had been fashionable since the 1880's.  The problem with Lilly's was that her husband refused to pay for it.

Valued by the artist at the equivalent of $14,000 today, he told the courts on November 23, 1909 that Freedlander had commissioned him to paint the portrait.  Arthur Freedlander, on the other hand, insisted that Wieburgh "asked to be allowed to paint his wife and that it was understood that he would not pay any money unless the portrait was entirely satisfactory."  He told the judge it "does not truly or accurately represent a likeness" of his wife.

A parade of well-known artists, art instructors and critics took the stand.  The New York Times reported that they agreed the portrait was "a fine work of art" and worth the amount asked for it.

Arthur R. Freedlander personally handled the sale of No. 313 in the spring of 1912.  His lengthy advertisement in The Sun noted that it sat within "the most restricted section on the West Side" and said "artistically, this is one of the most beautiful homes in New York City."  "It is the sort of home that appeals irresistibly to a person of culture and refinement."

Before long the "restricted section" began to fall from fashion.  No. 309 was operated as a rooming house by 1935 and its Depression Era tenants were not all respectable.  Charles Spies was among them in January 1935 when he was arrested with four cohorts for the burglary of the home of architect Gerald Holmes on East 19th Street.  The gang made off with silverware and jewelry valued at $3,000, almost 18 times that much today.

No. 311 had been converted to apartments in 1920.  An advertisement on May 23 that year offered "Magnificent 2, 3, 4 room apartments, bath and kitchenettes, electric light, gas; maid service free; $1,500 to $3,600."  The least expensive rent would equal about $1,525 a month today.  No. 313 was converted to a total of two apartments around 1922.

The most celebrated tenants in any of the three homes would be a still struggling Woody Allen and his wife, Harlene.  In his book Woody: The Biography, David Evanier recounts Elliott Mills description of the space.

I visited them at West Seventy-fifth Street.  It was a divided crazy apartment.  It had a monster chandelier that must have [once] been at the center of somebody's living room.  In their apartment it was right on the edge of the wall.

Evanier  quoted Elliott's description of a hilarious incident. "A huge water bug came up in the bathroom  Woody was terrified of those things  And he had this huge insecticide can.  He was furiously spraying it, jumping around  He was waltzing around with this spray gun trying to get this bug.  Harlene was making fun of him.  She went into the bathroom and smashed the bug with a broom.  "Later, in Annie Hall, he transformed the bug into a lobster, then a spider 'the size of a Buick.'"

Despite the alterations and the inexcusable entrance doors of No. 311, Clarence True's stately threesome still evoke the time when this block of West 75th Street was "restricted" and wealthy homeowners filled them with valuable artworks and furnishings.

photographs by the author

Faded Glory -- Nos. 6 and 8 West 87th Street

Little is known of the partnership of Norman & Farber, now essentially forgotten.    What is certain is that they handled every step of the speculative real estate operation other than construction--from purchasing the plot, developing the site, designing the structure, and acting as their own agents. 

In 1897 the firm purchased four vacant building lots on West 87^th Street, just off Central Park, stretching from No. 2 through 8.  The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide vaguely noted that Norman & Farber “will improve” the plots.   Shortly afterward, on July 1, Engineering News reported that the firm would erect four four-story “brick dwellings” at a cost  of $97,000.

Completed the following year, the residences were actually five stories tall, including the full-height mansard roof levels.  Norman & Farber had turned to the Francis I Revival style, sometimes called Chateauesque.   Taking inspiration from the 15^th and early 16^th century estates of France’s Loire Valley, the style was most evident in America in Richard Morris Hunt’s lavish Vanderbilt palaces—like Biltmore in Asheville, North Carolina.   The 87^th Street houses would be a bit more scaled down.

Norman & Farber placed the houses on limestone bases.  Designed in the “American basement” plan, their entrances were just a few steps above the sidewalk.  The service entrances to the basements were nestled below the porch.  Above, three stories of buff brick featured restrained stone decoration; while the mansard levels exploded with decorated dormers—those at No. 6 framed in carved stone and at No. 8 in copper.  Stepped gables separated the rooftops.  Now lost, Nos. 2 and 4 were most likely mirror images, the group designed in an A-B B-A pattern; although with no photographs other documentation, we can only speculate.

Rather fearsome horned figures holding shields project from the cornice of No. 6.

Norman & Farber had taken out a substantial mortgage on the project from Nathan Mayer; and so when Horatio Page purchased No. 6 in August 1898 for $52,000 the partners were no doubt elated.  The amount Page paid would amount to a little more than $1.5 million in 2016.

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Page was just 29 years old when he purchased No. 6.  The successful advertising agent and his wife had barely settled into their new home when he was called to serve on the jury of the sensational William A. E. Moore case.  Moore, who had just been appointed by President McKinley as U.S. Consul to Durban, South Africa, was married to Fayne Moore, the daughter of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Oregon.   The couple was arrested on November 6, 1898 on charges of extortion and blackmail.

An intricate, openwork carved frieze of vines is matched in smaller scale as a border around the bay and upper openings at No. 8.

In the meantime, the other three houses sat unsold.   A year later, Nathan Mayer began foreclosure action against Norman & Farber.  On October 26, 1899 the homes were sold in foreclosure; Mayer purchasing Nos. 2 and 8 for $30,000 and $36,000 respectively.  T. J. O’Connor purchased No. 4 for an equally bargain price of $34,250.

Mayer resold No. 8 to James H. Peterson.  It was sold and resold several times until Mrs. C. G. Shepard purchased it around 1901 as an investment property.  She leased it as a private home to well-heeled tenants.

In the meantime, Joseph and Frances Hein purchased No. 6 in 1902.  The couple had nine grown children: Louis, Harry, Theodore, Isa, Charles, Jessie, Ernst, Hyman, and Leonora.  Jessie, who was still unmarried, lived with her parents.

As was the case with many well-to-do but not overly-wealthy families; Joseph Hein was apparently sometimes left at home to attend to business while the female family members sailed off to Europe or summer resorts. 

On May 17, 1908 The New York Times reported on the popular German “watering places” among Americans.  The article noted that Berlin was used by Americans as “a half-way station” to resorts like Weisbaden, Carlsbad, Marienbad, and Baden Baden.  “Berlin’s American season is in full blast, and the steamers arriving at Hamburg and Bremen are bringing scores of transatlantic visitors,” remarked the newspaper.  “Among the week’s arrivals at the leading hotels were…Mrs. Frances Hein [and] Jessie Hein.”

On February 25, 1910, Joseph L. Hein died at the age of 68.   His funeral was held in the 87^th Street house two days later.   Frances stayed on in the house.  

Leonora was married to wealthy auctioneer Benjamin S. Wise.  They had lived at No. 19 West 125^th Street for years; but around the time of Joseph’s death had moved closer to Frances at No. 315 Central Park West.  On January 12, 1913 the Wises announced the engagement of their daughter to Gustav Frank.  The New York Times noted “A reception will be given in their home some time in the near future.”  Instead, the reception was held in Frances’s house on Sunday, February 16.  It would be one of the rare elaborate entertainments in the Hein house.

Frances Hein died at the age of 74 on December 6, 1921, after nearly two decades at No. 6 West 87^th Street.  Unlike her husband’s, her funeral was not held in the house, but at Synagogue B’nai Jeshurun on West 88^th Street.

The house next door at No. 8 had seen several residents come and go by now.  In 1907 L. M. Mooney leased it from Mrs. C. G. Shepard.  Mooney, active in the American-Irish Historical Society, lived here for several years.  By 1912 it was home to Norman W. Dodge and his wife.  Dodge was the son of William Earle Dodge, known as a “merchant prince” of Wall Street, and the brother of Anson Phelps Green Dodge.

Twelve years later the Dodges were gone and William Steiner and his family lived at No. 8.  Steiner was the captain of waiters at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel and his position required that he take good care of the hotel’s upscale patrons.  And so when well-dressed gentlemen visited the Roof Garden a few times in the summer of 1924 he secretly let them know he could supply them with champagne for “$20 a quart.”

Unfortunately for Steiner, the seemingly classy gentlemen were Federal Prohibition agents.  On the evening of July 11 agents raided the Ritz-Carlton Roof Garden.  The New York Times reported “The sudden appearance of the agents caused excitement among the 400 diners, many of whom objected to the action of the agents as they went from table to table in search of forbidden drinks.

According to the agents, many of the diners tipped over their glasses and spilled the evidence and others drank the evidence they were seeking.  While the search was in progress the orchestra played ‘What’ll We Do?’”

Arrested waiters, still wearing their evening clothes, were marched through the hotel.  William Steiner was not on duty that evening, but an arrest summons was left behind for him.

The former Hein house was being leased, still as an upscale private home, at the time.  One tenant was internationally known. 

When Julia Gertrude Lyle married British lawyer and speaker Alexander Samuel in 1916, the newlyweds compromised on their married names.  They each took the surname Lyle-Samuel.   Julia had raised social eyebrows in 1910 when she married former Lord & Taylor partner John S. Lyle.  The young nurse had been hired to take care of the feeble man.   When they shocked his family by marrying, he was 92 years old.  One month after changing his will, giving the bulk of his estate to Julia, he died at the age of 94 in 1912.  She inherited a reported $5 million.

Far wealthier than her new husband, Julia financed Alexander’s campaign for election to Parliament.  He served five years in the House of Commons.  Although living in England, she continued to conduct a fresh air farm for poor children at her Tenafly, New Jersey estate.

On March 17, 1930 Julia received a Reno divorce from her husband, claiming cruelty.  Newspapers said “She will resume her former name, and will make Reno her permanent home.”

But instead, two years later, Julia leased No. 6 West 87^th Street from Mrs. H. Short.  The New York Times noted that she “intends to occupy.”  Not only did she occupy the house, she soon purchased it.   She remained here until her death at the age of 62 on December 11, 1939.  Three decades had not fogged social memory and in reporting her death The New York Times reminded readers that her “marriage twenty-nine years ago precipitated a sensation in Northern New Jersey.”

Julia Lyle’s estate maintained the house as a private home, leasing it until 1946.  That year the house was sold and a year later was converted to apartments, with a doctor’s office on the first floor.

No. 8 also managed to survive as a single family home—at least on paper—for the first half of the century.  In actuality, by 1938 it was being operated as an unofficial rooming house.  That year its owners received a “multiple dwelling violation” from the Department of Buildings. 

Far different from the Dodge or Mooney families who had lived in the house early in the century, 50-year old Enrique Sauzet had an apartment in No. 8 in 1953.  He was better known by his alias, Henry the Butcher.  In April 1953 he and three cohorts were arrested by Federal Narcotics agents after a six-month investigation.  The men were said to be “members of a huge narcotics ring that sold $250,000 worth of pure heroin in the last six months.”

The men were held in $25,000 bail each; the agents saying that they had about 175 pounds of heroin—worth more than $100 million—among them.

Despite their rather unkind treatment throughout the rest of the century and into the 21^st; the two surviving houses of Norman & Farber’s 1898 row maintain their imperious architectural personalities—two dowagers in faded finery.

photographs by the author

The 1921 Heckscher (Crown) Building - No. 730 Fifth Avenue

In describing Fifth Avenue around 57th Street in 1876, a writer pointed out the newly-built mansion of Adele L. S. Stevens at the southwest corner.  He said that with the exception of Alexander Stewart’s white marble palace, “It is the most expensive house ever built in this city.”  The value of the land alone was $250,000.  By the turn of the century Cornelius Vanderbilt’s mammoth chateau filled the entire block to the north and William C. Whitney was living in the Stevens house.

But times were changing.  In February 1920 The New York Times remembered “At that time the neighborhood of Fifty-seventh Street was called pre-eminently the aristocratic quarter of the city.  It retained that prestige until half a dozen years or so ago, when the upward march of trade invaded Fifty-seventh Street, and now few of its handsome residences remain.”

Among those last few survivals were the Whitney and Vanderbilt mansions.  But while Alice Vanderbilt remained until 1926, the Whitney home had been converted for commercial purposes years earlier.   The end of the line for the Stevens-Whitney mansion was inevitable following its purchase by August Heckscher in 1919.

On February 15, 1920 the New-York Tribune announced “The sensational development planned for the southwest corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street by George Backer and August Heckscher will mark a new epoch in the structural and commercial future of Fifth Avenue.  The building is to be thirty stories high and will be a combination of stores, showrooms, offices, apartments and a theater.  At least $8,500,000 is involved in the project.”  The ambitious scheme would include 10 stories of theater, concert and art exhibition space.

August Heckscher had leased the land to Backer; but after Backer disclosed his grand plans, Heckscher purchased a half-interest in the project.  “Heckscher Building is the title selected for the great structure,” reported the Tribune.

The men had commissioned the architectural firm of Warren & Wetmore to design the building, deemed by the Tribune to be “in the modern French Renaissance style.”  Perhaps best known for Grand Central Terminal, completed in 1913, the architects had designed a towering shaft atop the ten-story theater block.  But there were problems.  The 1916 Zoning Resolution provisions mandated set-backs to prevent the blocking of sunlight to the city streets.  Warren & Wetmore were forced to go back to the drawing board.

Warren & Wetmore's original design.  New York Tribune, February 15, 1920 (copyright expired)

On August 15 The New York Times reported that a “radical change” had been made in the Heckscher Building plans.  The entire theater idea was scrapped and the structure’s height, originally 32 stories, was reduced to 25.  The architects now described the style as “Francis I,” which The Times felt “will make the building one of the finest examples of its type in the country.”

“The first nine stories of the main portion of the building and the entire Fifty-sixth Street façade will be built of limestone, the exterior of the remaining walls to be face brick ornamented with terra cotta,” advised the newspaper.

The completed structure was decorated with French Renaissance elements and rose to an imposing chateauesque tower with a pyramidal roof accentuated by ornate dormers and oculi.  Above the crown-like finial a 12-foot gold-plated weathervane in the form of a rooster perched.

The Architectural Forum, October 1921 (copyright expired)

Critic C. Matlack Price commented on the architects’ successful dealing with the new setback laws.  “Conforming to the law, architectural thought has turned the situation to splendid account.”  He compared the “pyramidal profile” to “great Babylonian buildings, with terraces and gardens flaunting themselves hundreds of feet in the air.”  The Architectural Forum agreed.  In October 1921 it wrote “the silhouette of the building is perhaps as attractive as that of any in the city with the exception of the Woolworth Tower.”

The weathervane and the decorative four-story chimney are evident in this photograph.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The advertisements for space in the new building were fashioned as letters from August Heckscher, complete with signature.  One, published in The Evening World on September 27, 1921, ended with a reference to the golden rooster and the change in the neighborhood.  “Le Coq d’Or, which crowns the Heckscher Building, will always stand as the beacon of progress.”

The area had been for several years the center for New York’s high-end interior decorating and art firms.  Several became early tenants in the Heckscher Building.  The first was Warwick House, Ltd., “dealers in tapestries and paintings” which leased the entire 22^nd floor in November 1921.  For years it had done business at No. 45 East 57^th Street.  The New-York Tribune reported they “expect to move into their new home about January 1 after making extensive decorations.”  The newspaper saw the move as significant as “it marks the first step on the part of art and antique dealers to abandoning the customer street level locations in favor of a floor at such height.”

Two eras:  The Heckscher Building looms over the massive Cornelius Vanderbilt mansion.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

Warwick House would be joined by Stroheim & Romann, interior decorators, who took 15,000 square feet at $45,000 a year in January 1922.  On January 15 the New York Herald mentioned that “in light of the fact that Fifth avenue and Fifty-seventh street is firmly ensconced as the center of dealers in objects d’art, antiques and of decorators, the establishment of a new center of the upholstery and decorative trade in the Hecksher Building seems both inevitable and imminent.”

Other tenants included the newly-organized Hamilton National Bank; the Consolidated Cigar Corporation; Mosse, Inc., “retailers of linens, trousseaux and children’s layettes;” which took three floors including basement space; and I. Miller shoes.  In 1923 the newly-founded American Mercury Magazine, edited by George Jean Nathan and H. L. Mencken, took space in the Heckscher Building.

The extremely high rents (Stroheim & Romann was paying the equivalent of $636,000 a year in 2016 dollars) were turned into a marketing tool in Heckscher Building ads.  One in March 1922 touted in part “Just as first water diamonds command a price in excess of paste, just as real Oriental pearls command a price in excess of imitations, so space in the incomparable Heckscher Building…commands a price in excess of other buildings with less value in location, appointments and prestige.”

The advertisement exploited snob appeal, saying “And there is a genuine satisfaction in knowing that your neighbors are automatically restricted, by this item of price, to those who appreciate and value ‘prestige’ in location.”

Unlike the Francois I exterior, the arcade flaunted its modern Art Deco design photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

One effect of soaring high above the rooftops of the neighboring structures was unexpected and unwelcome to one tenant.  Novelist Eleanor Gates moved into her glamorous offices overlooking the Plaza and Central Park; but as autumn 1922 neared, she made a disturbing discovery.  A pair of large brown hawks had made their nest “in the plumage of a gilded rooster which tops the tower of the building,” as reported in The Evening World on October 2.

The ceiling of the elevator lobby was arched and stenciled.  photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

While New Yorkers today are happily excited to find hawks roosting on their buildings and welcome the flying predators’ thinning of the vermin population; it was not the case with Eleanor Gates.  For months she noticed them returning with Central Park pigeons in their talons.  She had pleaded with the Parks Department to do something about the birds with little success.

“Her hatred against [the male hawk] came to a climax Thursday when she saw it flapping its way to its home with a pigeon in its talons, while a flock of little sparrows flutter about it, even settling on its back, picking between its wings in an effort to help the victim,” reported The Evening World.  “A few minutes later a little cloud of feathers floated past her window.”

An investigation by Parks Department Superintendent Allen Parke, revealed the remains of a carrier pigeon with aluminum bands on its legs.  The Evening World’s somewhat sensational headline read in part “Bird of Prey, Nesting in Gilded Rooster Atop Heckscher Building, Terrorizes Central Park.”

Warren & Wetmore had designed the two-story Fifth Avenue entrance with a blind shell-topped niche flanked by matching leaded glass windows.  The architects apparently never intended the niche to hold a statue.  It was an element that exasperated internationally-known author and art critique Perriton Maxwell.   Complaining to the editor of The New York Times on September 20, 1925, he called New York “a city of empty niches” and said its architects “have left their jobs unfinished.”

The Architectural Forum, October 1921 (copyright expired)

Maxwell pointed out, among others, the Heckscher Building which “sports a giant niche on its conjoining walls…It is a niche very purposely designed, it would seem.  Its obvious completion would be the placing of the counterfeit presentment of a well-known New York philanthropist within its semi-circular sides.”  Maxwell’s annoyance would wait more than 60 years to be satisfied.

The building had to contend with worse press than an empty niche.  On the afternoon of November 13, 1924 Nell Hansell was working alone in the small office of retired jeweler Walter D. Tusten.  At around 1:00 she heard the door open and then gently close.  Through the opaque glass of a partition she could see the shadow of a man moving in the outer office.

When she opened the door of her room, she came face-to-face with a “tall, strongly built man, revolver in hand.”  He demanded she “Throw up your hands!”  But although Nell complied, the obviously surprised and nervous gunman fired his .32-calibre weapon.

The bullet grazed the secretary’s mouth, knocking out two teeth.  Although little harmed, she fell to the floor and pretended to be dead.   The would-be hold-up man, William E. Burns, panicked.  Expecting only to take whatever he could find in a vacant office, he now believed he had committed murder.

The following day The New York Times reported “The intruder looked down at the motionless form.  Then he put the weapon to his right temple and fired.”  Hysterical, Nell Hansell ran screaming down the hall to the office of Dr. I. Hirschfeld where she received emergency aid.  The dead man, who had previous criminal convictions, left a wife and five young children.

Fleur de lis filled the spandrel panels, carrying on the French motif.

More scurrilous was the shooting on March 29, 1928 which involved a well-known couple.  Not only were lawyer Dallet H. Wilson and his wife, the former Esther Evans, known in New York and Washington DC society for lavish entertaining; Esther was famous as a big game hunter in Africa and an amateur flier. 

In the fall of 1927 the couple separated and Esther moved into the Wardman Park Inn in Washington, where it was said “Her hotel rooms were filled with trophies of the hunt and with collections from her world tours.”

At 4:00 on March 29, 1928 she entered Suite 1500 in the Heckscher Building—her husband’s 10-room office suite.   The two conversed for more than an hour and a half, mostly in quiet tones.  Office workers who came in and out of the Wilson’s office noticed they were discussing money.  “Mrs. Wilson seemed to be demanding an allowance of $1,000 a month, instead of $450,” reported The Times.

And then the office staff was startled at the sound of two gun shots.  Esther had shot Wilson twice, one bullet going through his body.  The lawyer survived after two months “in a precarious condition” at City Hospital.  At the police station Esther “became hysterical and charged her husband with ‘running around with other women.’”  She told police that Wilson had encouraged her safaris and explorations in order to enable his dalliances.

The sensational trial began in on January 19, 1929 and lasted about a week.  Every scandalous detail was reported by the press.  Esther’s ever-changing testimony included the charge that Wilson had threatened her with a paperweight, that the shooting was an accident, and that she had lost all memory of the incident.

Although the jury found Esther Wilson guilty on January 24, 1929; her gender seems to have come to her advantage.  While she could have been sentenced to five years and $1,000 fine; the jury urged six months and no fine.

Later that year, in July, the Hecksher Building welcomed a prestigious tenant when the new Museum of Modern Art moved in.  The museum rented about 4,600 square feet on the 12^th floor for $12,000 a year.  The MoMa opened with an exhibition of 101 works by Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat and van Gogh.

The museum’s arrival turned out to be as problematic as it was good for the building.  As its popularity increased, the building’s elevators were unable to accommodate the rush of visitors and long lines of tenants and museum-goers crowded the lobby.

The Museum of Modern Art remained through the 1932 season.  Its last exhibition, organized by architect Philip Johnson, was "Modern Architecture: International Exhibition."

Although August Heckscher had boasted that the golden rooster on the roof “will always stand as the beacon of progress,” it was removed in 1942.  The weathervane was donated to the war effort, to be melted down as scrap.

The Heckscher Building became the Genesco Building in 1964 for its newest and largest tenant.  Ground floor alterations were made by upscale retail leasers like Bulgari which essentially ignored and discarded Warren & Wetmore’s French Renaissance detailing.

In 1981 Philippines President Ferdinand Marcos sneakily purchased the building through a consortium of international companies.  Its name was changed to the Crown Building in 1983, a reference to the tower, and lighting designer Douglas Leigh was commissioned to gild and illuminate the façade.  The Times architectural critic Paul Goldberger was both pleased and displeased with the result, saying  “it is too gilded, particularly on the lower floors; they look not unlike a person with too much makeup. But near the top, distance reduces the garishness, and the effect is splendid.”

At the same time the empty niche which so annoyed Perriton Maxwell was filled.  The two leaded windows were remodeled as near-matching niches (sans shells) and given gold-covered statues.  Some called the sculptures the Three Graces, but they are most likely generic.

With the fall of the Marcos regime, numerous lawsuits—including one by the Philippine government—sought possession of the Crown Building.  It was acquired by Bernard Spitzer in 1991 for $95 million; sold again in 2014 and in 2015.  The $1.8 billion sales price was among the largest in Manhattan real estate history.

non-credited photographs by the author