The William Church Osborn House - 135 East 36th Street

In 1852 Madison Road (later Madison Avenue) extended northward as far as 42nd Street.  Wealthy New Yorkers were abandoning the exclusive residential enclaves of a generation earlier--like the Bond Street and St. John's Park neighborhoods--and erecting fine homes further north.  That year John Jay Phelps, Isaac N. Phelps and William E. Dodge purchased the eastern block front on Madison between 36th and 37th Street and began construction of three impressive brownstone mansions with shared gardens and stables.

The homes helped sparked the rise of other upscale residences in Murray Hill district.  Around 1856 builder Thomas Kilpatrick erected a row of five high-end homes on the north side of East 36th Street between Lexington and Fourth (later Park) Avenues.  Born in Ireland and educated in England, Kilpatrick was a skilled architect.  For these houses he turned to the currently popular Italianate style.

No. 135 was the most desirable of the row, its corner location providing extra light and ventilation to the rooms inside.  Four stories tall above a rusticated English basement, it was 20-feet wide and stretched 75 feet down Lexington Avenue.  The side elevation was clad in red brick and trimmed in brownstone.  Here a two-story faceted oriel clung to the parlor and second floors.

The commodious residence was purchased by James Uglow.   Born in 1828, the young doctor and his wife, the former Louise Ross, would have two children, William Ross and Kate.  When the Civil War broke out, Dr. Uglow was appointed Assistant Surgeon of the 43rd New York Volunteers.  On January 30, 1864 he was honorably discharged from that position after he accepted the appointment to Surgeon of the 26th U. S. Colored Troops.

The heroic physician would never return to New York City.  On March 27, 1865, 15 days before peace was declared, he died in Beaufort, South Carolina at the age of 37.

The family had left No. 135 several years earlier.  By 1863 it was home to the Huson Langstroth family.  Langstrong's wife was the former Abbey E. Wade.   Living with them was Abbey's brother, John R. L. Wade.

The couple was highly involved in civic and social work.  Huson was assistant superintendent of the Kips Bay School on East 37th Street between Second and Third Avenues, and both were life-members in the New York City Missionary Society (obtained by paying a one-time $20 fee).

Their five-year-old son, John, died in the house on June 9, 1863.  His funeral was held in the parlor two days later.  Only two months later, on August 3, John Wade died at the age of 44.  Once again a funeral was held in the house.

Maintaining a house the size of No. 135 required several servants.  An advertisement in The New York Herald on February 28, 1871 sought "Two colored girls; one to cook, wash and iron; the other as chambermaid and waitress."   The first position was open again three years later, but the want ad on October 5, 1874 was no longer race specific.  "Wanted--A girl to cook, wash and iron; must have good city reference."

It was most likely the Austin family who placed the advertisements.  L. W. Austin and his wife, Charlotte, owned the house by the late 1870's.  Following Charlotte's death the family sold it to real estate operator Charles P. Murray on December 24, 1880 for $20,000--about $495,000 today.

Murray leased the house to esteemed architect J. Morgan Slade and commissioned him to make upgrades.  The 1881 plans called for a three-story extension on Lexington Avenue and "interior alterations."

Slade would not occupy the residence for long.  He died on December 5, 1882 at just 29-years old.  Despite his young age he had made a mark on Manhattan architecture.  On December 9 the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide said "he was one of the best known architects in this city being particularly identified with the erection of large buildings in the dry goods district."

Lexington Avenue, once lined with upscale homes, was quickly transforming into a commercial thoroughfare.  For decades J. P. Morgan would battle to keep his Murray Hill neighborhood quietly residential by buying up homes.  He then leased them to upscale families.  His increasingly vast holdings assured the houses would not be converted to business or broken up into apartments.

By 1892 Morgan had purchased No. 135.  He leased it to his nephew by marriage William Church Osborn and his wife, the former Alice Clinton Hoadley Dodge.  Alice was the daughter of William E. Dodge, Jr., whose father had erected one of the 1852 Madison Avenue houses, the northern most of which was now home to Morgan.  Born in 1862, Osborn was the son of railroad tycoon and philanthropist William Henry Osborn.

William Church Osborn was given his middle name to honor his father's close friend artist Frederic Edwin Church.  Two of Church's masterpieces, The Andes of Ecuador and The Aegean Sea were owned by William H. Osborn.

The younger Osborn was a "gentleman," a term used by wealthy citizens who did not need nor care to have a profession.  He focused instead on philanthropy and civic roles.   He served as the presidents of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, of the Children's Aid Society, and of the New York Society for the Relief of Ruptured and Orphaned.  He and Alice had two children, Aileen (who would marry Vanderbilt Webb, great-grandson of Cornelius Vanderbilt, in 1912), and Frederick, who would make his mark in the area of eugenics.

The East 36th Street house was routinely the scene of Alice's entertainments.  During the winter season of 1892-1893 she held receptions about every two weeks.  In May the couple retreated to their summer estate in Garrison-on-Hudson, New York.

Morgan made renovations again in 1898.  He hired architect Paul Frost, Jr. to enlarge the rear extension and again remodel the interiors.   Shortly afterward he leased the house to another intimate friend, Susan Warren, the widow of J. Kearney Warren, who had died in 1895 at the age of 74.

Susan was the daughter of Dr. Edward G. and Mary Lewis Ludlow.  The guest list of her "small reception" on the afternoon of January 11, 1908, reflected her social status.  The gathering was a celebration of the 80th birthday of her brother-in-law, T. Robinson Warren.  The New York Times noted "The invitations were limited to the Warren and Ludlow families and relatives and a few intimate friends."

Among those intimate friend were Mrs. J. Pierpont Morgan, Mrs. Morgan Dix, Mrs. E. J. Phelps, and Dr. and Mrs. Francis Kinnicutt.  Susan's sister, the widow of E. Sherman Gould, wrote a poem which was read by her son, Francis Lewis Gould.  Susan presented the guest of honor with a silver loving cup.  After Susan Ludlow Gould presented Mr. Warren 80 carnations, "the guests all drank from the loving cup and ate of the big birthday cake."

Susan was understandably distressed when her beloved pet disappeared two months later.  On March 5, 1908 The Sun reported "Mrs. J. Kearney Warren of 135 East Thirty-sixth street reported...last night the loss of a Chinese spaniel which Mr. and Mrs. J. Pierpont Morgan, Jr., gave her last Christmas.  The dog's name is Kng-Khi, which nobody in the station house could pronounce."  It is unclear whether the socialite's pooch was ever recovered.

Following Susan Ludlow Gould's marriage to Aldrich Durant in Trinity Chapel on April 20, 1911, her aunt hosted the reception in the 36th Street house.

Whispers among society suggested that the relationship between Susan Ludlow Warren and J. P. Morgan went further than that of landlord-tenant or close friends.  In his 2001 book Watching Television Come of Age Jack Gould mentioned his father's favorite aunt, admitting "For many years 'Aunt Susie' was the reputed mistress of J. P. Morgan, Sr."

Morgan died on March 31, 1913.  Susan Ludlow Warren seems to have left No. 135 almost immediately afterward.  In June the following year the Record & Guide reported that "he was a larger owner [of real estate] than was generally known."  At the time of his death he owned around 48 Murray Hill properties.  He had left No. 135 East 36th Street to his son, J, P. Morgan, Jr. who installed an elevator in the house a few months following his father's death.  At the time the house was assessed at $60,000--or about $1.38 million today.

Morgan retained possession at least through 1925 when he had the bottom half of the Lexington Avenue oriel was altered by architect Louis E. Ordwein.   During the Depression years, however, the house was woefully altered.  The molded window surrounds were shaved flat and the stone and brick was painted.

The photograph taken on July 30, 1946 by Wurts Bros. shows the loss of the architectural details.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The house became home to Juliana Cutting and her widowed sister, Mrs. Russell A. Hibbs.  The daughters of Walter and Maria Center Pomeroy Cutting, The New York Times remarked that they "belonged to a family which for generations had been prominent in the social life of New York."  Their grandfather was Robert Livingston Cutting, co-founder of the Continental Bank of New York and a president of the New York Stock Exchange.

Juliana, by now, was considered the "unquestioned authority on the arrangements for dances, dinners, luncheons, teas, weddings, [and] charity benefits," according to The Times.  In May 1924 she had opened a social secretarial office in two small rented rooms with one assistant.  Her reputation among high society was such that within two weeks she had hired a second assistant and before the year's end had hired six more and moved into a larger office.

Socialites flocked to her office as their daughters approached the age of their debuts into society.  She was consulted on the appropriate means of addressing invitations, of handling funerals arrangements, on what to wear for what occasion, how to correctly host a formal dinner or dance.

World War II caused a serious reduction in elaborate entertaining and in June 1942 Juliana closed her office on Madison Avenue and conducted business from her home on East 36th Street.  Then in 1943 she closed it altogether.  She died in the house on June 11 the following year.

The change J. P. Morgan, Sr. had so defiantly fought against finally arrived at No. 135 in 1953 when the basement became an apartment; and again in 1961 when the house was converted to apartments, one per floor.

In the first years of the 1990's the Republic of Namibia purchased that house as its Permanent Mission to the United Nations.  Following a devastating fire in 2004; a remarkable restoration, completed in 2016, brought back the missing architectural elements.  A floor was added and a new entrance with a glass elevator was added in the rear on Lexington Avenue.  The project won the Murray Hill Neighborhood Association's annual Architectural Preservation Award in 2016.

photographs by the author

St. George's Episcopal Church -- Stuyvesant Square

St. George’s Church was founded in 1749, at a time when the vast majority of Manhattan’s residents were Episcopalian.   Three years later the congregation’s impressive stone church was completed on the corner of Chapel (later renamed Beekman) and Cliff Streets. 

More than a century later a historian would remember “Beekman street at that time was the bon-ton promenade for society people.  The leading church was St. George’s on the northwest corner of Beekman and Cliff street.” 

The church burned in 1814 and was rebuilt a year later.  The wealth of the congregation was reflected in the steeple clock.  It was created by master Roxbury, Massachusetts clockmaker Simeon Willard. 

The restored building in 1815 had lost its tall steeple.  The Plumbers' Trade Journal, 1905 (copyright expired)

The precise workings of the clock made it the instrument by which all New Yorkers set their watches.  In 1868 the Annual Report of the American Institute of the City of New York recalled “There is no attempt at compensation, and yet no clock in the city more than ten years built has gained such a reputation for time-keeping.  Twenty years since a person who had not St. George’s time was supposed to have no time at all.”

The New York Times reminded its readers on November 30, 1902, “Its hands are not as artistic and gorgeous as those that point the time in many of the tower clocks today.  They were made by Simeon Willard, who hammered them out of rough iron at a little blacksmith’s forge in the woods near Boston…So regular was it that as late as half a century ago it regulated the city’s movements, and clocks and watches were practically set by it…It was then known as the ‘Old Town Clock’ and many New Yorkers are alive to-day who remember setting their watches by it.”

As the “bon-ton” neighborhood moved northward, so did St. George’s.   Peter G. Stuyvesant donated land on his estate on what would become Stuyvesant Square.  The New York Times was not impressed with his motives, saying the gift was “made by no means more to improve the value of his surrounding estate than to manifest his deep interest in the evangelical principles on which this parish was well known to stand.”

Although one New Yorker described the location in his diary in 1848 “a howling wilderness;” the northern migration of Manhattan’s wealthy into the area was well under way.  Nearby, Samuel B. Ruggles’ Gramercy Square was quickly being ringed with grand mansions.

The New York Times reported that the cornerstone of the new church was laid in June 1845.  The church elders had chosen architect Leopold Eidlitz; but later added Charles Otto Blesch.  The newspaper later mentioned “The architect is Mr. Eidlitz…Though his original plans were not strictly adhered to, he yet gave to the vestry of St. George’s perhaps the most symmetrical and imposing specimen of church architecture in New-York.”

Three years later, in November 1848, the first service was held while construction continued.

As the structure neared completion in 1855 The Times made note of the cost of the striking complex.  “Another portion of ground was purchased from [Stuyvesant’s] heirs for $10,000 and upon this site, covered by the church, the chapel, and the Rectory, the Vestry have expended and paid about $260,000.  The additional cost of the spires, which are now erecting, with the bells and clock, will make the entire amount $325,000.”  The outlay would amount to more than $9 million in 2015.

Included in the spires “now erecting” was the Simeon Willard clock, salvaged from the old church downtown which suffered the humiliation of being converted to a stable by Phelps, Dodge & Co.  The New York Times, half a century later, remarked “Thanks, however, to the founders of the St. George’s Episcopal Church, it escaped the junk pile, and is now looking out upon the city from the steeple of that church at Second Avenue and Sixteenth Street.”

The magnificent spires soared above Stuyvesant Square -- photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The new church was finally completed in 1856.  Blesch and Eidlitz had produced a monumental brownstone-clad Romanesque Revival structure 94 feet wide and 170 feet deep with stately buttresses, a handsome rose window, and two stunning lacy openwork stone spires.  The Times said they were “the finest spires in the city, with the solitary exception of Trinity Church.  They are open work, and effective yet simple in design.”

Miller’s Stranger’s Guide to The City of New York described it as a “spacious and elegant structure, the most capacious ecclesiastical edifice in this city.”   The guide said “for architectural beauty [it] is entitled to the first rank among the religious edifices of New York.  Its imposing exterior, and vast interior, unsupported by any visible columns, either to roof or gallery, impart to it a fine effect.”

Tragically, just nine years after construction was completed, fire broke out on November 15, 1865.  The New York Times reported “Strenuous efforts were immediately made to save the furniture and fixtures of the church, with very little success.”  Although two “fine gothic chairs” and the prayer books, hymnals and Bibles were removed, everything else in the interior was lost.

The devastation was captured on a stereopticon slide -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

“When the roof fell in the scene for many blocks around was one of great magnificence,” wrote The Times.  “The flames, which for a few moments, seemed to have been subdued, burst forth soon after with greater fury, and all that vast pile of combustible material, including the fine-toned and costly organ, was speedily reduced to ruins.”

The following day only the shell of St. George’s remained.  The Times said the four bare walls, the two towers and spires were “as impressive as any of the monastic ruins of the old world.”   The wealthy congregation wasted no time in rebuilding and just two years later the church was reopened.

The rebuilt interior as it appeared in 1909 -- photo from the collection of the Library of Congress

At the time the church’s rector was the Rev. Dr. Stephen H. Tyng, considered to be among the most notable preachers of the period.   On April 7, 1878 he shocked his parishioners when he announced his retirement at the age of 78 after 33 years with St. George’s Church.  

The Stuyvesant Square neighborhood was changing by the time Tyng resigned.  Waves of German immigrants flooded the area.  But unlike many upscale churches faced with the changing demographics, St. George’s parish did not abandon its church.  Its congregation continued to include some of the wealthiest and most respected names in the city, including Senior Warden J. P. Morgan.

St. George’s Episcopal Church was the scene of fashionable weddings and funerals throughout the decades.  So when the funeral of William H. Borst—a theater  and “sporting” man—was held here on November 2, 1882, it was a noticeably curious.  The New York Times remarked “Such a congregation as gathered in St. George’s was probably never seen within the four walls of a church edifice before.”

The newspaper listed many of the mourners, including politicians, gamblers, theater owners, fighters and others.  Included was “Jake” Somerindyke, “an old and well-known turf gambler;” “Old Bill” Tovee, a veteran sporting man; “Michael Boyle, the oysterman,” pugilist George Rooke; and a host of others who were better known by their nicknames than their given names.

Through the influence of J. P. Morgan, the respected Rev. W. S. Rainsford took the pulpit as rector in 1883.  He gave his first sermon on January 14 that year, after which The New York Times gave its approval.

“He is a young man, about 32 years of age tall, straight as a reed, and of prepossessing features.  His manner is frank and earnest, and his sentences were emphasized by frequent gestures.”  Born in Dublin, he would hold the position for two decades, espousing sometimes shocking views from his pulpit.

Before he made headlines with his sometimes unorthodox social views, he would have to address a disturbing problem within his staff.   In May 1885 50-year old W. H. Pudney was made a sexton of the church.  It did not take him long to bring scandal to St. George’s.

In June a German immigrant, Emil Michel, who lived above his small shoe store nearby at No. 197 Third Avenue, noticed that his 9-year old daughter Eva, was acting strangely.  When he questioned the girl, her answers were initially evasive; but she finally admitted to being abused twice in the church by Pudney.  A doctor’s examination proved the crime.

Eva then revealed that 10-year old Lizzie Speerschneider had also been abused at the same times.   Emil Michel rushed to the home of that girl’s father, Edmund, who ran a crockery store.  The New York Times said “Both are respectable, hard-working Germans.”  A physician’s examination of Lizzie supported the accusation, as well.

Pudney appeared before Justice Patterson in a private examination.  He wore his clerical garb.  Also in the room were Rev. Rainsford and three assistant ministers.  Pudney, who was married and had a family, pleaded innocent and, in fact, said that the little girls “came around the church and I ordered them out.”  Their mothers, however, told reporters that “for the last 10 days the children had frequently come home with bunches of flowers and pennies which they said had been given them by the ‘nice gentleman’ at the church.”

Pudney was held at $2,500 bail on each charge.  The Times reported “He said that his son-in-law would furnish the bail, but the latter failed to do so yesterday.”

Wealthy New Yorkers fled the heat of summer by retreating to fashionable resorts and summer estates.   An early heat wave in April 1881 gave good reason.  The Sun reported on a sermon by guest-preacher Rev. Phillips Brooks of Boston on April 25 in St. George’s, noting “The temperature of the church was oppressively high while Mr. Brooks was speaking, and several ladies, unable to obtain seats or to get to the open air, fainted.”

Rev. Rainsford came up with a startling idea for his wealthy members in 1888.  “St. George’s has a very large membership, among which the rich and poor are about equal in number,” noted The Times.  On May 26, 1888 the newspaper reported that Rainsford had pointed out that the poor “would be compelled during the Summer months to live in unhealthy tenement houses, for which they would pay heavy rents.  On the other hand…his wealthy parishioners were already preparing to leave the city for the heated term to enjoy fresh air, cooling breezes, and the various comforts and delights of the mountains seaside, and lakes.”

The millionaire congregants were given a Christian challenge.  Rainsford suggested that they allow poor families to live in their mansions during their summer absence.  A committee of ladies was put in charge of selecting reliable, needy families who would not only enjoy the luxury of the lavish surroundings, but would act as caretakers.

“When the family is placed in possession of the house the woman is instructed in her duties.  They are usually to keep the premises in order, have a sharp eye for burglars and sneak thieves, and keep the sleeping apartments in constant readiness for occupancy against the sudden return of any of the family to town.”

Although the Rev. Dr. Rainsford did not support gambling and drinking, he realized that strict laws against them were impractical and actually fostered criminal behavior.  A single sentence in the New-York Tribune on December 11, 1889 was merely a hint of things to come.  “The Rev. W. S. Rainsford, rector of St. George’s Episcopal Church, was fined $25 for violating the game laws.”

In the meantime, he worked steadfastly to extend the work of St. George’s within the impoverished tenement district nearby.  On November 11, 1892 The Times remarked “The growth of St. George’s Protestant Episcopal Parish has been extraordinary in recent years.  Under the vigorous activity of the Rev. W. S. Rainsford’s rectorship the scope of the church work has been steadily extended, until now it embraces a score or more of important missionary, educational, and relief features.”

The church ran a trade school for boys; a Men’s Club that included a gymnasium, bathing rooms, smoking and reading rooms; a Girl’s Friendly Library; a Deaconesses’ House, where the sick and poor were administered to; and a Cottage-by-the Sea at Rockaway Park, Long Island where indigent parishioners were “given a breath of sea air.”

Sadly, the masterful, lacy stone spires were deemed unsafe in 1888 and taken down in 1889; leaving the towers blunted.

photograph from the collection of the Library of Congress

The first real issue regarding Rainsford’s unusual stance on liquor came about in 1893 when he approved Moore & Tucker’s saloon “right in the immediate neighborhood of his church,” as described by the New-York Tribune on December 11.  The newspaper said “Much talk has been caused lately” by the move.

“The condition which Dr. Rainsford exacted was that no women should be admitted into the liquor store, and that no children should be served with drink.  Dr. Rainsford exacted as a guarantee of good faith a bond of $1,000 from the proprietors, to be forfeited in case they failed to comply with the provisions of the contract.”

The debate would simmer for years, causing Senator John Raines to say in 1901 that “Rainsford is a type, who in the livery of Heaven serve only the devil.”  The minister explained his stance saying, “I am opposed to the saloons; I wish we could shut them all up.  But it’s simply the worst sort of nonsense to believe that in a city which, next to Berlin, is the greatest German city in the world, we can shut up the saloons on Sunday.  You can’t shut up the saloons and give the people nothing for it.”

Rainsford said that Sunday liquor laws simply led to illegal operations and “under the present system children are taught to violate the law.  That’s a very bad example to set.  It also opens the door to blackmail; that’s another very bad side of the subject.”

That same year Rainsford took to the pulpit to decry the Tammany Ring.   The New-York Tribune, on October 18, 1901, reported “With the utmost courtesy, but with an eloquence that carried conviction to the hearts and the vast congregation that filled every available space in the church, Dr. Rainsford bitterly arraigned the present administration, and characterized its rule as one of blackmail and tyranny.”

A view towards the organ gallery on May 23, 1927.  photo by Wurtz Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

With Grace Church and Trinity Chapel, St. George’s continued to be the scene of New York’s most fashionable weddings.  Along with J. P. Morgan (the press routinely referred to St. George’s as “Mr. Morgan’s Church”) millionaire Robert Fulton Cutting served as an elder.   The wedding of his daughter, Helen, to Lucius K. Wilmerding on March 27, 1905 was one of the social events of the year.   The elite status of the bride was reflected in the names of her wedding party.  The New-York Tribune noted “She was attended by eight bridesmaids, Miss Alice Roosevelt, Miss Gwendolyn Burden, Miss Violet Cruger, Miss Caroline Wilmerding, Miss Jessie Sloane, Miss Caroline Drayton, Miss Muriel Robbins and Miss Elizabeth Cutting.”

When Dr. W. S. Rainsford resigned the following year, The Sun took the opportunity to point out that St. George’s and Grace Church had survived the drastic changes in their neighborhoods.  “Both of these churches are of the ‘downtown’ class, and as such seemed destined to decadence.  The fashionable congregations whose dwellings were once in their neighborhoods have moved away in very great part.  Since that withdrawal, too, the population of the East Side has changed from German and Irish into Jew and Italian  Instead of falling back, however, these two parishes have greatly increased their strength and mainly by the means of the parochial institutions through which they have sought to bring social improvement of their neighborhoods.”

Perhaps no funeral in St. George’s Church was more prominent than that of J. Pierpont Morgan on April 14, 1913.  Morgan had written out his own funeral instructions, which were followed to the letter and marked by “extreme simplicity,” as reported by The Times.   Approximately 1,500 were in the church, while the park outside was packed with onlookers.  The floral arrangements included tributes from the German Emperor, the King of Italian and the Governments of France and Italy.

The most shocking event to take place in St. George’s Church occurred on Sunday morning, April 18, 1920.  After Dr. Karl Reiland’s sermon, the vestrymen moved down the tile-floored aisles with the silver collection plates.  Among them were Herbert Satterlee, the son-in-law of J. P. Morgan, and Dr. James Wright Markoe, Morgan’s former physician.

The following day the New-York Tribune reported “As Dr. Markoe bent to present the plate to the occupants of the red plush cushioned, oaken pew, twelfth from the rear, a shabby, round-shouldered little man who was seated there drew a revolver, instead of the expected contribution, and shot the physician in the head.”

At first few realized what had happened.  The choir continued to sing and the organ to play.  “The collection salver fall from his hand with a crash, and gold and silver coins rolled in all directions.”  As the murderer headed for the door, several congregants rose to their feet.  In the meantime, Dr. Reiland rushed to Dr. Markoe.

Satterlee blocked the man’s escape route, holding the collection plate in front of his chest as a sort of armor.  The man fired a bullet directly at him, which grazed Satterlee’s beard and embedded itself into the paneling.   He fired two more times, causing the men in the foyer to drop to the floor.

The assassin made in nearly through Stuyvesant Square before the congregants overpowered and disarmed him.  Thomas W. Simpkin was arrested and charged with three counts—murder in the first degree for the killing of Dr. Markoe, and assault in the first and second degrees for wounding Dr. George E. Brewer who wrestled the gun from Simpkin.

Simpkin confessed that he had initially meant to kill J. P. Morgan but chose Markoe when he realized Morgan had been dead for seven years.   On May 3 he was committed to the Asylum for the Criminal Insane at Matteawan, New York  A lunacy commission had reported that his “mental condition is now such that he could not defend the murder indictment against him, and that when he slew Dr. Markoe his reason was so defective that he did not know his act was wrong.”

The forward thinking tradition of St. George’s continued in the Rev. Karl Reiland, who had been rector about seven years at the time of the murder.  Among his congregants was Mrs. Margaret Sanger, pioneer birth control advocate.  On March 1931 the Federal Council of Churches of Christ in American gave “guarded approval” to birth control.  Afterward, The New York Times reported that Reiland “expressed pride in the fact that Mrs. Sanger is a member of his congregation, calling her a ‘a remarkable woman.’”  He called the committee’s decision “a very farseeing and necessary observation, and one with which I am in hearty sympathy.”

The Stuyvesant Square neighborhood continued to see change throughout the 20^th century.  But the staid brownstone church remains unchanged.  It was among the first of the new Landmarks Preservations Commissions designations, in 1967.  The façade received a well-deserved restoration in 1980, and the Simeon Willard clock continues to keep time as it has for two centuries.

photographs by the author

The Lost Drexel Building -- Broad and Wall Streets

photograph Library of Congress

Anthony Drexel, Sr. was a successful Philadelphia portrait painter until 1837.  But his profession would not provide a living for his young son, Anthony Jr.  So that year, according to The New York Times later, he “determined to engage in business as a broker in order to open up a career for his son.”  On New Year’s Day 1838 he opened his small brokerage office “in which were laid the foundations of the enormous business” that would be eventually run by his son.

Three years later the younger Anthony entered the business at the age of 13.  He took on his father’s ambitious and aggressive business nature.  By the time of the California Gold Rush in 1848 Anthony Drexel Sr. left his son in charge of the firm while he traveled, often for extended periods.

In 1850 the senior Drexel took advantage of the Gold Rush and established the firm of Drexel, Sather & Church in California.  Simultaneously he opened a New York City house, Drexel & Co.  Before long what had started out as a one-man operation was a leading force in American banking.  “The house’s business was always that of money lending on a gigantic scale,” noted The New York Times in 1893, “and its timely help saved many a suffering corporation from bankruptcy, while it piled up the millions to its own credit, and strengthened year by year the already strong foundation of its tremendous trade.”

In 1869 Anthony Drexel, Jr. partnered with J. Pierpont Morgan whom he entrusted to run the New York branch which was renamed Drexel, Morgan & Co.  In 1872 the powerful banking firm laid plans for a headquarters building that would turn heads.  On March paid $250,000 (over $4.5 million today) in gold for the land at the southeast corner of Wall and Broad Streets.  The Times reported on March 17, 1872 that “more money was paid for it than any other piece of ground of a similar area of which there is any record in any city in the world.” 

Drexel, Morgan & Co. commissioned architect Arthur D. Gilman to design the structure which The Times predicted would be “magnificent.”  Work commenced on May 1, 1872 with an anticipated completion of April 1, 1873.  The six-story building would be clad in gleaming white Vermont marble and while Gilman described the style as “Italian renaissance” it would be deemed French Second Empire today.  There would be a grand mansard roof above the fifth floor cornice, crowned by a faceted cap at the corner.  On either side dormers would line up with military precision.

Construction of what would be known as the Drexel Building would be fraught with accidents and set-backs.  On October 30, 1872 The Sun complained “From the inception of this building up to the present time a series of discomfort and disasters have been of almost daily occurrence.”  The newspaper’s assessment was sparked by the worst calamity yet.

On Tuesday October 29 a worker recklessly tossed a piece of lumber from a third floor window.  The hunk of wood struck and killed a pedestrian.  “It is to be hoped this will put an effectual check upon the carelessness which has marked the course of the progress of this building from the start, and that the proper authorities will investigate to-day’s calamity,” said the newspaper.

 

sketch from the collection of the New York Public Library

As the Drexel Building neared completion in April 1873 advertisements for office space appeared.  Offices for “Corporations, Bankers, Lawyers &c.” were offered and the structure’s up-to-date accommodations were marketed.  “Two elevators, two staircases, fire-proof, well ventilated and lighted, heated by steam; every modern convenience on each floor.”

The advertisements did not touch on the upscale finishes and amenities.  The New York Times remarked that the building was “finely finished throughout with black walnut and mahogany, marble floors, &c,” and said that the grand staircase was “one of the largest in New-York.”  Above the main entrance were two larger-than-life statues representing Europe and America.

Drexel, Morgan & Co. took nearly half of the ground floor and the remainder of the building filled quickly.  As the Drexel Building was being planned, the Leather Manufacturers' Bank negotiated what was effectively a separate building with no interior connections.  The New York Times said that the Leather Manufacturers’ Bank section was built “in the same style precisely, so that the two edifices will present one front and have a common entrance way.”  Morton, Bliss & Co. took the remainder of the first floor not occupied by that bank.

 

The six-story structure dwarfed its neighbors -- photographer unknown from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWP7RHZQ&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=631

Although the advertisements for office space had targeted bankers and lawyers, a surprising number of railroad concerns moved in.  Within the first few years the building became home to the Missouri Pacific Railroad offices, the New-Jersey and New-York Railroad Company, the Hackensack and New York Railroad Company, the New-York City and Northern Railway Company, and the Hackensack and New-York Extension Railroad offices.

Perhaps one of the most unexpected tenants was the Barnum Museum Company which had its offices here in 1880. 

In 1885 Adolph Wittemann captured Wall Street and the Drexel Building from a rooftop -- from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWP7RHZQ&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=631

On September 4, 1882 the attention of the world was centered on the Drexel Building as inventor Thomas Alva Edison flipped a switch, illuminating 600 electric lights throughout the building.  It was a ground-breaking moment that would jump-started the transition from gas to incandescent lighting.

Like it is today, Wall Street corruption was sometimes a problem in the 1880s.  In 1888 broker Francis E. Trowbridge had his offices in the Drexel Building.  A highly respected member of the Stock Exchange, he was also a director in at least banks and a Trustee o St. Paul’s Methodist Church (as well as its musical director).  And so it was perhaps surprising when on March 22, 1888 he was arrested for absconding with the proceeds of the sale of stock.

Lawyer Abraham Kling accused Trowbridge of cheating him out of $28,500 and said he “had in a similar manner appropriated money belonging to other people.”  Trowbridge insisted that “the assertion that he is indebted to other people, or that he intended fleeing, are alike preposterous.”  The New York Times said “He was very indignant.”

Indignity of another type came to a Drexel Building tenant in 1891.  J. Madison Pinckney was employed as a clerk in the brokerage office of W. Cross.  In September that year the man was running for a telephone on the floor of the Stock Exchange when, in doing so, he jostled Wall Street broker John B. Manning.

Unaccustomed to being manhandled by a clerk, Manning showed his displeasure by landing a vigorous kick on Pinckney’s rear end.  “Mr. Pinckney felt the result,” said The New York Times on September 11, 1891.  The  broker felt the results as well when Abraham Pinckney threatened to sue for $10,000 in damages.

The New York Stock Exchange saw the matter from a difference perspective.  “There is a rule against running on the Exchange,” explained The Times.  “Mr. Manning said yesterday, however, that so far as he was concerned the matter was ended.”  Presumably the office clerk did not reap his envisioned $10,000.

A Drexel tenant with a peculiar commodity was the Railway Ammonia Motor Company.  The firm marketed street cars that ran on ammonia.  The inventor, P. J. McMahon who had formerly been a Chief Engineer in the U.S. Navy, boasted that the cost of running a car with his system was about one cent per mile.

A successful demonstration of the cars was held in Manhattan on March 17, 1893; with one drawback.  “To avoid all possibility of passengers being annoyed by the pungent and disagreeable odor that was noticeable yesterday,” reported The Times the following day, “the company is having a sixteen-foot car built, which will merely carry the motor.”

On June 30 that year Anthony J. Drexel died.   J. P. Morgan, who had functioned as the head of Drexel, Morgan & Co. for years wasted little time in reorganizing the firm.  On January 1, 1895 he renamed the New York branch J. P. Morgan & Co.; the Paris firm became Morgan, Harjes & Co.; while the London branch retained the name J. S. Morgan & Co.  Above the corner entrance he had the name J. P. Morgan & Co. installed.

The quality of the materials used in the Drexel Building was still recognized nearly three decades after its construction.  When the multimillion dollar New York Public was in its planning stage in 1900, it was the Drexel Building that was held as a benchmark.  Reporting on the plans on October 31, 1900 the New-York Tribune noted that the “entire interior [is] to be composed of white marble without blemish, and of the character of that used in the Drexel Building.”

The comparison would end in an injunction a year later when the Board of Estimate awarded the contract for the Library to Norcross Brothers.  The contractor's bid was $77,000 higher than the lowest bidder; Eugene Lentilhon.  And according to affidavits submitted by Lentilhon’s attorney, “the architect…stated to the board that the Drexel Building was built from the quarry from which the Norcross Brothers were to take their stone.” 

In actuality, said the law suit, “the Drexel Building in this city was not built of marble taken from the quarry, and that there are no buildings in the city built of the marble from the Norcross Brothers’ quarry.”

The gigantic white marble building would be draped in mourning in September 1901 following the assassination of President William McKinley.  The New-York Tribune noted that “The earliest preparation for the mourning decorations on a large scale in Wall Street appeared at the Drexel Building.”  Soon after the news of the President’s death was announced, J. P. Morgan arrived at the building and a team of employees was set to work.

“Two heavy packing boxes and a sewing machine were unloaded on the sidewalk.  From the boxes were unpacked bales of crepe, which were stacked upon the sidewalk, while workmen began to cut and sew long streamers of the sombre material, preparatory to draping them on the wooden frames which are to be placed on the front of the building.”

In what was nearly a foreshadowing of things to come, on April 14, 1907 The Times recalled the Drexel Building’s origins and future.  “The firm ‘at the corner,’ J. P. Morgan & Co., was one of the very first, if not the first, to occupy a building designed in part, even, for their own use.  It was when the name was Drexel, Morgan & Co. that the Drexel Building was erected at Wall and Broad Streets, a showplace in its day and a landmark so long as it shall stand.”

In 1909 the building was swathed in patriotic bunting -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

In February 1912 J. P. Morgan established the Drexel Building Corporation for the purpose of purchasing the property.  Anthony J. Drexel’s heirs received $3 million for the land and the building.  Sereno S. Pratt, in his The Work of Wall Street published that same year, called the corner “the most valuable site per square foot of any real estate in New York.”

Rumors quickly circulated that the dignified old building would be razed “for the erection of a modern office building on the site,” as mentioned in The Sun.  Officers of the Drexel Building Corporation played down the stories.  But, as The Times reported a year later on March 23, 1913, “J. P. Morgan has had a new building in mind for a number of years, and leases which expired were not renewed.”

By now tenants were leaving one-by-one as the demolition of the Drexel Building neared.  The New York Times reminisced about the venerable structure.  “There is an air of quiet comfort and gentility about the old building which is not found in any of the newer Wall Street offices.”  The writer mentioned Gus, the janitor, who had been away from work only twice in thirty years—once for a sprained ankle and once for appendicitis.  The newspaper said he “feels as though the world was coming down about his ears, for when the wreckers take down the building they will also demolish his home under the roof.”

The Drexel Building would wear the trappings of mourning one more time before its demolition.  On April 1, 1913 a sign was hung on the main entrance, “Closed on account of the death of Mr. J. P. Morgan.”  The 75-year old banker whose personal fortune was estimated at between $75 and $150 million had died in his sleep while traveling abroad. 

Within two months the magnificent marble Drexel Building would be no more.  On June 14 The New York Times wrote “In a few days the most valuable piece of real estate in the United States will be nothing but a vacant lot, surrounded by a board fence.”

The new J. P. Morgan & Co. Building, designed by Towbridge & Livingston, was completed in 1914.  Other than the Morgan name the rather stark, squat structure had nothing in common with its predecessor. 

The 1914 Morgan building survives today -- from the collection of the New York Public Library