George B. Post's 1886 Livingstone - 206-208 East 9th Street

 

In 1885, seven years after he designed the magnificent Cornelius Vanderbilt II mansion at Fifth Avenue and 57th Street, George Browne Post filed plans for a much different project--a "flat" building for James Thomson at 206-208 East 9th Street, next to the diagonally-running Stuyvesant Street.  Completed in 1886, Post's Renaissance Revival design was splashed with elements of the popular Queen Anne style.  Six bays wide and five stories tall, Post trimmed the red brick facade with nearly matching terra cotta.  Molded terra cotta bands between the windows suggested capitals to the brick piers.  Each opening was crowned with an arch, its tympanum filled with ornate Renaissance decoration.  The corbel table of the complex terra cotta cornice took the form of shells.

Most striking, perhaps, is the bold entranceway.  To maintain symmetry, Post balanced the double-doored entrance with a window separated by an elaborate Renaissance Revival, terra cotta pilaster and connected it all with a large terra cotta arch filled with delicate, leafy decorations.  A Queen Anne-style scroll announces the address (the gold paint was added relatively recently).

There were ten apartments of seven rooms in the building, two per floor.  Rents ranged from $1,160 to $1,290 per month by today's conversions.  An advertisement in the New York Herald read, "The Livingstone, 206 and 208 East 9th St.--Very desirable Apartments at low rents; all improvements."  

Residents were middle- to upper-middle class.  An erudite resident, who signed her advertisement in the New-York Tribune on February 26, 1891 as "R. M.," wrote, "Educated lady has some hours disengaged, mornings or afternoons from 2 till 4; German, English, French, art, needlework, music, grown children or to a lady."

The apartments were spacious enough that some residents used them both for living and working.  An advertisement in The World on October 16, 1892 read:

Art Classes, painting, drawing, illustrating, designing, home decorations, all branches; lessons daily and evenings; eminent European teachers, Prof. and Mrs. Champney, principals Rembrandt Art School, 206 and 208 East 9th st.

Another resident who operated from his apartment was John F. Victory.  He published The Postal Record here starting around 1892, and the following year was secretary of the National Association of Letter Carriers, which listed its official address at 206 East 9th Street.  In 1893, he and his wife, the former Alice Dauphin, welcomed a son, John F. Victory, Jr.

Geo. P. Rowell & Co's American Newspaper Directory, 1893 (copyright expired)

The younger Victory joined the U. S. Patent Office as a clerk in 1908.  A friend of Wilbur and Orville Wright, when the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA) was organized in 1915, he was its first employee.  He would become its secretary in 1921 and executive secretary in 1948.  

John F. Victory, Jr. on January 1, 1922, Great Images in NASA

When NASA was organized in 1958, Victory would serve as special assistant to administrator T. Keith Glennan.

Born in Puerto Rico, Antonio Velez Alvarado moved to New York City in 1888.  He lived here in 1898 when the Spanish-American War ended and America claimed the island of Puerto Rico as a territory on October 18.  Three days later, Alvarado attempted to register to vote.  The New York Journal & Advertiser reported that he "was denied the right to do so" when the official insisted on seeing his naturalization papers.  The newspaper explained that Alvarado:

...argued that he needed neither to show nor to have naturalization papers and that it was only necessary for him to satisfy the conditions of the ballot law as to the length of residence here--at least a year in the State, four months in the county and thirty days in the election district--which conditions he could meet.

He said he became an American "last Tuesday, October 18, when the American flag was raised over the palace and other public buildings in San Juan, signifying the completed occupation of the island by this country."  Alvarado turned to Tammany Hall, pleading his case to the Law Committee.  Impressed with his argument, attorney Rollin M. Morgan escorted him downtown to Corporation Counsel Whalen.  The two attorneys consulted "history, constitutions and law books for several hours."  Then a telegram was sent to the Secretary of State at Albany.

Antonio Velez Alvardo, New York Journal & Advertiser, October 22, 1898 (copyright expired)

As he waited for an answer, Alvarado asserted to a reporter from The New York Journal & Advertiser, "If I am not a citizen of Spain, and I certainly am not, I must certainly be an American."  The newly-minted citizen won his battle.  The next day, Congressman William Sulzer told the newspaper, "Porto Ricans were made Americans by the act of war.  They can vote here next month."  The Alvarado case had established an important legal precedent.

At the time, Henry Peck and Heinrich Trautman shared an apartment.  Luckily for Trautman, the roommate arrangement saved his life.  On December 18, 1899, the New York Journal & Advertiser reported succinctly, "If Henry Peck had been five minutes late in arriving at his room, at No. 206 East Ninth street, yesterday, Heinrich Trautman would have been suffocated.  The gas had been turned on by accident."

Interestingly, 206-208 East 9th Street (the name Livingstone was dropped a few years after its opening) was racially integrated as early as the World War I years.  When Alexander Dujat was tried for bigamy on October 28, 1918, the Brooklyn Standard Union reported, "The first witness to-day was the Rev. Matthew M. Wilson, colored, of 206 East Ninth street, Manhattan."

Residents of 206-208 East 9th Street rarely prompted negative press, but that was not the case in the summer of 1924 when Albert Blumberg faced serious charges: vehicular homicide.  On August 26, the New York Telegram and Evening Mail reported that he was held, "for further examination in connection with [an] automobile killing."  He had fatally hit six-year-old Alexander Chambers.

As was the case in 1886, there are ten apartments in the building.  Its exterior appearance is remarkably intact, but without landmark protection, the continued preservation of this striking example of one of New York's most important 19th century architects is uncertain.

photographs by the author  

The Lost New York Cotton Exchange Building - William and Beaver Streets

 

The Architectural Record, 1898 (copyright expired)

The New York Cotton Exchange was organized in 1870.  Historian Robert P. McDougall recalled in 1923, "Up to that time trading in cotton had been done in brokers' offices in and around Hanover Square, which still retained some flavor of the days when it was the residential site of wealthy New Yorkers and of distinguished French émigrés who had fled from the Revolution."  The new exchange met in rented rooms at 142 Pearl Street.

The Pearl Street building.  The Story of the Cotton Exchange, 1923 (copyright expired)

Two years later, the Cotton Exchange moved into India House at 1 Hanover Square.  That building sufficed until a committee was appointed on December 6, 1880 to consider sites and architects for a new headquarters.  On June 10, 1882, The Evening Post reported, "The most important private sale of the week was the purchase of the ground on Pearl, William, and Beaver Streets for the new Cotton Exchange Building."  The article said the exchange had paid $382,500 for the parcel.

Six architects submitted plans and on May 5, 1883 The American Architect & Building News reported, "Mr. George B. Post's designs for the Cotton Exchange Building have been accepted."  Five months later, The Sanitary Engineer announced that Post had filed plans for the eight-story structure.  "The estimated cost of the building is $530,000," said the article."  The combined cost of property and construction brought the outlay to more than $28 million by 2024 conversion.

As construction neared completion in January 1885, rental space was offered.  On January 29, The New York Times reported, "Little books containing elaborate diagrams of the interior of the new structure have been distributed among the members, and yesterday a circular was posted stating that a choice of offices would be disposed of at public sale on Feb. 4."

Construction was completed in 1895.  Above a three-story base, George Browne Post's neo-French Renaissance structure broke into two sections, each treated slightly differently, including the bases.  The upper floors at the corner morphed into a tower inspired by the Chateau de Chambord.  The Architectural Record said the New York Cotton Exchange building made the "bold sacrifice of rentable space to make the space which remains more useful and more agreeable to the inhabitants, by leaving large external courts upon which windows may open directly."  The article noted,

The round tower, by which the irregular angle is occupied, is an obvious resource in such a case, and Paris is full of such round towers used at the acute angles of meeting streets and avenues, but the New York business world has generally been too sharp-set for office rents to allow of such decorative treatment of its sites.

The critic felt that because of its striking tower, "the building is one of the most spirited structures in the business quarter of New York."

A hand-colored postcard highlighted the red tiled roofs.

"On a beautiful April morning, April 30, 1885," as described by Robert P. MacDougall, a band led the members of the New York Cotton Exchange from the old building to the new structure.  "The opening ceremonies were held on the great floor which was 108 feet long and 71 feet wide with a ring for trading in about the middle."  That evening, the celebrations were capped with a collation and ball.

Members were initially concerned about the acoustics of the trading floor.  On May 3, 1885, The New York Times reported, "In its present unfinished condition the board room of the new Cotton Exchange Building echoes the bids of brokers in a manner that is extremely unpleasant, if not confusing, during the busy hours."  The hard surfaces bounced the shouts of the brokers around the cavernous space, creating a cacophony.  The builders assured the members, "this will be remedied when all the window shades, furniture, and chandeliers are put in place."  

The echoing surfaces of the trading room initially caused problems.  photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York. 

Among the firms renting office space in the building was the insurance brokerage firm of Leonard & Moody.  Until 1884, Horace Moody's cousin William Gantz had worked for the firm, but that year he was discharged.  A reporter from The Evening World explained, "young Gantz, was brought up from infancy and educated by the Moodys."

Four years later, on August 2, 1888, Gantz appeared in Moody's office, asking for a loan of $30.  The Evening World reported, "Mr. Moody said he could not lend it to him, and as Gantz went out of the office he said that he would have it by hook or crook."  The article continued, "Mr. Moody went on a vacation the next day and when he returned found that his name had been forged for the exact amount which Gantz said he would have by 'hook or crook.'"

A young man had cashed the two $15 checks at Delmonico's restaurant across the street.  His description matched William Gantz.  Moody had his cousin arrested and Gantz was positively identified by the Delmonico employees.  

Although Gantz insisted he was innocent, he was locked up in the Tombs awaiting trial.  A conviction would result in a sentence at the state prison.  But then, a third attempt to cash a check at Delmonico's occurred.  Seventeen-year-old Charles E. Keeler was arrested.  He, too, had been employed by Leonard & Moody and had been fired in the spring.  

The Evening World reported on August 25, "Keeler, whose mental balance is not the most stable, confessed his guilt and acknowledged the uttering of the checks for passing which Gantz was in prison."  William Gantz was exonerated and the Delmonico's manager and cashier tepidly acknowledged their embarrassing mistake, saying, "they cash so many checks for their customers in person and by messenger that they may have been mistaken."

Another tenant in the building was W. R. Grace & Co.  It was headed by former Mayor William Russell Grace.  On October 29, 1890, The Sun remarked, "Mr. Grace has a big office in the Cotton Exchange building, and there are one or two smaller offices opening into it."

 

Like Leonard & Moody, Reinhard Sidenburg & Co. was the victim of forgers.  But in this case, the crime far exceeded the $45 drawn against the former's accounts.  In September 1893, $500 in cash went missing from a safe in the Rieinhard Sidenburg & Co. offices.  It triggered an inspection of the books that yielded shocking results.  About $20,000 was missing--nearly $700,000 in today's money.

On Saturday night, September 23, the firm's bookkeeper, Ernest J. Greene, was arrested at his Brooklyn house.  The cashier, John F. Collins, was arrested at his desk on Monday afternoon.  Both men confessed to the embezzlement.  The New-York Tribune explained how they perpetrated the crime.

Either Collins or Greene would erase by acids from checks made out to a customer the name of the payee, and substitute "bearer."  The dishonest employe[e]s would get the checks cashed and pocket the money.  They took care to intercept such checks and destroy them before they could be seen by any member of the firm when returned.

To cover up their crimes, false entries were made in the books.  The newspaper said that had they not stolen the cash, they could have gotten away with the scheme longer.  Collins and Greene were just 24 and 23 years old respectively.

Amazingly, just ten years after the Cotton Exchange Building was completed, on February 13, 1905, The Wall Street Journal reported, "Plans for the new Cotton Exchange building are to be voted on next Wednesday."  The demolition seemed to be confirmed, the article saying that the new building would cost "about $1,500,000."  Something derailed the plans, however, but the project was resurrected seven years later.  On September 25, 1912, The New York Times reported, "It is planned to tear down the old Cotton Exchange building at the corner of William and Beaver Streets, and to erect a new building at a cost of $1,755,000."  This replacement structure was proposed to rise 22 stories.

But, once again, the plans were scrapped.  Among the tenants in 1919 were the classrooms of the "commercial courses" of New York University, as described by the New York Herald on November 27.  

At the time, the world was suffering through the Great Influenza epidemic.  It broke out in 1918 and killed 675,000 Americans that first year.  And so occupants of the Cotton Exchange Building were no doubt panicked when 40-year-old commission merchant Vincent E. Mitchell died of influenza in January 1920.  The New York Times noted on January 17, "His wife died a few hours later, also of influenza, and his mother and two small children are ill with the same disease."  Happily, the disease did not spread throughout the building.

The streets of the Financial District were quiet in this postcard from the turn of the last century.

On December 16, 1921, the New York Herald reported that the Cotton Exchange would be renting space in the New York Produce Exchange building "from May 1, 1922 to May 1, 1923, while its new $3,000,000 building is under construction."  This time the demolition plans would happen.  Three weeks later, the New-York Tribune reported that Donn Barber's plans for a 24-story replacement had been accepted, noting "construction of the building was delayed for various reasons."

Donn Barber's replacement structure survives on the site.

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The Lost Union Trust Company Bldg - 78-82 Broadway

 

The Architectural Record, 1898 (copyright expired)

Organized in 1864, the Union Trust Company occupied the building at 73 Broadway before breaking ground for a new headquarters slightly north at 78-82 Broadway in 1888.  Designed by George Browne Post, it would be what some critics deemed his masterpiece.  The beauty of its Romanesque Revival architecture vied for attention with its soaring height.  As it neared completion on November 16, 1889, the Real Estate Record & Guide noted:

Its gradual progress skywards has been watched with interest by the crowds which passed it by day after day, and it is now nearly up to the roof.  It is to be eight stories high, exclusive of a basement, ground floor, banking floor and roof story--in all, practically twelve floors.

A decade later, in 1899, architectural critic Montgomery Schuyler would credit Post with devising the tripartite formula for tall buildings--base, shaft and capital--in his Union Trust Company building.  The structure ran through the block, with a second facade on New Street.  They were identical other than the materials used.  The Record & Guide explained, "The Broadway front of the building is of granite, considerable iron also being used.  The New street front is to be of buff brick and terra cotta."

On Broadway, the three great arches of the base were echoed in the multi-level arches of the midsection.  Above the arcaded tenth floor rose a châteauesque mansard with prominent dormers.

American Architect & Building News, February 1, 1890 (copyright expired)

According to the Record & Guide, the Union Trust Company had paid $1,175,000 for the property and spent another $600,000 in construction.  The total outlay would translate to $60.6 million in 2024.  The journal opined, "When the building is finally completed it will certainly be one of the handsomest ornaments to the lower part of Broadway."

Construction was completed in the fall of 1890.  On October 22, The New York Times wrote:

Splendor and security go hand in hand in the magnificent structure erected by the Union Trust Company of New-York at 80 Broadway.  In its exterior the building is one of the best examples of pure Romanesque architecture extant, while its interior fittings, every feature of which was designed by the architect, George B. Post, are in perfect keeping and harmony with the general plan.

The Architectural Record remarked, "Indeed, we have no business building in New York which is more comely in design than the Union Trust."

The 30-foot-high banking room, which The New York Times said was "admirably lighted," ran from Broadway to New Street.  The article explained, "The flooring is a rich Mosaic, all the woodwork is of mahogany, the counters are of Italian marble, and all the railings and partitions are of heavy lacquered brass."  On the New Street side, looking out onto the Stock Exchange, was the Trustees Room, with "parqueted flooring, mahogany wainscoting, paneled ceiling, and silver-finished walls."

The Record & Guide reported, "The eight floors and the roof story vary in height from 12 to 13-1/2 feet, and will contain single offices and suites."

The Union Trust Company building originally dwarfed its neighbors.  from the collection of the Library of Congress.

Five years later, the height of Post's structure had been surpassed, but its beauty had not.  Writing in The Brickbuilder in January 1895, John Beverley Robinson said, 

The Union Trust Building...in its day was reckoned a very high building, with its ten or twelves stories, but is little to brag as far as height is concerned, alongside of its nineteen or twenty-storied neighbor.  As to other matters than height though, it is much to brag of.  I have heard it counted by those who know, and I am inclined to count it myself, as the best office building that Mr. George B. Post, the architect, ever did, perhaps the best that anybody ever did.

The Record & Guide had noted in 1889, "The construction is of a fire-proof character throughout, and there will be practically nothing in the building to burn, except it be the furniture and possibly the doors and trimmings."  The article noted the steel beam construction of the floors, wrought iron columns encased in "burnt clay coverings," and the wrought and cast iron stairways with marble treads. 

That fire-proof quality of the building would be seriously tested a quarter of a century later.  On September 29, 1914, The New York Times titled an article, "Union Trust Co. Building Ablaze / Fire Starts on an Upper Floor of Costly Structure at 80 Broadway / Soon Spreads To Roof."

A watchman discovered the fire at 3:15 in the morning and ran to the fire call box at Rector Street and Broadway.  The New York Times reported, "Before the firemen arrived the flames, which spread with great rapidity, had extended to the roof and were mushrooming out over Broadway."  The response had been rapid, the article saying, "within three or four minutes after the alarm was turned in Broadway for two or three blocks in either direction from the burning structure was filled with fire engines, hose carts, and water towers."

The firefighters met unexpected hindrances.  While one group was attaching a hose to the fire hydrant at Wall and New Streets, the hydrant "burst and sent a flood of water flowing down Wall Street," said the article.  A few minutes later, another hydrant exploded at Broadway and Wall Street, spraying the front of Trinity Church.  Nevertheless, Post's fire resistant construction worked and the blaze was extinguished without major damage.  The New York Times mentioned that inside the offices and vaults of the Union Trust Company were "millions in securities and cash."

The New Street entrance was a mirror-image of Broadway.  The Architectural Record, 1898 (copyright expired)

The upper floors were occupied by tenants like attorneys and brokers.  Among them in the post-World War I years was Nicholas F. Brady.  In December 1921, a well-dressed man entered the French Jewelry Company at 2202 Broadway and ordered four large diamonds to be made into a lavalliere (a pendant worn on a chain).  He left a deposit of $100, giving his name as Nicholas F. Brady of 80 Broadway.

On December 13, The New York Times reported, "He returned yesterday, but instead of paying for the stones, he drew a pistol and ordered Mr. Johnnides, the proprietor, to throw up his hands."  The crook then scooped up the diamonds from a safe drawer, along with a diamond bracelet and a large, unset diamond, and fled.

Expectedly, detectives paid a visit to Nicholas F. Brady's office in the Union Trust Company Building.  He did not match the description of the perpetrator and was cleared of suspicion.  "Mr. Brady's secretary said he could not account for a hold-up man using the name of his employer," reported The New York Times, "and he knew of no one who had a grudge against Mr. Brady."

At the time of the impersonation, the end of the line was nearing for the building.  Demolition began in 1929, but the venerable structure did not go without a fight.  On June 30, The New York Times reported, "the thickness of walls almost half a century old has slowed up the work of destruction."  Contractor Albert A. Volk told the reporter, "he has encountered no building walls so solidly constructed as these."  The article continued, "The walls, he stated yesterday, were four feet thick at the top, but at the bottom were more than ten feet through with brick and cement so firmly welded together ordinary methods of wrecking have been unavailing."

Eventually, though, the building once described as "perhaps the best anybody ever did" was gone, replaced with the massive, block-engulfing Irving Trust Building.

many thanks to reader Doug Wheeler for suggesting this post

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The 1926 Warwick Hotel -- No. 65 West 54th Street

photo by Lyndon Jhackie

When the stage curtains opened and millionaire publisher William Randolph Hearst noticed a blonde, blue-eyed Ziegeld Follies chorus girl, his life would forever change.  It was the beginning of a long-standing love affair with Marion Davies that would alter the course of several well-known lives and the fabric of Midtown Manhattan.

Hearst was married with five sons.  Although his affair with the entertainer was public knowledge—she was his constant companion in the years to follow—his devoutly Catholic wife, Millicent, refused a divorce.

By 1926 Hearst’s publishing empire included 27 newspapers and nine major magazines like Cosmopolitan.   He now turned his attention to Midtown Manhattan real estate.    Among his first ventures was the construction of the 36-story Warwick apartment hotel at No. 65 West 54^th Street.  It was located slightly east of the Times Square theater district and Marion Davis played no small part in Heart’s inspiration.   The entire top floor would be her apartment.

Contractor George B. Post & Sons collaborated with architect Emery Roth to produce a soaring brick and stone structure with red-tiled Tuscan towers high above Sixth Avenue.   The completed hotel, costing $5 million, rose 370 feet and contained 512 apartments.  It was touted as one of the two tallest apartment hotels in the world at completion.

The Warick was designed as both a residential and transient hotel and immediately began attracting celebrities from the entertainment industry—a tradition that would last for decades.  On July 1, 1927 The New York Times noted that “Mr. and Mrs. Irving Berlin have closed their apartment at 29 West Forty-sixth Street and will make their headquarters in town at the Warwick during the Summer.”

On June 16 Hearst threw a gala party for the nation’s newest hero, Charles A. Lindbergh, here.  Among those in attendance were the mayor, James Walker, and Charlie Chaplin.

Hearst and his right-hand man Arthur Brisbane continued buying up property between 54^th and 56^th Streets.  With the  Sixth Avenue elevated train soon to be torn down he recognized the desirability of the neighborhood without the noisy and dirty El.

He was well-acquainted with producer Florenz Ziegeld who was disgruntled with owner of the New Amsterdam Theatre, Abe Erlanger.   Hearst purchased the property on the corner diagonally-opposite corner the Warwick and bankrolled the new Ziegfeld Theatre.   Ziegfeld laid the cornerstone with much hoopla on December 9, 1926 and the curtain opened for the first time only two months later, on February 2.

The beautiful Marion Davies, seen here on a cigarette card, lived in the Warwick penthouse.--NYPL Collection

The venture was not merely about providing a good friend his own theater.  Hearst was aware that by establishing a major Broadway venue this close to the Warwick he would also attract hotel patrons. 

Millicent Hearst and her husband continued to have a "civilized" arrangement.  He supported her in a lavish lifestyle and she quietly let him lead his own life.    Even Millicent’s close friends recognized the agreement and were unafraid that by patronizing her husband’s hotel they would offend her.  The New York Times noted on September 24, 1929 that she had returned from California “accompanied by Mrs. John Guthrie Heywood.”  The article reported that Mrs. Hearst would go to “her country place Sands Point, Long Island.  Mrs. Heywood will be at the Hotel Warwick.”

In 1937 Hearst commissioned artist Dean Cornwell to paint murals on the walls of the main dining room of the hotel restaurant, The Raleigh Room.   For his $100,000 fee, Cornwell depicted Sir Walter Raleigh receiving the charter from Queen Elizabeth in 1584 as well as his landing at Roanoke Island.  When the artist and Hearst had a heated disagreement about his fee, Cornwell added images shocking to 1930s diners such as the naked buttocks of native Americans.

A promotional postcard highlighted the murals of the Raleigh Room.

That year Millicent Hearst herself used the Raleigh Room to host a large dinner for the benefit of the Musician’s Emergency Fund.   Among the guests were Mrs. Astor, Mr. and Mrs. Averell Harriman, Irving Berlin and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Doubleday and actress Elsa Maxwell.

Although long-term residents of the Warwick were often entertainers, socialites and others lived here as well.  Hungarian-born portrait artist Artur L. Halmi was a resident until his death in 1939.  Among the prominent Americans he painted were Muriel and Consuelo Vanderbilt, Mrs. Oliver Harriman, President William Howard Taft and Millicent Hearst.

While the Hearst Corporation sold the hotel along with several of the Midtown properties in October 1944, it continued to be a favorite—either as a stop-over or residence—for Hollywood and Broadway stars.    Silver screen legends like James Dean, Judy Garland and Elizabeth Taylor stayed here and actress Linda Darnell leased a suite in 1950 as her New York home when not in Hollywood.

Darnell returned here in January 1951 to find her apartment ransacked.   Among the items stolen were jewelry and a mink stole valued at $3,000.

In the 1950s the Warwick was the New York base of the new sensation, Elvis Presley.   In a 1956 interview he conducted from the hotel he discounted the notion that rock and roll music contributed to juvenile delinquency.  “I don’t think that music would have anything to do with it at all,” he said.

In the same interview he admitted he would rather act than sing, “if I were a good actor—of course I’m not a good singer but if I were a good actor—I think that I would like that a little better.”

In February 1965 Loew’s Hotels purchased The Warwick.  After four decades the hotel was showing its age.    Designer Ellen Lehman McCluskey was hired to spruce up the somewhat dowdy interiors.  A six-month renovation involved 100 workers, 4,256 gallons of paint, 11,312 rolls of wallpaper and 23,478 yards of new carpeting.

Like Elvis had done, the invading British bands took suites at the Warwick and held their press conferences from here.   In August 1966 The Beatles hosted a series of press conferences during which they answered questions regarding the Vietnam War (George said “War is wrong, and it’s obvious”), the “more popular than Jesus” controversy (John scoffed “a lot of it’s just a lot of rubbish”) and the group’s sagging popularity.  When John was asked how he felt about the seeming loss pf fans’ attention, he replied “very rich.”  A year later it would be The Monkees who sat in the ballroom of the Warwick holding their press conference.

A 1970s poster depicted The Beatles at the Warwick Hotel.

In 1968 Faberge approached screen legend Cary Grant with a proposal to become the cosmetics firm’s “Good Will Ambassador.”  In return for occasional public appearances, the deal would give him a token salary of $15,000 with stock options, a seat on the board of directors and Marion Davies’ full-floor penthouse apartment.

Grant knew the hotel well—it is where he stayed early on in his career.  And it is possible that the offer of the apartment was the deciding factor.  Cary Grant accepted the deal.  He moved out of his apartment in the Plaza Hotel and into the Warwick.  He would stay in the remarkable space with its wrap-around terrace for twelve years.

When RCA flew a new rock singer to New York in 1971 to sign a contract, the record company wanted to impress him. It arranged a suite of rooms in the Warwick Hotel for the young David Bowie.   Reportedly Bowie looked out the windows of his apartment in the same building where Elvis Presley had once stayed and said “This is it, isn’t it?”  He knew that he had made it.

In 1980 the hotel was sold again and was renamed the Warwick New York Hotel.   During the several renovations since 1937 Dean Cornwell’s murals in the Raleigh Room had been painted over.  In 2004 they were carefully uncovered and restored.   In their honor the restaurant was renamed Murals on 54.

After nearly a century of serving the wealthy and celebrated, one famous resident was not so well-received by  New Yorkers.  In September 2011 Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad checked in.   The outspoken and outrageous president had been refused rooms in several Manhattan hotels; but the Warwick announced “We are ready to cater to the needs of UN delegates and other representatives in support of this official event.”

The hotel that had been used to throngs of paparazzi crowding Sixth Avenue to get a glimpse of movie and rock stars now found itself besieged with protestors.   Throughout the stay of the Iranian entourage groups protested and a nearby rooftop was lined with a NYPD SWAT team and snipers.

A year later, in September, the Iranian president and the accompanying upheaval would be back to attend the 2012 United National General Assembly.

By now the latest major renovation was completed.   A downstairs bar was now named Randolph’s, with a nod to the hotel’s creator.  Here the carpet is woven with stylized rosebuds—the pet name Hearst used for Marion Davies and the name of the sled in the movie “Citizen Kane” based on Hearst’s life.

Throughout the hallways black-and-white photographs of the screen stars and other celebrities who stayed here hand on the walls.  And not a few of them are of William Randolph Hearst’s true love, Marion Davies.

CUNY's 1907 Shepard Hall - Back from the Edge

photo courtesy Elemental

On December 20, 1906 J. W. Moulton wrote to the editor of The New York Times concerning the new building being erected for the City College of New York. “The architect of the new buildings,” he said, “has made in my judgment, not only a very appropriate selection of style for the same, but has given to the city a monument of architectural beauty which will stand for centuries…”

Mr. Moulton’s lofty prediction came close to falling apart within only eight decades.

In the mid 1980’s the magnificent Shepard Hall of the City College of New York was in trouble. The building designed by George Browne Post was, quite literally, falling down. Large chunks of terra cotta routinely dropped from the façade and the 165' main tower was on the verge of collapse.

Although Post -- most remembered for designing New York landmarks such as the Stock Exchange and Cornelius Vanderbilt’s gargantuan 5th Avenue mansion -- held a degree in engineering, the limited understanding of certain structural principles at the time would threaten his monumental structure within a century of its completion.

In 1900 the school, at the time called the College of the City of New York, had seriously outgrown its downtown facility at Lexington Avenue and 23rd Street. Land for a new campus was purchased that year at West 138th Street between Amsterdam Avenue and St. Nicholas Terrace.

The New York Times, commenting on the Lexington Avenue building, said that the “ancient building has been many times condemned as unsanitary and unsafe in case of fire. It is overcrowded, and the efforts to relieve the congestion by establishing annexes in hired buildings in the neighborhood have not been attended with great success.”

Shepard Hall around 1915 -- NYPL Collection

Post submitted his plans for a new structure in October 1902 which incited the press to dub them “luxury for students.” The gymnasium, for instance, would include a swimming pool, four handball courts, wrestling, boxing and fencing rooms and on the main floor an 8000 square foot exercise room.

While The Times went into explicit detail regarding the various laboratories, recitation rooms and supply rooms, there was no mention of Post’s exterior architecture nor of the Great Hall, other than the hall would be “ornate in every detail” and would seat 2000 students, with 500 more in the galleries.

1903 view of Shepard Hall by H. M. Pettit from "King's Views of New York City"

In fact, the building would be both remarkable and elaborate. A monumental structure in the English Perpendicular Gothic style, it was built of the Manhattan schist removed from the foundation excavation and the tunnel construction of the subway system. Post used the Gothic cathedral plan as a model and lavished it with intricate white terra cotta ornamentation – including gargoyles, grotesques and florals – that stood out in stark contrast to the gray stone. The Architectural League, in 1906, exhibited examples of Post’s gargoyles in their 57th Street hall, noting that “some of these grotesques recall the Mayan figures on the columns and panels found by Stephens in deserted temples in Yucatan.”

A central tower was flanked by two wings curving off to the sides, while directly behind stood the splendid Great Hall, a cathedral-like space 185 feet long, 89 feet wide and soaring to 63 feet. Here a giant mural, "The Graduate," by Edwin Blashfield embellished the entire end wall. 

Mr. Moulton, in his letter to the editor, called it a “monument of architectural beauty…with walls of grey – purposely so selected without doubt – and its strong, massive tower, embrasured and beautiful in white terra cotta, together with the other buildings throughout, of exceptionally refined and well-studied detail, harmonize well, and most happily so.”

The facility was finally completed in 1907 and in May 1908 dedication ceremonies were held, attended by numerous dignitaries including Mark Twain, Mrs. Grover Cleveland and the mayor. The $6.5 million complex was said to be “second to none in the United States.”

The structures were enjoyed not only by the students but by the public at large – free recitals on the grand organ in the Great Hall were given every Sunday and Wednesday afternoon. Over the years Presidents Taft, Wilson and Franklin Roosevelt would speak here, as well as Eleanor Roosevelt and Albert Einstein.

However magnificent his design, George Post made engineering oversights. The terra cotta was treated structurally, like the schist, and there were no expansion joints to accommodate temperature shifts.  As early as the late 1920s the failure of the terra cotta was evident, causing the architects of the new Gothic Revival Compton-Goethals Hall to use cast stone rather than terra cotta to avoid a similar problem.   By 1986, when the Dormitory Authority of the State of New York called upon restoration architect Carl Stein to advise on the situation, the terra cotta had been breaking apart and large pieces falling loose for more than a decade.

photo courtesy Elemental

The condition of the façade was alarming at best. Only a third of the original terra cotta was in still in place. Grotesques and gargoyles were headless or missing; and voids were patched with bricks or stucco. Stein’s firm, The Stein Partnership (later to become Elemental), scrutinized thousands of elements. Of the more than 70,000 terra cotta pieces, more than half were either missing or unsalvageable.

In certain cases, in order to replicate the missing elements, vintage photographs were studied. Of the reproduced pieces, 3000 of the complex sculptures were unique. Rather than using replacement terra cotta, Stein opted instead for GRFC – a complex composite of concrete, fiber glass, additives and inorganic colarants.  In order to ensure visual authenticity, imperfections were included – tool marks, variations in color and other irregularities.

In addition, the energy saving properties of the material, it turned out, resulted in a savings equivalent to 7,500 barrels of oil.

While examining the main tower, the architects realized that due to water seepage the steel supports within the masonry had essentially corroded away to the point that they no longer existed. The tower was in danger of collapse.  It was essentially rebuilt, using a precast, post-tensioned concrete structure within the masonry cladding. 

Similar problems were found in the Great Hall where pieces of terra cotta tracery from the 40-foot stained glass windows were being found on the floor.  The clerestory area of the Hall was at risk of collapse and was added to the list Stein's growing list of projects.  Similarly, the upper 45 feet of the separate Bell Tower required a new structural armature both to carry the replacement ornamental cladding and to safely support the 7,000-pound bell.

photo courtesy Elemental

The massive $150 million restoration is now in its third decade and approximately 80% complete. According to Elemental principal Tom Abraham it is “by far the largest historic reconstruction of its kind in the world.”  The work, which was divided into ten phases, has a projected completion date of 2014.

Today Shepard Hall, what the AIA Guide to New York City calls a “towered, skewed, Gothic bulk encrusted with terra-cotta quoins, finials, voussoirs, and other details,” is returning to its 1907 appearance. It at last has a likelihood to meet J. W. Moulton’s 1906 prophecy as “a monument of architectural beauty which will stand for centuries…”

Not to be Outdone -- The Cornelius Vanderbilt Chateau - Fifth Avenue and 57th Street

The original 57th Street mansion.  The side windows shown here looked onto Fifth Avenue.-- photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

When the founder of the Vanderbilt dynasty, Cornelius “Commodore” Vanderbilt, died in 1877 he left his grandson and namesake, Cornelius Vanderbilt II, a $5 million inheritance. The following year Vanderbilt purchased and demolished three brownstone houses on the south west corner of 57th Street and Fifth Avenue in preparation for his new mansion.

Vanderbilt commissioned George Browne Post to design his grand home. In a vast departure from the brownstone tradition of Fifth Avenue, Post created a red brick and limestone chateau brimming over with turrets and dormers, deeply arched windows and highly ornate chimneys.

The interiors were decorated by a team of artisans, among them the most esteemed names of the time: John LaFarge, Augustus Saint-Gaudens and his brother Julius, Frederick Kaldenberg, Philip Martiny, Rene de Quelin and Frederick W. MacMonnies.  Alice Gwynne Vanderbilt was acutely aware that the old New York society families with names like Schuyler and Van Rensselaer considered her family nouveau riche, and therefore wanted a Vanderbilt coat of arms to be emblazoned in the entry hall for all to see.  After months of research and finding no hereditary coat of arms, she simply made one up -- and a crest to go with it.

The entrance hall mantelpiece survives in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  

Both were included in Saint-Gaudens magnificent 11-by-15 foot entry hall mantelpiece which incorporated two ruddy-colored marble caryatids representing Pax and Amor supporting the mantel. The mosaic over mantle depicted a classical maiden with the inscription in Latin composed by Vanderbilt himself: 

The house at its threshold gives evidence of the master’s good will. Welcome to the guest who arrives. Farewell and helpfulness to him who departs.

For the 45-foot dining room Saint-Gaudens also sculpted wooden relief portraits including, according to the artist “…the young Cornelius and George Vanderbilt, Gertrude Vanderbilt, now Mrs. Harry Payne Whitney, William H. Vanderbilt, and Cornelius Vanderbilt, the first of the family.” Here the lower walls were paneled in oak, the upper portions covered in embossed, brown leather. A coffered ceiling hung overhead which Saint-Gaudens termed “superb.” It consisted of twenty panels, six of which were opalescent and “jewel” glass skylights by John LaFarge. The beams were inlaid with mother of pearl in a Greek key pattern. Green marble reliefs of Hospitalitas and Amicitia flanked the doorway, their faces, clothing and other details executed in ivory, iridescent metals and mother of pearl.

Eight years later, upon the death of his father. William Henry, Vanderbilt inherited another $67 million, adding to the fortune he continued to amass as chairman of the family railroad empire. By the beginning of the 1890's, other millionaires were building palaces along Fifth Avenue which rivaled the Vanderbilt chateau.  Vanderbilt decided to enlarge.

Looking west on 57th Street, the Vanderbilt mansion sits to the right -- NYPL Collection

He purchased and destroyed five “costly” brownstone houses abutting his property to the north, facing 58th Street. Once again he called on George Post, along with mansion designer Richard Morris Hunt as consultant. Ground was broken on March 1, 1892 and all of New York watched in anticipation as the work proceeded. Because Vanderbilt wanted his home finished as quickly as possible–giving the builder, David H. King, Jr., 18 months to complete it–600 workmen were employed, sometimes working around the clock “under powerful electric lights.” Thousands of people watched the construction for a year and a half with what The New York Times called “pardonable curiosity and instinctive local pride.”

On November 26, 1893, The New York Times excitedly reported on the near-completion of the mansion. Calling it “the finest private residence in America,” the newspaper reported “It is a structure that would command admiration in any land of palaces and castles grand, for in its design, its noble proportions, and its artistic finish it is, in reality, a palace.”

And a palace it was.

The carriage entrance at the corner of 58th Street led to the formal entranceway -- photo NYPL Collection

With 130 rooms, four stories and an imposing corner tower, it was modeled loosely after the Chateau de Blois in France. The joining of the new addition to the original mansion was flawless and imperceptible. While the main family entrance remained at 1 West 57th Street, the grand port cochere entrance on 58th Street was used for social functions. Through the great iron carriage gates and around the circular drive would pass the carriages of New York’s most elite. According to Valentine’s Manual of Old New York "Visitors lucky enough to be on this spot during a social function will never forget the procession of smart equipages, drawn by blooded horses, and manned by liveried footmen and grooms, discharging passengers, each of them a society member of high standing."

The interiors were meant to impress.  The paneling and decorations of LaFarge’s original dining room were incorporated into the billiards room upstairs in the new section. The main 40-by-50 foot entrance hall on the 57th Street side was faced in Caen stone “after the French style followed in the interior of the Chateau de Blois” (Saint-Gaudens’ magnificent mantelpiece had been moved upstairs to the new family sitting room). The library faced Fifth Avenue along with two salons, one decorated in the Louis XV style, the other in Louis XVI.  On the 58th Street side was a Moorish smoking room designed by Lockwood de Forest–the walls encrusted with tiles and mosaics, the floors piled with Persian rugs.  Vanderbilt’s office and a breakfast room were also on the ground floor.

The sumptuous 65-by-50 foot ballroom also faced 58th Street. It took artist Edouard Toudouze nearly a year to complete the ceiling painting in his Paris studio.  According to a French critic, “Cupids frisk about, darting their love shots about rather carelessly” and “it is just the right thing for a ballroom.”

Rather than build a “picture gallery,” as was the trend in millionaire’s homes, Vanderbilt lined the walls of his new dining room with his paintings.  Here hung two Turners, Constable’s A Castle on the River Wye, two portraits by Sir Peter Lely, as well as works by Corot, Millais, Rousseau, Greuze and Ruysdael.

The price tag in 1893 to enlarge his house was around $3 million dollars.

The family would most often enter here, on 57th Street.  The large conservatory is seen to the left.  -- photo Cornell University

The Times article noted that Mr. Vanderbilt “has no fads or hobbies. He is a man of strong domestic tastes and finds his chief enjoyment in the family circle.” Alice Vanderbilt, according to the journalist, “is an ideal wife and mother, refined and dignified, inclined to domesticity…”

Here the couple lived happily until the morning of September 12, 1899, when Vanderbilt unexpectedly died. That morning, according to The New York Times, “A few minutes before 6 o’clock…he awoke and, arousing his wife, said to her: ‘I think that I am dying.’” Within five minutes, Cornelius Vanderbilt II was dead of a brain hemorrhage.

Alice Vanderbilt, according to The New York Times, “was prostrated” with grief and required a doctor’s care.  She never entertained again in her grand ballroom.  The windows were shuttered and the grand iron carriage gates were seldom opened, then only for funerals or close family events.

Over time commercial buildings began crushing in on Alice’s mansion and in 1926 she sold it to Braisted Realty Corporation for around $7 million.  A week before the wrecking ball was scheduled to demolish the 40-year old home, Mrs. Vanderbilt arranged to have it opened to the public for fifty cents admission which would be donated to charity.  Guests signed the Vanderbilt guest book and ogled the stained glass dome over the grand staircase and the French salons.  A week later it was no more.

Little survives of Cornelius Vanderbilt’s full-block chateau.  The Saint-Gaudens mantle is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the grand carriage gates are installed at one entrance to Central Park, and some of LaFarge’s stained glass and other pieces were salvaged.  But the great bulk of the Vanderbilt mansion was demolished along with an irreplaceable page of New York City history.