The 1892 William B. Strong House - 240 West 138th Street

Completed in 1892, the 25 rowhouses along the south side of West 138th Street between today's Frederick Douglass and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevards were designed by James Brown Lord.  The three-story, red brick residences were part of the visionary project of David H. King Jr. known as the King's Model Houses.  Lord's modern take on Georgian architecture included egg-and-dart carving around the parlor level openings and elongated, foliate-carved keystones.  The upper story windows were framed in brownstone quoins and wore splayed lintels.  A pressed metal cornice with an ornate fascia crowned the design.

Behind the row was an "interior cross-street," accessed by two wide carriage entrances with iron double gates.  Families used them, most likely, as often as the tradesmen who made rear deliveries.  King originally planned circular flower beds and fountains for the rear courtyards.  The carriage entrances made the houses on either side especially desirable, because they were afforded an extra wall of light and ventilation.

The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide published a projected view of the courtyards on April 9, 1892.  image courtesy of the Office of Metropolitan History

Among them was 240 West 138th Street.  It became home to wealthy silk importer William B. Strong and his wife, the former Mary E. Leavitt.  The couple had married in June 1884.  Not long after moving into the West 138th Street house, the Strongs' domestic bliss fell apart.  

In January 1896 Strong ordered Mary out of the house.  She later explained, "for the sake of appearances, she remained there, paying her own expenses until June."  (Because Mary had her own significant fortune, she could afford to support herself and maintain the charade.)  At that point she went to the summer estate of her sister, Mrs. Francis Tuckerman, in Bar Harbor, Maine.  At the end of the summer social season, Mary relocated to Newport where she owned a cottage.

Finally, Mary dispensed with appearances.  On May 24, 1898 the New York Herald ran an all-caps headline, "DIVORCE FOR MRS. W. B. STRONG / Wife of a Prominent and Well-do-Do Silk Importer Gets a Decree in Newport / WOULD NOT SUPPORT HER."  Mary's hopes of avoiding scandal were over.  She obtained her divorce on charges of "failure to provide necessities."

Almost immediately, Strong sold 204 West 138th Street to the newly-married Dr. Joseph Brown Cooke.  Born in Saratoga Springs, New York in 1868, he had had a privileged upbringing.  He attended three private academies--the Franklin School, Trinity School, and Phillips Exeter Academy--before entering the Columbia College of Physicians and Surgeons where he earned his medical degree in June 1891.

Cooke married Constance Rachel Cottin in London on May 31, 1898.  The couple had a newborn daughter, Lucy Elizabeth, when they moved in.  Three more children would soon arrive, Constance Ursala in 1901, Joseph Cottin in 1902, and Charles Harris in 1904.

Well-to-do families spent the summer months at either their country homes or at fashionable resorts.  Very often the husbands would remain in the city during the week to take care of business, joining their families on the weekends.  Most of them stayed at their social clubs, rather than go to the expense of keeping their townhouses open for a single occupant.  But Dr. Cooke likely saw patients at home during certain hours, so he remained in the West 138th Street house.

Dr. Cooke's family was "in the country," as worded by The Sun, during the summer of 1907, "but he has relatives stopping at the house."  Cooke arrived home around midnight on August 17 and, according to The Sun, "after writing letters for an hour, he went to bed."  

The New-York Tribune reported, "About an hour later the physician was awakened by some one on the stairs, and, getting his revolver, went into the hall."  He ran into a man and, according to The New York Times, demanded, "Put up your hands and don't move."  Instead the burglar bolted.  Cooke fired a shot and the intruder fell down the stairs."  Cooke was close behind, and fired two more shots in quick succession.  The Sun continued, "the thief dodged through the hallway to the rear of the house and got out through an open window.  The physician fired another shot, but the burglar climbed over the fence and got away."  

By now, reported The Sun, "the neighborhood was aroused and several patrolmen came hurrying up."  In the dining room, the Cooke silver had been loaded into bags, ready to be taken away.  The burglar was, most likely, on a search for jewelry on the upper floors when Cooke encountered him.  Blood spots were found outside the kitchen window, leading police to believe Cooke had hit the robber.

The following afternoon, John Williams, reportedly an elevator operator, entered Otto Krauss's drugstore on Seventh Avenue with an open bullet wound on his arm.  Krauss summoned the police, who asked Williams how he came to be shot.  He refused to answer and was held on suspicion of the Cooke burglary.

The erudite Dr. Cooke published a textbook, A Nurse's Handbook of Obstetrics, in 1903, the same year he wrote a pamphlet for expectant mothers, "Before the Baby Comes."  He lectured on obstetrics for the city's Department of Charity in 1908.

In 1909 the Cookes left West 138th Street.  Their former home was purchased by banker Frederick William M. Kamm.  Living with her unmarried brother was Therese C. C. Kamm.

Born in Bonn, Germany in 1847, Kamms' parents brought the children to America in 1852.  Frederick joined the banking firm of Lazard Freres in 1869 and four decades later was still there.  His elevated interests were reflected in his memberships in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the American Museum of Natural History, and the National Geographical Society.

Sadly, Frederick Kamm would not enjoy his new home long.  He died of a heart attack in the house on July 5, 1909 at the age of 62.  Therese died three years later, on January 14, after a short illness.  The 65-year-old's funeral was held in the parlor two days later.

The block was seeing significant change by then.  The extension of the subway into Harlem in 1904 made the district more accessible.  Landlords downtown had been taking advantage of their Black tenants for years, overcharging on rents.  The northward migration of the Black community was changing the demographics of the formerly all-white block.

There was a quick succession of owners for 240 West 138th Street, until Dr. J. Freeman Otto purchased it in March 1921.  Harrison ran the Cosmopolitan College of Chiropractic, and on March 16 the New-York Tribune reported that he "will remodel the dwelling, altering the two upper floors into dormitories."

Simultaneously, Otto hired Hubert H. Harrison as the school's Instructor in Embryology.  According to Jeffrey B. Perry, in his Hubert Harrison: The Struggle for Equality, Harrison wrote in his diary that he was "the only Negro on the Faculty and the only member of it who is not a doctor."  He gave a series of lectures for the students and their guests.

via Hubert Harrison: The Struggle for Equality, 1918-1927

An advertisement for the Cosmopolitan College of Chiropractic in April 1922 lured prospective students with the prospect of financial success and respectability.  It said in part, "Incomes of $5,000 and $10,000 dollars per year are common and the added advantages of social prominence and opportunity for service are not equalled."

The school did not last at the location, and by 1924 204 West 138th Street was being run as a boarding house by Louise Peters Haubs.  Among her tenants in 1924 was Theodore Baker and his live-in girlfriend, Jessie Wright.  Jessie managed a hairdressing parlor at 2343 Seventh Avenue.  On July 16, 1924, the couple had an argument and Baker shot Jessie three times in the chest.  The Pittsburgh Courier reported, "The woman was in bed at the time of the shooting."

Louise Haubs sold the house to Jacob Goodman, who resold it in January 1929.  The New York Sun reported that the buyer "expects to make extensive alterations with intentions of using the house as a furnished rooming house."

In 1940, William Julius operated what the Census Bureau deemed a "lodging house."  Almost unbelievably, the census that year listed 32 persons, including Julius, living here.  Several of them comprised small families, like 21-year-old Hamer Banki and his 20-year-old wife, Cuetta.  They had an 18-month old son, Norman.

The venerable house received a make-over in 1982, when it was converted to seven apartments, two per floor plus one in the basement level.

photograph by the author

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The Eubie Blake House - 236 West 138th Street

 

The block of 25 homes on the south side of West 138th Street between today's Frederick Douglass and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevards was completed in 1891.  Part of the visionary project of David H. King Jr. known as the King's Model Houses, the homes were designed by James Brown Lord in a modern take on Georgian architecture.  Each of the three-story residences were clad in brownstone at the basement and parlor levels, and red brick above.  

Among them was 236 West 138th Street, which shared a split stoop with elegant iron railings with its neighbor at 234.  The openings of the parlor level were trimmed  in egg-and-dart carving and wore elongated, foliate-carved keystones.  The upper story windows were framed in brownstone quoins and wore splayed lintels.  A pressed metal cornice with an ornate fascia crowned the design.

The house became home to John Cheever Goodwin and his wife, the former Ida Drigg.  The couple had married in Boston in 1878 and had 11 children.  A graduate of Harvard University, Goodwin went professionally as J. Cheever Goodwin.  

J. Cheever Goodwin, from Francis Wilson's 1897 Recollections of a Player (copyright expired)

A playwright, librettist, lyricist and producer, his first successful libretto being the wildly popular Evangeline in 1874.  The New York Times would later say that he wrote or adapted more than 40 musical comedy librettos.  He was a member of the American Dramatist's Club, among others.

Goodwin worked several times with Woolson Morse, writing the lyrics for his 1890 L'etoile, for his 1891 Wang, for Panjandrum in 1893, and for Lost, Strayed or Stolen in 1896.  Through those collaborations, the Goodwins and Morses became friends--something that put the Goodwins in an uncomfortable position in 1895.

On January 11 that year, The World reported that Morse's wife, actress Agnes Cecilia Riley, had walked out of their home at 30 West 24th Street and into the Goodwin house.  "She is recovering from a fit of nervous prostration brought on by the recent troubles with her husband."  The troubles stemmed from Agnes's brother-in-law, George F. Hoey, who "turned Woolson against me," she said.  Hoey's meddling had affected his own marriage, as well.  "Mrs. Morse and Mrs. Hoey are now opposed to their respective husbands, and they say that will never make up their trouble."  It is unclear how long the Goodwins' troubled houseguest remained.

Sheltering Morse's wife during their marital troubles obviously did not negatively affect the relationship between composer and lyricist.  On January 8, 1899, The New York Times reported that the pair's The Merry Monarch had opened in London.  "Gilbert and Sullivan have seldom pleased the English fancy more thoroughly," said the article.

The following year the Goodwins left West 138th Street. Their former home became a respectable boarding house, home to attorney William H. Andrews and his wife; Sam Weingart, who was involved with the Hebrew Technical School for Girls; and the Watson W. Vredenburgh family.  Vredenburgh was a former police officer and his son, Loretto was an assistant principal in the public schools.  The Vredenburgh family would remain at least through 1905.

In 1916 236 West 138th Street was returned to a single-family home.  Bachelor attorney and politician Thomas T. Reilley and his unmarried sister, Ellinor F. Reilley moved in following the end of Thomas's term as State Assemblyman.  Prior to his election he had been head football coach at New York University.

Thomas Reilley during his New York University coaching days.  from the collection of the Library of Congress.

He had little time to enjoy his new home, however.  When the United States entered World War I in April 1917, he left to fight as a member of the 42nd Infantry Division of the U. S. Army National Guard, known as the "Rainbow Division."

On March 22, 1919, the New York Herald reported that Reilley had been "slightly wounded in action."  The article noted that a year earlier he had been promoted to the rank of major.  His injuries earned him the Distinguished Service Cross.

Reilley returned to West 138th Street following the war, and on April 26, 1920 was appointed to the New York Supreme Court.  It may have been that appointment or simply the changing demographics of the Harlem neighborhood that prompted Reilley to leave 236 West 138th Street that year.  The home once again became a boarding house--now populated by Black families.

Among the early residents were pianist and composer James Hubert Blake (known as Eubie), and his wife, the former Avis Elizabeth Cecelia Lee.  The couple moved into rooms on the second floor.  Eubie Blake was born to former slaves in Maryland in 1887.  According to him, he had composed the "Charleston Rag" in 1899 when he was 12 years old, but was unable to write it down until 1915 when he learned musical notation.

James "Eubie" Blake, from the collection of the Library of Congress.

On May 22, 1921, the musical Shuffle Along opened at the 63rd Street Music Hall.  The New York Times wrote that it had "the distinction of being written, composed and played entirely by negroes," adding that it had "a swinging and infectious score by one Eubie Blake."  The article noted that Blake had collaborated with Noble Sissle on the libretto.  It was a convenient arrangement, since Sissle lived nearby at 264 West 138th Street at the time.  Among the tunes to come from Shuffle Along was the highly popular, "I'm Just Wild About Harry."  The ground-breaking musical would run for two years.

Two other early roomers--here by 1925--were Bill "Bojangles" Robinson and his wife, the former Fannie S. Clay.  Robinson had started his career as a dancer at the age of five, appearing in local saloons and on the sidewalks in front of theaters.  By the time he and Fannie moved into the house, he had a solo vaudeville act.  He would first earn national fame in the 1930's dancing with Shirley Temple in a series of films.

The unmarried sisters Catherine, Madeline and Anna Whales rented rooms here by 1925.  When their sister, Grace, visited that spring, they gave a party.  The New York Age reported on March 14 that the women  "entertained a number of her friends...Dancing and music were enjoyed and refreshments served."  There were seven unmarried women invited, and nine young men.  For the sake of decorum, the article noted that also present was "Mrs. Skenk, chaperone."

The lives of the boarders did not always go smoothly.  Allen Stewart, who was separated from his wife, lived here in 1926.  That December he picked up a copy of the New York News in which was a photograph of an abandoned child.  Authorities were hoping someone could identify him.  The little boy was his son, Earl.  Allen Stewart rushed to New Jersey to retrieve his son.

On December 18, the Pittsburgh Courier published a photograph of Stewart and his son, with the caption that read, "'Yes, sir! That's my Earlie!' cried Allen Stewart, 236 West 138th street, New York, after rushing into Mothers' Institute, Jersey City."   The article said "The mother was held on an abandonment charge."

The New York Age described Avis Blake as "one of Harlem's most gracious hostesses in whose house the sincerely pleasant atmosphere embraced all visitors," adding, "Because of her husband's connections in show business she was an integral part of his every success."  In 1936, Avis was diagnosed with tuberculosis.  She was taken to the Riverside Hospital, never to return to the West 138th Street house.  

Three years later, on March 25, 1939, The New York Age reported, "Broadway and Harlem met Saturday at the bier of Mrs. Avis Blake, who lived at 236 West 138th street and was the wife of Eubie Blake, impresario-pianist of Harlem and Broadway."  Among the notable mourners at Avis Blake's funeral were Noble Sissle, W. C. Handy, Walter Thompson, George Jones Jr., and Clarence Tisdale.

Not long after Avis's funeral, Eubie moved to Brooklyn, where he died on February 12, 1983.  The West 138th Street house continued to be operated as a rooming house for decades.  Then, a renovation completed in 2006 returned it to a private home, with one apartment in the basement level.

many thanks to reader Mark Satlof for prompting this post

photograph by the author

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The Grace E. Lynes House - 158 West 75th Street

 

In its January 16, 1886 issue, The Record & Guide commented on the work of architect James Brown Lord, saying his groups of town houses "seem to diversify the monotonous architecture of the city street."  Some of those rows had been designed for developer Charles T. Barney.  The men worked together several times and the following year embarked on two more projects.

One of those involved four 20-foot wide houses on the south side of West 75th Street, between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues.  Lord designed the playful Queen Anne row in an A-B-A-B configuration to create a visual feast of angles, shapes, and colors.

No. 158 was one of the "B" houses.  The basement and parlor levels were faced in undressed brownstone.  Its straight stone stoop led to the single-doored entrance below a whimsical triangular pediment.  A three-story angled bay provided added dimension and a prominent gable rose above the roof line.

The house became home to the unmarried Grace Elizabeth Lynes.  Born in 1859 to Benjamin and Elizabeth Gemmel Lynes, she brought little attention to herself or her home.  A member of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, she seems to have busied herself more with cultural and philanthropic works than with social events.  Her life was not without social interaction, of course.  She traveled, for instance, to Maine in 1904 with a group of five friends.  On September 9, the Maine Woods reported, "if you want to meet a jolly crowd you want to visit Camp Maloma.  They are here for their first visit.  They are having a nice time and know how to have it."  

Shortly after that Grace's widowed sister, Katharine Gemmel Bailey moved in.  Katherine's husband, Aaron Turner Bailey, had died in 1877 at just 27-years-old.  Their only child, Helense, had died two years earlier at the age of 3.

The sisters were members of the Daughters of the Revolution and worked in tandem in some of their charity works; each giving two chairs to the The Seamen's Church Institute of New York in 1914, for instance.  They seem to have entrusted their finances to the same agent, as well, as both were both stockholders in the Standard Oil Corporation.

In 1914 Grace offered the house for sale at $55,000--around $1.45 million in today's money.   She either changed her mind or simply could not find a buyer.  In either case, she converted her home to a rooming house.  She and Katharine continued to live here, while now sharing it with other families.

Her tenants all came from the arts.  Violinist Enrique Madriguera lived on the top floor and Teresa Carreño, daughter of the famed pianist of the same name, was in the basement.  On the parlor level was Rosa Culmell Nin and her three children, Angela Anaïs, Thorvald and Joaquín.  

Rosa Nin was a classically trained Cuban singer who was separated from her husband, Cuban pianist and composer Joaquín Nin.  Angela, who went by Anaïs, was 12-years-old at the time.  She had started writing detailed journals about a year before they moved into their new home and would go on to write novels, short stories and erotica.  It was her journals, however, for which she would be best known.

She documented No. 158 in great detail, saying that her family lived on the first floor, "in what was once a parlor and dining room."  She noted that the home's original owners 

...had lived sumptuously, with a kitchen in the basement, a pantry for the butler, maids' rooms on the top floor, a formal dining room overlooking a garden, a parlor full of mirrors, bedrooms with dressing rooms and luxurious bathrooms on the second floor.  Past bourgeois comfort was still visible in the elaborate lamps, rugs, and mirrors...My mother and my two brothers and I all slept in what was once the dining room.  We washed our faces in what was once the pantry, and used what was once the servants' shower next to the kitchen in the basement.

The Nins slept on Murphy beds which "became sedate bureaus by day," according to Anaïs's journal.  She recalled, "The house was full of gaiety, music, distinguished visitors.  José Mardones came to sing, Miguel Jovet played the guitar, my mother sang, my brother Joaquin studied his piano, Enrique practiced his violin."

Anais Nin (original source unknown)

In The Nin family left No. 158 around 1918.  That year voice coach Margharita Hamill moved in.  On October 24 the Musical Courier reported, "Margharita Hamill, soprano, is teaching at her studio at 158 West Seventy-fifth street, New York, and already has a long list of pupils."

In 1920 Grace Lynes sold the house to Teresa G. Healy.  It was the beginning of a rapid turnover of owners.  Healy sold it in 1922 to Ida S. Primoff who sold it in 1925 to an investor.

James Brown Lord used clustered chimneys to provide a romantic, historic feel.

Among the residents at the time were real estate developer George Dorfman, who owned a row of summer cottages in Rockaway Beach, and Earl Youst, who made his money in a less upstanding way.  On November 15, 1926 he was arrested as one of three men who attempted to burglarize the A. Hammer, Inc. fur shop on Broad Street.  After beating and tying up the watchman, Winfield Doran, the trio packed up $30,000 worth of furs, but Doran wrenched free and called for help, scaring them off before they were successful.

Two other residents found themselves on the wrong side of the law in 1935.  Charles Barton rented an office on West 34th Street and then placed "a misleading advertisement" in a newspaper, according to police.  He promised men jobs as clerks in a grocery store chain, then invited them to a congratulatory opening banquet, tickets to which cost $3.  When the men did not hear back about either the job or the dinner, they became suspicious.

On June 5 police went to Barton's office.  The 29-year old tried to escape, smashing Detective Thomas J. Coleman over the head with a blackjack and bolting down the stairs.  His escape was halted when Coleman shot him in the leg.  At the hospital he was charged with felonious assault and fraud.

At the same time 23-year-old entertainer William West rented rooms in the house.   He was part of an all-male nightclub show that summer, one which did not get the stamp of approval of Long Island authorities.

On August 23, 1935 The Suffolk County News reported that authorities, "determined to put a stop to entertainments of a questionable nature in road houses and resorts in the county, swooped down on the Wonder Bar Dance Hall at Lindenhurst early on Sunday morning and made eight arrests.  "Three officers were sent into the place and when the floor show had concluded their fellow officers were summoned," said the article.  Among those arrested was William West.  "The group was taken to Babylon Court in costume."

Marcus T. Monk did not help improve the reputation of the tenant list.  On May 21, 1937 he was arrested for issuing fake checks.   It was not hard to track him down, since the fraudulent checks were "in payment of room rent."

A renovation completed in 1991 resulted in two apartments per floor.  The Lynes house is the only one of James Brown Lord's row to retain its stoop.  Other than a gruesome replacement door and the loss of the stained glass transoms, it is remarkably intact.

photographs by the author

The Bloomingdale Branch Library - 206 West 100th Street

Many New Yorkers could not afford the luxury of buying books in the 19^th century; and prior to 1880 the few libraries that existed were not open to the public.  But that year the New York Free Circulating Library was incorporated--an alternative to the Astor and Lenox Libraries (used mostly by researching scholars) and private libraries that charged membership fees.


The response was so great that the sidewalks around the first library—a single room in a building on 13^th Street near Fourth Avenue—were blocked.  At closing time on one occasion, only two of the 500 books were left on the shelves.

At the time the Upper West Side was seeing the first real signs of development.  But by 1898 it had become a vibrant suburb--one without a library.  In 1917 the Bulletin of the New York Public Library recalled "Above 23d Street there was no free circulating library south of the Washington Heights Library, six miles and a half to the northward, except the small library on West 59th Street provided by the Riverside Association."

Several churches offered their parish libraries to the New York Free Circulating Library, "but the trustees felt it best to wait until they could establish an independent branch."  Undaunted, Rev. Dr. Peters of St. Michael's Church turned over its 1,000 volumes.  Soon hundreds more books were donated and before long a makeshift library in rented rooms at 100th Street and Amsterdam Avenue was opened.  The Upper West Side residents had made their point.  The 1917 Bulletin noted "During the first full year of its existence the Branch circulated 105,410 volumes, the total number on its shelves being 6,253, which meant that each volume was taken out an average of 17 times during the year or once every three weeks, over twice the ratio of circulation for the whole system.  Larger quarters were an absolute necessity."

In February 1898 the plot at No. 206 West 100th Street was purchased for $12,900--in the neighborhood of $380,000 today.  Designed by esteemed architect James Brown Lord, the Blomingdale Branch of the New York Free Circulating Library was completed that same year at a cost of $35,000.  It opened on November 1.

Literature magazine noted the balcony above the portico, saying it was where "one may retire with his book in summer."  photo from the Bulletin of the New York Public Library, 1917 (copyright expired)

Lord had produced a striking Renaissance Revival building faced in limestone and trimmed with terra cotta.  Its classic facade received a splash of Beaux Arts in the form of leafy wreaths that encircled the oculi at the third floor.  The projecting portico with its stone upper balustrade, the two-story Ionic columns on the upper floors, and the handsome parapet broken by another balustrade, produced a dignified presence.  The architect was apparently pleased with his own work; for when he designed Andrew Carnegie's Yorkville Library four years later he recycled several of the architectural elements.

Three months after its opening, Literature magazine explained that windows at nearly sidewalk level and the absence of a grand flight of steps was purposeful.  To young readers, it said, "a flight of steps leading up from the pavement to an invisible and unknown interior would not seem inviting, to say the least; but when they can look through a window and see other boys and girls reading or getting books from the librarian, that is a different matter.  For one thing, they do not care to be outdone by their equals!"

The chairman of the Library Committee described the new building as "perfectly adapted" as a circulating library.  And Literature said it "may serve as a model of its kind."   The first floor stacks held 8,000 volumes.  On the second floor was the Reading Room, where periodicals and reference books were housed.  Said by Literature to have "quiet charm," it had small tables for the use of researchers.

As was the case with libraries nationwide, readers could use the facilities of the Bloomingdale Branch Library for free or take their choice of books home--as long as they had a library card.  For one newly-transplanted New Yorker, that detail proved annoyingly difficult in 1906.

Using only his initials S. R. as identification as his signature, the disgruntled bookworm fired off a litter to the Editor of The New York Times on January 4.  He had gone to the library that afternoon and filled out an application form for a library card.

In the space labeled "Name of Reference," he wrote in the name of his brother, "a member of a long-established and prominent business firm."  But the librarian tore it up and handed him a new form, "remarking that library rules forbade acceptance of so near a relative as reference."

So the man asked if a more distant relative would do--one he described as "a woman whose name has appeared in the Directory twenty-five years, eighteen years from the same address, and who, as I well know, has often been given and accepted as reference an another library branch."  The librarian rejected this proposal, as well.  "With scorn."

As the man scratched his head and pondered over his predicament, a young woman entered and exchanged familiar pleasantries with the librarian.  She introduced a friend who wanted to get a library card.

The women began filling out the blanks.  Within earshot of the new Upper West Side resident the librarian stopped the applicant.  She said that if her friend would vouch for her, "you needn't bother filling it out."  She handed over a library card.

In the meantime S.R., who had not yet established close friends, was told to find "some one in business for himself and not a relative" as a reference.  Fuming, he wrote his letter which ended saying "I wish to inquire whether the above is the rule of the New York Public Library, and why the other woman was not compelled to comply with it."

The Great Depression took its toll on City budgets and the operating hours of the Bloomingdale Branch were cut back.  No doubt much to the joy of the neighborhood, the "limited schedules" were returned to normal in 1939.

Originally on a street of private residences, in 1940 the library was dwarfed by apartment buildings.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Throughout the decades exhibitions and activities were regularly staged here.  In September 1947 a South American exhibition in the Children's Room opened; and the following month the Halloween picture-book hour was held for children between three and six years old.

There were exhibitions for adults, as well.  In 1948 a display of Frank Bowling's photographs of Korea was staged; as was an exhibition of costumes and accessories of the 1890s.

On September 25, 1960 The New York Times announced that "The Blomingdale Branch, 206 West 100th Street, which has been in service for sixty-two years will close its doors on Friday in preparation for a move to a building nearing completion at 150 West 10th Street."

The building was purchased by the Ukrainian Academy of Arts and Sciences, a research organization established in 1950 by immigrants fleeing the Stalin regime.   Their memories of the Communist government were still fresh when, in 1986, the Landmarks Preservation Commission proposed the building for designation.

The Academy's attorney, Stephen J. Jarema reflected the group's suspicions when he said flatly "Our people who were fortunate to escape from a police state are fully aware that once the government imposes a police power, no matter how innocent, it will not disappear, but grow in quest of more power.  Forced obedience will replace freedom."

But eventually, in September 1989, they Ukrainian Academy of Arts and Sciences acquiesced and James Brown Lord's handsome structure was designated a landmark.

photographs by the author

Toppled Balance - Nos. 153-159 West 74th Street

When the stoop and doorway of No. 159 (left) was moved from left to right and additional windows punched into the facade in 1905, the architect's perfect symmetry was upset.

In 1886 construction began on four high end rowhouses on the north side of West 74th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues.    Developer Charles Barney had commissioned 27-year old architect James Brown Lord to design the structures.  Lord would become best known for his later, stately Beaux Arts buildings like the Appellate Courthouse on Madison Square.  But for Barney's project he turned to the popular Queen Anne style.

Sort of.

Completed in 1887 the 21-foot wide brick, stone and terra cotta residences were four stories tall above an undressed brownstone basement.  While his plans were stately and proud, Lord seems to have been unable to let his hair down.  The homes were missing expected Queen Anne elements like irregular roof lines, dog legged stoops, or fanciful balconies.  But one almost obligatory feature of the style was glaringly absent: asymmetry.

The Queen Anne style houses appearing throughout the Upper West Side were delightful in their picturesque lack of balance.  Windows of various shapes and sizes, gables and dormers, balconies and bays, were splashed along their facades with  seeming whimsy.  The four houses on West 74th Street, on the other hand, had the symmetry of a Rorschach test.

The stoop of No. 153 was to the right, that of No, 155 was to the left.  Between the houses at the parlor floor a magnificent terra cotta rondel carried out the balance.  The symmetry would have been upset by the protruding two-story bay of No. 153 had Lord not flipped the design, creating a mirror image of the pair in Nos. 157 and 159.

The result was perfect balance, almost unheard of in Queen Anne style architecture.  Lord stepped away from the style further when he framed the entrances of the middle homes with Renaissance Revival terra cotta pilasters.  The second floor was embellished with exquisite neo-Classical terra cotta panels framed in checkerboard brickwork.  Two bland, brown brick strips at the first and third floors suggest the loss of ornate terra cotta friezes.

No. 153 became home to bachelor Jacob W. Mack.  An officer in the garment firm Nathan Mfg. Co., he was made a School Commissioner in 1895, and he was president of the Harmonie Club.  Jews were not welcome in the exclusive men's clubs, prompting the organization of the Harmonie Club in 1852.  In May 1896 the New-York Tribune described it as "one of the oldest of its kind in the city [and] well known as one of the most select Hebrew clubs here."

Although Mack was most often in the newspapers regarding school matters; he occasionally appeared for social reasons.  He had a summer "cottage" at the then-fashionable Sea Gate community near Coney Island.  Other property owners there were the Morgan, Vanderbilt and Dodge families.  And entertainments in the 74th Street house, while apparently not frequent, were notable.  On January 29, 1893, for instance, The New York Times noted that "J. W. Mack, of 153 West Seventy-fourth Street will entertain eighteen guests at dinner on Saturday."

Mack was gone by 1902 when Bates Wyman and his wife, the former Lilly Langdon, lived in the house. Wyman was vice president of the Guaranty Trust Company and for several years a representative of the American Express Company in Paris,

While the wives of most wealthy businessmen involved themselves in charities, benefits and social functions; Lilly turned to the The Tribune Sunshine Society, known as the T.S.S.  It was the brainchild of a female Tribune reporter who suggested that by passing on the Christmas cards they received to shut-ins and invalids, women might spread cheer and "sunshine."  By now the society had spread internationally.

After she spent the summer abroad, the New-York Tribune was happy to welcome Lilly back in November 1902.  "Mrs. Bates Wyman, of West Seventy-fourth-st., has returned to the city, after many months of travel, and has again resumed her kindly help at the office on certain days to work on the enrollment books," reported the newspaper.

In the spring of 1903 Lilly established a new branch of the T.S.S., the Elizabeth Wyman Memorial Branch.  The Tribune noted "This branch is named in memory of a young woman whose life was spent doing kindly deeds for the children of the poor."

It would hardly seem that the Wymans needed extra income.  Nevertheless they rented a room.  Their first boarder, Theodore Albert Hungerford was one of the owners of The Hotel Gazette.  He died in the house in November 1903 at the age of 64.

Lilly's interest in helping invalids was reflected in her ad for the vacant room in March 1905.  "Private family will accommodate two gentlemen; semi-invalid elderly person; moderate."  The accompanying problem, sadly, was that her boarders died.  Her next roomer, John L. Farwell, died at the age of 72.  He had been well known in the banking and railroad circles of New Hampshire before financial reversals around the turn of the century.

No. 153 would see other well-heeled owners before the Depression years.  Herber C. Pell, whose main residences was in Tuxedo Park, purchased the house in 1906; and by 1920 Mrs. George Leonard Fisher was living here.  On September 14 that year The Sun noted that she "is touring by automobile in the Berkshires.  She now is in Stockbridge and will return this week."

As was the case with all moneyed widows, the newspapers followed her every move.  A year later, almost to the day, for instance, The New York Herald told its society page readers "Mrs. George Leonard Fisher of 153 West Seventy-fourth street is visiting Mrs. Willis K. Howell at Orchard Corner, Morristown, N.J."

But within the decade No. 153 had become a rooming house.  In August 1939 Ruth Shawilson leased the house, purchasing in the deal "the furnishings of the twenty-one rooms," according to The Times.

155 and 157 were framed in ornate Renaissance Revival terra cotta.

In the meantime Charles Barney had retained possession of No. 155, putting the title in the name of Lilly W. Barney.  It was leased for years to William R. Warren, president of the Warren-Burnham Company and the Virginia Portland Cement Company.

Warren's expertise in cement made him a frequent lecturer at Harvard on the subject.  By World War I he was widowed and both his sons were serving in the military.   On April 3, 1918 he was found dead in his office at No. 115 Broadway.

A somewhat surprising detail is the dead rats included in the pilaster decoration

Lilly Barney next leased the house to Carl J. Ulmann.  A partner in silk and cotton firm Ulmann, Bernhard, & Co., he was a collector of medieval illustrated manuscripts.  When the Metropolitan Museum of Art staged an exhibition of "Arts of the Book," among the items temporarily donated by Ulmann was a page from Herodotus, printed by J. and G. de Gregorius in Venice in 1494.

When the Barneys sold No. 155 in 1921, Ulmann purchased it.  He died in 1929 at the age of 66, and his estate retained possession until 1935.  It too, became a rooming house.

Next door, No. 157 had originally been the home of William Onderdonk.  It was the scene of a most distressing incident in 1894.  On New Year's Eve, 1893 a wealthy Brooklyn friend, Edward Hincken came to visit.  Hincken had been three times the president of the Produce Exchange and was a trustee of the Bowery Savings Bank.

What should have been a pleasant New Year's visit turned tragic when the 81-year old Hincken suffered a stroke.  Paralyzed, he was placed in a bedroom, where he died five days later.

Attorney Thomas Drew Robinson and his wife, the former Mary L. Brookes, purchased the house in 1896.   Robinson traced his family to "John Robinson, of Leyden, the pastor of the Pilgrim Fathers," according to The American Lawyer.  A graduate of Brown University in 1849, Robinson received national attention when he represented the Native American Gay Head tribe, winning for them land on Martha's Vineyard which they had occupied for thousands of years.

Robinson's leisure time was far removed from legal work.   He was one of the first New Yorkers to become interested in orchids.  He collected and cultivated the tropical plants, the New-York Tribune noting "all his life much of his leisure time was spent among his flowers."

The attorney died in the house from pneumonia on February 26, 1902.  Mary remained here until her death at the age of 79 on February 9, 1916.

Like its neighbors, the residence would be operated as a rooming house in the Depression years.  Helen Schatz lived here in 1936 when she was listed on the Government's watch list of Communist voters.

The last of the row, No. 159, was the home of Dr. Walter Mendelson by 1895.  Of Jewish and Quaker parents, he was a member of the Society of Friends.    The physician was ahead of his time in recognizing the dangers of obesity as early as 1890.  He devised low-fat diets and wrote papers on the subject; although his insistence that drinking water promoted heart disease would be challenged today.  When he lectured at the New-York Academy of Medicine on January 21, 1890 on "Physiological Treatment of Obesity," The New York Times said "the result was that most of the stout physicians of the town assembled to hear Dr. Walter Mendelson tell about it."

Entertainments in the Mendelson household did not necessarily involve light-hearted chatter.  When he hosted the West End Medical Society on February 17, 1904, the subject was "A Clinical Study of Myoidema, with Especial Reference to its Occurrence in Pulmonary Tuberculosis."

In 1905 Dr. Mendelson upset John Brown Lord's perfect architectural balance when he hired architect John P. Benson to renovate the house.  The $8,000 remodeling project included relocating interior walls, enlarging some windows, and moving the entrance from the left to the right.  The new doorway and stoop required slicing the beautiful terra cotta disc on the facade in half.  Benson did his best to disguise the alteration--relocating the old stoop rather than updating it, and using bullnose brick to soften and round the corners of the new doorway.

The Mendelsons had four daughters.  Wharton Mendelson was married in 1912, and her sister Elizabeth Wharton Mendelson in 1919,  Elizabeth's wedding was held in the 74th Street house on October 11.  In 1920 Mendelson retired and moved to Germantown, Pennsylvania.

The house, like the others along the row, became rented rooms.  Around September 1924 it received its most celebrated tenants, Carl Ruggles and his wife, Dorothy.  The composer wrote modernist music, described by Charles Seeger as using "dissonant counterpoint."

Despite the upset balance--heightened when the stoop of No. 153 was removed and the doorway made into a window--and the loss of decorative detail; James Brown Lord's handsome row radiates its stately presence on West 74th Street.

photographs by the author

The Lost 1897 Delmonico's -- Fifth Avenue at 44th Street

photo circa 1898 by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC07UT&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

In 1896 two of Manhattan’s most fashionable eating and catering establishments, Delmonico’s and Sherry’s, were feeling the pinch of competition.  The elegant Waldorf Hotel, opened three years earlier conveniently close to the mansion district on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 33^rd Street, was the newly favored spot for cotillions and dinners.  To make matters worse, the Astoria Hotel (at the time temporarily called the Schermerhorn) was under construction and the combined Waldorf-Astoria would be a formidable threat.

In response both restaurants made plans to move upward along Fifth Avenue—a full ten blocks above the Waldorf.  The rival caterers acquired large plots diagonally across from one another on Fifth Avenue and 44^th Street.  On May 3, 1896 The New York Times recognized the intended moves as part of a trend.

“As significant moves as have been made in recent years are those on the part of the restaurant men, Delmonico and Sherry, who have secured corners on Fifth Avenue at Forty-fourth Street for their future places of business.  They are trying to follow the northward movement of what may be termed the night life of the city—the life of after the opera and the theatres.  Both, too, apparently feel the need of providing for their patrons more elegant and sumptuous surroundings, so as to meet the competition of the Waldorf and the new Schermerhorn Hotel now constructing.  Another purpose is probably to be nearer the homes of those to whom they cater.  The two establishments right at the edge of the new club centre will help to change the character of the neighborhood most thoroughly.”

Over a year later, on March 17, 1897, architect James Brown Lord filed plans for the new Delmonico’s.  Lord had recently completed the monumental Beaux Arts-style Appellate Court building and he was riding a wave of favorable press.  The plans called for an eight-story structure of brick, Indiana limestone and terra cotta that stretched 140 feet back along 44^th Street.

“The entire front on Fifth Avenue will, on the ground floor, be devoted to the dining room,” advised The New York Times.  “Above will be the ballroom.  In the rear of the dining room will be the palm garden, encased by glass partition walls, and back of this, separated only by glass, is the café proper, with a separate entrance on Forty-fourth Street.  The main entrance is also on the side street, where there is a private entrance to let into an elevator to the ball and assembly rooms, which may be cut off from the rest of the house.”

Six floors of the building were devoted to the restaurant.  The top two floors were income-producing bachelor apartments.  Above it all was a roof garden (so popular in days before air conditioning) that would be enclosed by a vault of glass 30 feet high in the winter.

The roof garden was covered during the cold months -- photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

The land on which the new building would rise was leased to Delmonico by the Havemeyer family.  As the building neared completion in 1897, family patriarch Theodore Havemeyer died; throwing into question whether the family would be present at the restaurant’s opening.  The New York Times mentioned on October 31, 1897 “Mr. and Mrs. Havemeyer are in mourning, but their appearance at the public christening of the really beautiful building which that clever young architect, Mr. James Brown Lord, has given New York in the new Delmonico’s, and in which the late head of the Havemeyer house, Mr. Theodore Havemeyer, was so peculiarly interested, would certainly be pardonable and would seem most fitting.”

The New-York Tribune published a sketch of the new building (copyright expired)

The Astoria Hotel and the new Delmonico’s were neck-and-neck as the finishing touches were completed and openings planned.  But, although the Astoria beat Delmonico’s by about ten days; the elaborate interiors previewed by reporters promised stiff competition.  The New York Times said “It is too early for any predictions to be made as to the probably effect upon New York society life of the opening of the new Astoria.  Delmonico’s new building, which is now understood will be quietly opened at Fifth Avenue and Forty-fourth Street on or about Nov. 10, without any flourish of trumpets, may compete in the matter of drawing fashionable patronage with the Waldorf-Astoria more than is at present expected, and with music and the permitting of smoking in the palm garden at the dinner hour the new establishment may prove so attractive as to win back the favor which Delmonico’s once held in New York society.”

The kitchen staff (above) and the wait staff posted in 1902 -- photograph by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

The “informal opening” was held on November 15.  Nearly 1,000 guests strolled through the various period rooms.  On the ground floor the ladies’ restaurant was paneled in oak and “upholstered in green” and was deemed by a newspaper as “a dainty room.”  Also on this floor were the palm garden and the Elizabethan-style café.

The cafe was done in the "Elizabethan" style -- photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

On the second floor were the private dining rooms “artistically decorated in quiet effects,” according to The New York Times.   The Louis XVI ballroom engulfed the eastern half of the third floor and was “lighted by electroliers, screened by a mass of small glass beads.”  The woodwork in the 71 by 60 foot room--designed to accommodate 600 persons--was stained green and the walls were covered with rose-colored silk.  On the Fifth Avenue side of this level was the “supper room.”

The kitchens, larders, refrigerating rooms, butcher shop and other culinary departments were housed in the two floors below street level.

Below street level workers in the confectionery department (above) fashion compotes from spun sugar.  An army of chefs prepare gourmet foods.  photograph by Byron Company from the Collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

The New-York Tribune said “The new building, which stands at Fifth-ave. and Forty-fourth-st., beautiful and impressive in its architectural outlines and furnished within on a lavish and costly scale, is a monument to the wise and successful business management which has directed the affairs of this famous eating institution.”

On reporting on the opening of the new building, which it deemed “a good example of the Italian Renaissance,” The New York Times opined “The opening of the new house marks another epoch in the social history of New York.”  The newspaper was correct.

The ornate banquet room featured two lofts for musicians -- photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

A week later the first ball was given in the sumptuous new ballroom.  A subscription dance, the first of four, it was under the patronage of six prominent socialites who dared not to engage the ballroom of Caroline Astor’s new hotel.  If there was a question of Delmonico’s holding its own against the mammoth Waldorf-Astoria, the November 25^th ball set the matter to rest.

A full orchestra played following the 11:30 supper and a reporter commented that “The dance was most successful, and instead of the 150 guests expected, 190 were present.”

Across the street to the south were the butcher shop and tavern, the presence of which on 5th Avenue mightily annoyed several New York socialites -- photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=1#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=1

On December 9 Mayor Strong held a dinner here to discuss “the funeral of Old New York.”  With the merging of Brooklyn, Manhattan and the Bronx scheduled to go into effect on January 1, 1898; he sent invitations to about 100 prominent citizens, neatly engraved on official stationery, to lay plans for a memorial service to be held in the Metropolitan Opera House.

Reflecting the morose attitude of Manhattan residents concerning the consolidation, he planned a “solemn service.”  “In the language of the Mayor,” said The New York Times, “it will be ‘the funeral’ of the old city, whose life is then to be terminated, not as a result of the ravages of old age, but by legislative enactment.”

Stenciled, beamed ceilings adorn one of the private dining rooms -- photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=1#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894&PN=1

A year later, on Christmas Eve 1898, the New-York Tribune considered Delmonico’s move uptown.  “Time has demonstrated, however, that the step was a wise one.  Society folk took kindly to the change of site, and with the new building offering exceptional and unusual attractions for dinners, both big and little, it became almost immediately a fad.”

Earlier that year wealthy debutante Josephine W. Drexel had proven that when she raised social eyebrows by throwing herself a lavish ball here.  Five hundred invitations were sent for the affair which was held on February 8, 1898; despite Josephine’s formal coming-out in December hosted by her mother.

“The ball was rather unique among the social events of this city,” said The New York Times, "as it was given by a debutante of the season, and not, as usual, by her mother or other relative, in her honor.  Miss Drexel, who conducted the management of the affair herself, was formally introduced to society at a large reception given for her at her mother’s home some weeks ago.”

Josephine booked the 20-piece Lander’s Orchestra and invited the cream of New York and Philadelphia society—“chosen almost entirely from the younger set.”  The cotillion began directly after the 12:30 a.m. nine-course dinner.  The guest list read like the Social Register, including “Mr. and Mrs. James Abercrombie Burden, Sr., Mrs. William Astor, Mr. and Mrs. John Jacob Astor, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall Orme Wilson, Mr. and Mrs. De Lancey Nicoll, Mr. and Mrs. Philip Livingston; who danced among Dahlgrens, Beekmans, Mortons, Kernochans and Schieffelins.

Meanwhile, the Church Temperance Society parked its coffee van outside in the freezing February night air to offer comfort to the rows of coachmen sitting in the vehicles of their wealthy employers.

The bachelor apartments on the upper floors were reserved for only the most fashionable young unmarried men.  Among its first residents was the 34-year old widower Thomas Henry French.  A dramatic agent and publisher of plays, he took a suite of rooms.  Although the often-elitist Manhattan society normally looked askance at theater types; French was a member of the New York Yacht Club, the Manhattan Club, the New York Club and the Lambs.  He had managed Madison Square Garden upon its opening and later built the Grand Opera House and the Broadway and American Theatres.  The representative of the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, London; he also managed the Lillian Russell Opera Company.

In November 1902, after living here two decades, French became ill.  At 7:35 p.m. on December 1 he died in his bedroom crowded with his business manager of 30 years, his secretary, Dr. J. H. Emerson, personal friends, and the entire staff of his publishing office.

Wealthy diners were frightened just before midnight on August 2, 1903 when the cry of “Fire!” was heard in the corridor.  A small electrical blaze had burned for about 20 minutes in the basement engine room before being noticed and by now the faint smell of burning wood was reaching the dining rooms.

“There were 150 men and women in the large dining room on the first floor, and in the café were a number of men,” reported The New York Times.  The guests rushed to the doors; “Many of them did not go through the formality of getting their hats, coats or wraps.”

Although the fire was small, at the height of the confusion it crippled the electrical system, plunging the building into darkness.  The tony patrons filed across the avenue to Sherry’s for shelter while the fire department responded.

When the fire was extinguished, some of the customers returned for their belongings and more than 30 waiters scurried about to light candles which they carried in the silver candlesticks of the dining room.

Apparently unperturbed by the excitement, some of the patrons went back to their plates.  “By the light of these [candles], the guests who had returned, sat down and finished their dinners,” said the newspaper.

In 1908 the restaurant was incorporated for the first time since its establishment in 1827 by brothers John and Peter Delmonico.  Now sisters Josephine and Jeanne Delmonico ran the business.  Three years later, as the lease on the Havemeyer land neared expiration, rumors spread that Delmonico’s would move once again.

On August 5, 1911 The New York Times noted “Delmonico’s has always moved with society as is evinced by the fact that the great-grandmothers of the present social leaders dined at the restaurant in Beaver Street.”  However the newspaper put to rest any thoughts that the grand Fifth Avenue building would be abandoned.  “But the uptown march of the famous restaurant has been retarded now for at least sixteen years,” it said, and reported that a new lease had been signed.

Earlier that summer, as Manhattan’s millionaires abandoned the city for Newport, Bar Harbor and Long Island, management began redecorating the interiors.  Patrons returning for the Winter Season of 1911 would find refurbished dining rooms and new culinary offerings.  Managing Director Taupier had spent the summer in Europe “looking up novelties for the coming season of banqueting.”

Tragedy visited Delmonico’s during the parade for the 165^th Infantry returning from action in Europe on Monday, April 28, 1919.  Bartender Robert Provenzano went to a fifth story window to watch the parade high above the throng that crowded Fifth Avenue.  Several bystanders in the crowd looked up to see Provenzano leaning far out of the window, then losing his grip and falling.  Shouts of warning went out to those directly below.

Among the parade-watchers was 65-year old Grace Laflin Whitehead of Chicago who was accompanied by her daughter and a friend.  “Mrs. Whitehead either was too intent upon the marching columns to heed the cries or did not suspect their portent.  Provenzano’s body came down squarely upon her.  An ambulance surgeon declared she had been killed outright,” reported the New-York Tribune the following day.

The bartender suffered internal injuries, a fractured skull and broken legs; which proved fatal as well.

It was not the uptown movement of society nor the aging structure that tolled the death knell for Delmonico’s—it was Prohibition.  As with so many other hotels and restaurants, the loss of income once provided by the sale of wine and liquor was debilitating.  More than once the classy restaurant was raided by Dry Agents in the first years of the 1920s.  Finally, on May 20, 1923, nearly a century after its founding, Delmonico’s announced that it would close.  The New York Times ran a sub-headline that read “Famous Fifth Av. Restaurant Succumbs to Prohibition.”

“At Delmonico’s last night,” the newspaper reported, “it was said that the lease, which was to run until July, 1927, had been canceled by agreement.  The Harriman National Bank, it was said, now located on the opposite corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-fourth Street, plans to erect a bank and office building on the site of the famous restaurant.”

The New York Times was acerbic in its assigning blame.  Two weeks later it wrote “Prohibition, however, was the finish of the venerable establishment.  The typical Delmonico frequenter regarded dinner as a rite and the drinking of choice wines and liqueurs  as a semi-public ceremony.  The old guard at Delmonico’s was composed of wine connoisseurs.  To those who went there it meant something to have a dusty, cobwebbed bottle of Pontet Canet or Chateau Yquem brought on in a little straw basket with its neck tilted at just the right angle and the contents exactly at the temperature of the cellar.  The Delmonico patron beamed when he saw a champagne cooler visibly alongside.  Delmonico belonged to the days when sauterne or chablis stood guard over the oysters; when ruddy wine came with the redhead duck; and champagne was due with the dessert, and port and cordials or fifty-year-old brandies were borne in with the coffee pot.”

On May 21, 1923 Delmonico’s served dinner guests for the last time.  At 9:00 that evening the orchestra struck up “Auld Lang Syne” and the doorman was told to close the doors and admit no one else.  One exception was made.

John Lynn had been a patron of the restaurant for decades, since it was located at Fifth Avenue and 26^th Street.  The 73-year old was determined to be there for the last night and so he laid down in the afternoon for a long nap in his apartment in the Hotel Ritz-Carlton.  He overslept.

When the elderly gentleman knocked on the doors of Delmonico’s he was let in.  Newspapers reported that “there were a few moist eyes among the diners,” many of whom were prominent in New York society.  Talk centered around the long history of the restaurant, which over the decades in several locations had served Louis Napoleon, later Emperor of France; Abraham Lincoln, Charles Dickens, Whitier, Longfellow, William Cullen Bryant and Ralph Waldo Emerson.  Political and military figures included Ulysses S. Grant, General Winfield Scott, William Seward and Andrew Johnson. 

When the lights were turned out that night, it would seem to have been the last entertainment held in Delmonico’s.  But there was one more in the future.

When the above photograph was taken in 1924, the end of the line for Delmonico's was near-- photograph by Wurts Brothers, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWC0C0C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

In the summer of 1925, as the building was reduced to a pile of bricks and dust, a workman found a rare bottle of wine in a subterranean vault that had been a cellar.  The “honest workman,” as described by The New York Times, turned over the dusty relic.

On August 19 a nostalgic group of stalwart men dressed in dinner clothes gathered in the ruins to consume one last meal at Delmonico’s—including the vintage wine recovered from the cellar.  “While bricks and lumber crashed within a few feet of them, fifty men sat down to luncheon yesterday in the ruins of Delmonico’s, at Fifth Avenue and Forty-fourth Street, the last meal under the arrangement of a family which has catered to New York palates for 100 years,” reported The New York Times.

Among the diners was E. H. Nies, who had started out as a boy in one of the downtown Delmonico restaurants and had risen to assistant manager by the time of its closing.  For the occasion he had written a poem, the first verse of which read:

No more the grape with fire divine

Shall light the torch of pleasure gay,

And where the gourmand paused to dine

Hot dog and fudge shops have their day

Despite the demolition going on around the table, the luncheon was served with all the propriety and embellishments of the restaurant’s glory days.  “The tables were ornamented with candy made in the shape of flowers, the fruit was served in dishes made of ice with ferns frozen in them, there were plates of dainty sweetmeats, and the soup and chicken and ice cream and coffee were worthy of the name of Delmonico,” said The New York Times.

When the last sip of champagne was gone the 50 gentlemen left the ruins of Delmonico’s.  The “social epoch in the history of New York” that began with the opening of the restaurant’s doors 28 years earlier was over.

photo by Alice Lum