The 1916 Remsen Building - 148 Madison Avenue

 

photograph by acronson

Born on February 7, 1856, Dr. Charles Remsen was the grandson of Benjamin Remsen, who served as secretary to Thomas Jefferson.  In 1915, he commissioned Wallis & Goodwillie to design a 16-story commercial building at the southwest corner of Madison Avenue and 32nd Street.  The firm's plans projected the cost at $200,000--about $6.6 million in 2026 terms.

The Remsen Building's tripartite design included a four-story, terra cotta-clad base.  Above each entrance (and enlivening what would otherwise be a monotonous quilt of plain and foliate tiles) were complex triptych Gothic arches in front of leaded glass.  Crowning the center of each was a commanding Gothic hood.

photograph by acronson

The upper building was faced in gray brick, its spartan nine-story midsection nearly unadorned.  The 13th floor anticipated the much more decorated top section.  A terra cotta cornice below the center windows--three bays wide on Madison Avenue and six bays wide on the side elevation--and a Gothic curtain of trefoil rondels ran above them.  Triple height terra cotta pilasters supported a projecting band course below the cornice, decorated with Gothic quatrefoils.

photograph by frog17

As construction neared completion, on December 31, 1916 The New York Times mentioned "the Remsen Building has ten of its sixteen floors leased."  Saying that its "Gothic treatment arrests attention in this mercantile centre," the article added, "No manufacturing is allowed."  Charles Remsen intended that the new building would house only "showrooms."  

The Evening Post, November 11, 1916 (copyright expired)

Among the to first to move in was I. A. Harris & Brother.  On December 10, 1916, the New-York Tribune reported that the firm "are to be the tenants of Dr. Charles Remsen's building."  The firm manufactured dresses.  The ground floor store was leased to the Egypt Silk Mills Corporation.  Other initial tenants were Perling & Maer, makers of coats and suits, which occupied the seventh floor; Isidore Levy & Co., "sport suit" manufacturers; and Halprin-Silverman Co., makers of dresses.

The New York Times, April 1, 1919 (copyright expired)

One tenant that was decidedly not in the apparel field was James C. Crane, distributor and representative of cosmetics.  It was, for instance, the sole agent of Creme Elcaya, which it advertised as "a non-greasy disappearing toilet cream that would protect and beautify the skin under face powder."  When America joined World War I, James C. Crane's personal office did double-duty as the headquarters of the Liberty Loan Committee.

Wholesale dry goods and apparel firms continued to lease space in the post-World War I years.  C. H. D. Robbins Company, makers of women's "high class dresses," was here in 1920; Floerscheimer Company occupied space by February 1921 when a city-wide strike by the Dress and Waist Manufacturers' Association resulted in loud picketers along the Madison Avenue sidewalk.  The Morgan Knitting Mills, Inc. signed a lease early in 1923; the following year the newly formed Leibler-Goldsmith Company moved in (The New York Times said it "will make tailored dresses for misses and young women and also more mature garments); and by 1926 the Mohawk Knitting Mills, Inc. occupied space here.

Hubert, Moulton & Company, Inc. had its showroom here as early as 1929.  The firm produced fabrics for drapery manufacturers.  It advertised its new offerings in the January 1930 of The Upholsterer and Interior Decorator using terms only its customers could decipher.  It boasted its new "echatones," for instance.  "A superb line of 36 inch Cretonne, processed by etching, entirely different from ordinary printing.  In the newest colors."

The New York offices and showrooms of the Susquehanna Silk Mills, Inc. were here by 1924.  Like a scene plucked from a Western movie, on the morning of May 1 that year, armed robbers held up the firm's truck and got away with $35,000 of silk goods.  (The heist would translate to about $659,000 today.)  

Two New York City Police detectives went undercover, posing as silk salesmen.  They successfully caught the three men--all respected businessmen--who were behind the holdup.  Two were silk merchants and the other an attorne

A different type of tenant took over the entire ground floor in 1933 when A. Beshar & C0., Inc. moved in.  Formed in 1898, the firm imported Oriental rugs and carpets.  Other major lessees in the building in the 1930s were J. H. Erstein & Brother, "ribbons and general merchandise," which occupied the third and fourth floors; upholstery fabrics dealers Rousmaniere Williams Corporation; and Barbizon Corporation, makers of the Barbizon brand of women's undergarments.

Nearly all the tenants of the Remsen Building continued to  be textile and fashion firms.  In the 1960s, for instance, Vogue Lingerie operated here.

image via loopnet.com

The entrance doors and ground floor windows have been changed.  Happily, despite not having landmark protection, none of the terra cotta details have been vandalized by modernization.  Their intricate designs create a striking presence on the Madison Avenue corner.

The Lost William E. Finn House - 1994 Madison Avenue

 

from the collection of the New York Public Library

In 1885, the Harlem neighborhood above 125th Street, once dotted with sprawling farms and country estates, was seeing rampant construction as homes, stores, and churches transformed the landscape.  On December 18 that year, architect A. I. Finkle filed plans for six upscale residences on Madison Avenue starting at the northwest corner of West 127th Street for developer George Kuhn.

Overall Romanesque Revival in style, Finkle sprinkled the row with other historical elements--a stepped Flemish gable in once instance, for example.  As was common, the corner house at 1994 Madison Avenue would be the showpiece.  At 35-feet wide, it comfortably fell into the category of a "mansion."  Finkle distinguished it with a chateauesque corner turret that rose to a witch's hat cap.

A moat protected by handsome iron railings provided natural light to the basement.  The parlor level, above a sideways stoop, was clad in undressed granite, while the second and third floors were faced in yellow Roman brick and trimmed in brownstone.  The mansard level exploded into a riot of shapes and angles; one of the two chimneys erupting from the center of a peaked gable.  

The row was completed in 1886 and the houses were leased for a decade.  Then, in 1896, real estate operator and builder William E. Finn and his wife, the former Flora Frank, purchased 1994 Madison Avenue.  The couple, who were 27 and 23 years old at the time, moved in in May and their first child, Myra, was born a month later, on June 26, 1896.  A son, Frank Mortimer, would arrive in 1898.

Despite his relative youth, Finn was successful, well-to-do, and an aggressive businessman.  As early as 1900, he added "investments" to his resume.

At the same time, Finn was turning his attention to the increasing commercialization of Lower Fifth Avenue, buying up former mansions as the site of commercial buildings.  In November 1900, for instance, he purchased the residence at 10 West 18th Street, just off the avenue, from millionaire August Belmont.  And on January 28, 1903, the New York Herald reported, "William E. Finn took title yesterday to the old Waterbury residence at the northeast corner of Fifth avenue and Eleventh street."  The article said he would replace it with a ten-story apartment building.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

Finn's operations were, perhaps, too aggressive.  On July 17, 1908, the New-York Tribune reported that he had filed for bankruptcy.  The article said that among his assets was "No. 1,994 Madison avenue, valued at $920,000."  (If that valuation was accurate, it would translate to an astounding $32.4 million in 2026.)

Finn dug himself out of the financial hole and before long his business was restored.  Nevertheless, in the meantime, the family left 1994 Madison Avenue.  With their financial and social status restored, they would be living at 450 West End Avenue by August 17, 1917 when the New York Herald reported that Myra Finn was engaged to Oscar Hammerstein.  The article was quick to add, "The Oscar in question, however, is not the Oscar of opera fame, but a grandson."

Myra Finn Hammerstein and Oscar Hammerstein, from the collection of the Library of Congress

In the meantime, the Finn mansion was sold to David M. MacLetchen.  It was now operated as a boarding house and in 1911, Dr. Abraham Caspe converted the basement level to his uptown office.  An announcement in the New York Evening Call on August 9 gave his office hours as: "Daily up to 10 a.m. and from 5 to 7 p.m.  Sunday up to 10 a.m. only."  The announcement noted, "His downtown office will remain at 210 East Broadway."

Dr. Abraham Caspe was described by the New York Herald as "a prominent East Side physician."  He began his medical practice in 1898.  In stark contrast to traditional Edwardian mores, he was shockingly open-minded in respect to casual sexual encounters.  Not sharing his attitudes was his wife, Mary.

On October 28, 1914, the New York Herald reported that Mary had filed for a separation and alimony.  Her complaint said that "her husband believes in soul mates and has them."  The article said succinctly that Caspe "advocates lax marital views."

Max Johnson boarded in the house at the time.  Affluent enough to own an automobile, he seems to have had what today might be deemed a "lead foot."  In October 1914, he was fined $25 for speeding.  The next month he was ticketed and fined $100, and in February 1915, he was caught again and fined $25.  On May 21, he faced Magistrate John A. Leach "for speeding his automobile on Hillside Avenue, Jamaica," as reported by The New York Times.  The Brooklyn Eagle noted that he was clocked at "the excessive rate of thirty-five miles an hour."  After looking over Johnson's record, the magistrate announced, "Ten days in City Prison."

from the collection of the New York Public Library

A cavalier Johnson pulled out "a large roll of bills" and asked, "How much does that mean in money?"

"It means ten days in prison, no fine," replied the magistrate.  The New York Times reported, "Johnson, stunned by the sentence, went to a cell and his car was sent to a garage."

Ten days in jail did not teach Johnson his lesson, however.  On May 7, 1916, the New York Herald reported that he struck sisters Angelina and Mary Barbace at 21st Street and Fourth Avenue.  The girls were 18 and 17 years old respectively.  The New York Sun added, 

Both girls are in Bellevue Hospital and yesterday it was not known whether they would recover.  Mary, the younger sister, is suffering from internal injuries from being whirled thirty feet along the pavement when her dress caught in the wheel, and Angelina is still unconscious from a fractured skull, caused by being thrown headlong into the curb.

The New York Herald reported that Johnson was held without bail "on a charge of felonious assault."

Albert and Mary Anderson were married in October 1916 and moved into rooms here.  The 24-year-old Anderson worked as a carpenter.  Six months later, he was part of a crew demolishing an old building in Brooklyn.  On March 2, 1917, The Brooklyn Daily Times reported that he "fell twenty feet from a building at the foot of Commercial street, Greenpoint."  Anderson, who had fallen through a skylight, died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

By the Depression years, 1994 Madison Avenue was, as described by The New York Age, "a remodeled private house which has been turned into a rooming house."  In the summer of 1938, Jemos Natson and his wife, Emily "took a small apartment here," said the newspaper.  The couple were 32 and 25 years old, respectively.  

Natson came home on the evening of August 8 that year to discover Emily "entertaining some other young man," as reported by The New York Age.  The man fled and Jemos's rage turned to Emily.  He pulled out a penknife and stabbed her "in the neck, arms and about the hands," said the article, which added, "She lost a considerable amount of blood before an ambulance arrived."  Five days later, police were still looking for Jemos and Emily's condition was still listed as serious.

The Finn mansion survived until 1982.  If the owners intended to replace it, they did not.  A fenced vacant lot still occupies the site today.

image by durififliapaname

The Lost Madison Avenue Baptist Church - 131 Madison Avenue

 

 photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

 

Organized in 1838, in 1849 the Rose Hill Church changed its name to the Lexington Avenue Baptist Church.  Three years later, in 1852, the congregation moved into a newly built brick structure at 154 Lexington Avenue, at the corner of 30th Street.  Its residency would be short-lived.  In 1859, the Lexington Avenue Baptist Church began construction of a new building at the southeast corner of Madison Avenue and 31st Street.

Architect Henry C. Dudley's Gothic Revival design exhibited influences of the Sicilian Romanesque and Tuscan styles.  The centered entrance sat within a projecting portico below a large rose window.  Two asymmetrical bell towers rose high above the Murray Hill mansions in the neighborhood.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

According to the 1866 Practice Reports, the building "cost, including the lot and an organ...the sum of about one hundred and twenty-two thousand dollars."  The figure would translate to about $4.48 million in 2025.  By May 1860, the congregation moved into the uncompleted structure and changed its name to the Madison Avenue Baptist Church.  On May 19, The New York Times reported, "The Vestry of the Madison-avenue Baptist church (corner of Thirty-first street) will be opened to-morrow at 10 1/2 A.M.; preaching by Rev. Dr. Hague."

The building was dedicated on January 6, 1861.  The organ that was included in Practice Reports figures was built by Henry Urban, one of the most respected organ builders in the country.  On February 13, 1861, The New-York Tribune reported, "A concert will be given this evening in the Madison Avenue Baptist Church, at which the capabilities of the very fine organ of the church will be shown for the first time."

On April 12, 1861, four months after the church was dedicated, the first shot in the Civil War was fired.  The congregation quickly showed its patriotism.  The "ladies of the church" met on April 28 to discuss how they could help the cause.  The New York Times reported, "as a great many persons were making lint [the linen or cotton material used for dressing wounds] and bandages...they [will] confine their efforts to making up flannel garments and wrappers."  And the following week, on May 5, the New-York Tribune reported, "A splendid flag was raised on the tower of the Madison Avenue Baptist Church, corner of Thirty-first street and Madison avenue, yesterday afternoon at 6 o'clock, with appropriate ceremonies."

While the wealthy, white congregation fully supported the Union's cause, the members were less comfortable with that cause getting too close to home.  A member named Howell attempted to purchase a pew but was refused.  He sued the church in the fall of 1862.  The New-York Tribune reported on November 22 that the church explained that Howell, "had purposely annoyed the congregation by sending negroes into the pew."  The court sided with the Madison Avenue Baptist Church.

photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The congregation merged with the Oliver Street Baptist Church in 1862.  Included in the negotiations (which apparently the trustees of the Oliver Street Baptist Church did not closely examine) was the transfer of that church's assets to the Madison Avenue Baptist Church.  The amiable alliance fell apart when the former Oliver Street congregation tried to sell $5,000 worth of Poughkeepsie city bonds and discovered they no longer owned them.

A highly visible, 14-year-long court battle resulted.  On February 2, 1873, the New York Herald reported that Judge Sedgwick of the Superior Court had decided in favor of the Madison Avenue Baptist Church.  The decision did not repair the schism within the congregation, but only worsened it.  The Baptist Encyclopaedia said, 

The old and honored Oliver Street church had united with the Madison Avenue church, but when the courts decided that the Oliver Street church was not legally the owner of the church property, the latter withdrew with Dr. [Joseph F.] Elder, and are now building a church edifice which promises to be in all respects quite equal to the spacious and beautiful house which they left in Madison Avenue.

In 1876, the church was closed "for repairs," as worded by The New York Times.  In fact, the work was more about redecorating.  On December 11, 1877, The New York Times said that the church "was thrown open last evening for the inspection of the public, and was visited by a large number of ladies and gentlemen, all of whom expressed themselves well pleased with the new and tasteful appearance of the interior of the edifice."  The article said that $12,000 was spent in the "redecorating and refitting the church."  It described:

The apex of the chancel arch is painted a torquois [sic] blue, with gilt stars, and the grand arch, over the body of the church, is an azure blue.  All the frescoing is on solid wood, or plaster of Paris, and the gilding of the finest gold leaf.  The organ has been repainted and redecorated, and put in thorough order, under the supervision of Mr. Henry Erbin [sic], its original builder.

Rev. Dr. C. D. W. Bridgman became pastor of the Madison Avenue Baptist Church in March 1877.  His sermon on February 15, 1891 sparked a firestorm when he included the Bible passage: "If thy hand offend thee, cut it off; it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands, to go into hell."  Baptist theology rejected the possibility of Christians' going to hell following Christ's promise of redemption.  Despite having served as "its popular pastor," as described by the New-York Tribune, for 14 years, the newspaper titled an article on April 30, 1891, "Dr. Bridgman Resigns / A Question Of Doctrine The Cause."

photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Bridgman's resignation initiated a list of short-lived pastorships.  In February 1901, his successor, Rev. Dr. H. M. Sanders resigned, saying, "he thought a younger man ought to take his place," reported the New-York Tribune.

He was replaced by Rev. George C. Lorimer, who died in Aix-les Bains on September 8, 1904.  The Rev. Dr. Kerr Boyce Tupper accepted the pastorship on May 22, 1905.  He was replaced by Dr. Charles A. Eaton, who resigned in February 1918 to accept the "leadership of the national service section of the United States Shipping Board."  His politically-charged last sermon here on April 27 condemned Germany and the U.S. President.  A headline in The Sun read, "Dr. Eaton Consigns Germany To Hell," and the article said, "Speaking for the last time at the Madison Avenue Baptist Church, which he is leaving, the pastor accused the President of 'squirting rosewater at the Germans.'"

Eaton was replaced with the Rev. Dr. George Caleb Moor, but his tenure, as well, would be short.  In 1922, a group of members accused him "of immorality" with "an eighteen-year-old girl," according to the New-York Tribune on February 17.  The accusers were expelled, but they took their case to the Baptist Council.  On June 11, the New York Herald reported that they were "vindicated."  The Southern New York Baptist Association called "the situation detrimental to the church," as reported by newspaper.

At the time of the upheaval, the neighborhood around the Madison Avenue Baptist Church had changed after six decades.  Once a refined, residential enclave, it was now a bustling commercial district.  Congregations nation-wide were turning to a new concept: the skyscraper church.  Parishes replaced their churches with office or apartment buildings that incorporated worship space within the lower floors.  

In 1929, the trustees of the Madison Avenue Baptist Church leased its property to the newly formed Madison Avenue-Thirty-first Street Corporation.  The venerable church building was demolished to be replaced with the Jardine, Murdock & Wright-designed, 15-story Roger Williams Hotel, which incorporated the Madison Avenue Baptist Church.

photograph by the author

The Lost Jane Engel Buildilng - 1025 Madison Avenue

 

photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the New York Public Library.

Like thousands of workers in the wake of the 1929 Wall Street Crash, 22-year-old secretary Jane Engel lost her job.  The New York Times, one decade later, would write, "Fifteen-dollar-a-week jobs were offered, but scorned by the jobless Jane, who rates her own time as worth more than that."  Instead, she invested her life savings--$400--into renting a vacant store and opening a dress shop near Madison Avenue and 80th Street in the neighborhood in which she had grown up.

Engel recalled to The New York Times on November 19, 1939 that she comprised the entire original workforce.  She was "buyer, saleslady, stock girl, cashier and bundle wrapper."  One seamstress would come in to make alterations when needed.

The chance of success for a start-up dress shop in the first months of the Great Depression was nearly non-existent.  But Jane Engel would later realize that at the time, "She was too young to know she couldn't do the things she did."  Within the first month of her opening, she added three employees.  The following month she rented the vacant shop next door and broke through the wall to enlarge the space.

Jane Engel had an innate grasp of operating a retail dress business during hard economic times.  She said she would buy, "only a comparatively few styles, but in wide ranges of colors and sizes."  She said, "Of course, credit was far looser in 1929...But those who wouldn't give me credit soon found I paid promptly, and began to trust me gradually, as my business grew."

On May 5, 1933, The New York Times reported that Jane Engel had expanded upward, leasing the second floor of the building.  Before long, she moved the business into into a one-story building at 1025 Madison Avenue between 78th and 79th Streets.  Three years later, her landlord, Sagamore Land Corp., demolished that building and commissioned architect Roy C. Morris to design a two-and-a-half story building for Engel.  Completed within the year, the construction cost $80,000--or about $1.8 million today.

The Jane Engel Building included shops on the northern half of the ground floor, wrapping around the 79th Street side.  The Jane Engel store's vast show windows filled the southern half and around 78th Street.  In between was the centered, stepped entrance.  The second floor of Morris's Art Moderne design was more glass brick than masonry, filling the interior with soft, diffused light.  Streamlined banding ran below the roofline, interrupted by a centered third-floor section that fronted the penthouse offices.

This ad appeared shortly after the shop moved into the new building, teasing the 1937 spring line.  

Shortly after moving in, Jane Engel's window dressers received high honors.  On October 9, 1936, the New York Post reported that the judges of Madison Avenue Week had awarded Jane Engel, "the best window display along Madison Avenue."  The article said the windows, "illustrated the progress of the Avenue since horse car days, with figures garbed in the costumes of the periods represented."  The article also noted Jane Engel's phenomenal growth, saying that "today [she] has thirty establishments in different cities."

Jane Engel told Kathleen McLaughlin of The New York Times in 1939, "every salesgirl is taught to ask as few questions as possible and to show as many dresses as possible."  Among the young women so trained was Jessica Mitford, who would go on to become a noted author and activist. In her autobiography, Hons and Rebels, she writes that she was the first of her sisters to have a job.

Having shamelessly invented a long background in the fashion industry in London and Paris, I was hired as a salesgirl at Jane Engel's Dress Shop on Madison Avenue, at twenty dollars a week.

After her first day, she told her sisters:

You should have seen me, starting at the bottoms and working up.  Getting the customers' clothes on and off, I mean.  Really, it's frightfully difficult, I had no idea.  Either the dress gets caught halfway, and the poor thing stands there struggling and protesting with muffled screams, or else everything comes off and she's all bare and shivering.  I suppose I'll get on to it after a while.

In 1942, Jane Engel diversified, now offering more than dresses.  She expanded into the second floor, and on August 18 held a fashion show.  "Some of the suits, coats, furs and sportswear that will occupy the new quarters were included," said The New York Times.

The Jane Engel fashion shows would be an annual event, becoming too large for the Madison Avenue building.  On February 16, 1944, for instance, The New York Times reported, "A collection of spring fashions for all ages from babies to grandmothers was presented by Jane Engel during luncheon yesterday at the Ritz-Carlton." 

Life magazine captured a "normal day" in the Jane Engel bridal department.  June 22, 1942 (copyright expired)

In an announcement that must have shocked many readers, on June 24, 1955 the Daily News reported, "Jane Engel, 25-year-old women's and children's apparel shop at Madison Avenue and 79th Street, will close its doors today because 'we did not have enough capital.'"  The newspaper said, "Gimbel's New York has purchased the merchandise of the recently closed Jane Engel shop and plans a basement store promotion."

Two years later, on March 7, 1957, The New York Times reported that Fisher Brothers purchased the Jane Engel Building and two houses at 54 and 56 East 79th Street.  The developer announced that the three buildings, "will be demolished immediately."  After standing only 21 years, the Jane Engel Building was replaced with a 20-story apartment structure.

image via cityrealty.com

The Lost Madison Avenue Hotel - Madison Avenue and 58th Street

 

The original Hotel Branting section is on the corner.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

On October 20, 1883, the Northwestern Lumberman reported, "The Hotel Branting on Madison avenue at Fifty-eighth street, is to be raised one story and improved, at an expense of $150,000."  The one-sentence article sorely understated the renovations to come.  Opened in 1873, the six-story, brownstone-faced Hotel Branting blended into the newly built Italianate residences in the neighborhood.

Now, architect James H. Giles was tasked with nearly doubling the hotel's width along the avenue and adding a story.  The Record & Guide, as construction neared completion on April 25, 1885, noted that Giles's problem of  making "a seven-story addition conform to a six-story building" was solved "by the top floor being placed almost out of sight, only six floors being discernible to the casual observer."

Giles's addition was architecturally seamless.  He essentially copied the Hotel Branting at the north, and moved the original entrance to the middle of the two portions.  The Record & Guide noted, "the object [was] to follow the lines used in the building proper."  A recess above the entrance held dual-purpose balcony-fire escapes.  The Record & Guide praised:

The distinguishing feature in the front is the fire escape, so arranged as not to disfigure the building.  It is run down from the top story through a number of balconies--of which there is one on each floor--built on slate and resting on iron girders.  These balconies will form a pleasant retreat in the cool of the summer's eve, and also in the afternoon, as they are on the west side of the avenue, and therefore free from the sun's rays within a few hours after the meridian.

Guests entered into a 50-foot-long, 15-foot-wide hall.  On the first floor was a large dining room that opened into the courtyard.  "Adjoining this is a children's dining room," said the article (assuredly an attraction for childless guests).  The suites offered up-to-the-minute amenities including hot and cold running water and steam heat.  The rear courtyard guaranteed that "there is not a dark room in the hotel."  The Record & Guide noted, "The old and new structures when joined will be styled the 'Madison Avenue Hotel.'"

The hotel opened on September 1, 1885.  The renovations and addition cost the owners about $4.85 million in 2025 terms.

Illustrated New York City 1889 (copyright expired)

Six years later, hotelier J. Alonzo Nutter signed a ten-year lease and updated the Madison Avenue Hotel.  He had previously managed the St. Marc Hotel on Fifth Avenue.  Not only did he redecorate and revise the Madison Avenue Hotel's operations, he enticed many of his former staff members at the St. Marc to follow.  An advertisement on October 18, 1891 said in part that he, "has, during the summer, made a thorough renovation in all departments, transferring his entire kitchen force from the St. Marc, guaranteeing a first-class cuisine."

Like most fashionable hotels, the Madison Avenue Hotel accepted long-term residents.  Among them was Horatio Nelson Twombly.  Born on January 25, 1831, Twomby graduated from Dartmouth College in 1854.  His uncles, Hiram and William H. Fogg, were head of the firm that would become the China and Japan Trading Company, Ltd.  Starting in 1860, Twomby spent many years in Asia overseeing the Fogg family business.  He returned to New York City in 1883 and the following year, following the death of William Fogg, he became company president.

Twomby was described by the New York Journal as "one of the oldest members of the Union League Club."  He was, as well, a trustee of the Hahnemann Hospital.  The wealthy bachelor suffered "a stroke of paralysis" on October 16, 1896, and died the following morning.

Operatic soprano Mme. Frances Saville arrived in New York City in December 1898 and checked into the Madison Avenue Hotel.  Its high-toned services were reflected into the diva's being appointed a "special waiter," Emil Becker.  Traveling with Saville were her maid and her "courier."  Her suite here consisted of a parlor, dining room and bedroom.  (Her two servants would have rooms on the top floor, where all servants were lodged.)

On the Saturday afternoon of New Year's Eve, Mme. Saville sang the part of Elsa in Lohengrin at the Metropolitan Opera House.  The New York Journal and Advertiser reported, "Both maid and courier accompanied her to the Opera House."  When they returned, Saville "missed a pocketbook from a drawer in the bedroom," according to The New York Journal and Advertiser.  She notified the proprietor, then left to dine at Delmonico's.  In her absence, the courier, concerned about the missing pocketbook, investigated further.  He soon called for the manager and told him "with every symptom of agitation," that the prima donna's jewel case had been forced open and its contents stolen.

The article said that Mme. Saville returned "while the excitement was at its height."  She was able to provide a detailed inventory of the stolen jewels, which she valued at $20,000 (about $780,000 today).

Suspicion quickly turned to Emil Becker, the only person other than the maid and courier who had access to the suite.  He could not be found in the hotel, so detectives went to the boarding house on East 48th Street where he and his wife lived.  The landlady, Mrs. Trimble, told them, "Becker had driven up in a hansom at 2:30 o'clock on Saturday and driven away again with a small leather trunk.  An hour later he had returned with a carriage and gone away finally with his wife and two trunks."  The Beckers and Mme. Saville's jewelry were gone.  Two months later, on February 25, 1899, The New York Journal and Advertiser reported that Frances Saville had sued Horace M. Clark, proprietor of the Madison Avenue Hotel, "to recover $20,000."

The hotel soon played a part in a mysterious and dangerous subversive plot.  That same month, a Russian-born guest named Eugene Noroff checked in.  The night clerk later recalled that he came with a recommendation from a prominent professor of music.  Noroff was given room 108.  The clerk later said, "an elderly man with a gray beard used to call on Noroff frequently, and that the two would hold long consultations and then leave the hotel together."

The Madison Avenue Hotel closed in April 1900.  Noroff moved to a room in a boarding house on West 147th Street run by a Mrs. Jackson.  He told her he had been a judge in Russia and "he was at work on something that would soon startle the world."  He moved in with a trunk, a large box, and books and papers.

Mrs. Jackson said he was a studious man who mostly kept to his room, "always reading books and figuring out things on a piece of paper."  As the night clerk had recalled, Mrs. Jackson said his only visitor was an "elderly man, with a gray beard," and "they would talk together in low whispers, and then they would go out together."  Early that summer, the gray-bearded man committed suicide by jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge and a week later that man's daughter killed herself.   "This had a great effect on him," according to his landlady, referring to Noroff.

On July 8, Noroff told Mrs. Jackson that "he was going away on a very important mission."  He said if he failed, he would have to kill himself.  He added that if that happened, she could have whatever was in his trunks.  Two days later, Mrs. Jackson read in a newspaper that Noroff's body had been found in Central Park.  She did not investigate the trunk for about two weeks.  When she finally did, she discovered "six bombs and the plans of the Madison Avenue Hotel."  She told reporters, 

The plans showed the arrangement of the rooms in detail on each floor, and many of the rooms were marked with mysterious-looking signs.  One room was enclosed in an especially black circle.  It was room 108 on the first floor.  

The bombs, said the police, were professionally made.  The details of the nefarious plot that caused three persons to commit suicide was, apparently, never discovered.

On November 9, 1901, the Record & Guide reported that real estate developer Jeremiah T. Lyons had purchased "the derelict Madison Avenue Hotel property."  Three years later, in its April 1904 issue, The Physician and Surgeon reported, "The old Madison Avenue Hotel...is to be remodeled and fitted with apartments exclusive for physicians."

The Tammany Times, March 6, 1906 (copyright expired)

The renovations took two years to complete.  Now called The Sydenham, on March 6, 1906, The Tammany Times called it, "Unique among the remarkable and useful buildings of New York," adding that it "is devoted exclusively to perfectly appointed and thoroughly equipped suites of apartments for the use of physicians."

The article said:

Inside the wide hallway with its rich carpeting and its statuary a neatly capped and gowned maid awaits the visitor and directs him to the physician he desires to see.  There are maids on each floor who perform the same duty.  The building is never closed and there are always some physicians on hand to answer calls.

Among the doctors living and working here was Mary Dalton.  A minority among a male-dominated profession, she was also involved with the suffragist movement.  The Reynoldsville, Pennsylvania newspaper, The Star, reported on June 29, 1910, "Of the ninety doctors in the Sydenham Building, Madison avenue and 57th street [sic], she found that nearly all wanted women to vote."  Dalton was having a more difficult time to convince nurses to fall in line.  "The reason for the comparative indifference of the nurses, she says, is that they haven't time to think of things outside their work."

On March 27, 1920, The New York Times reported that the Sydenham Building had been sold "to a client who will make extensive alterations."  Instead, the august brownstone building was replaced with a 15-story office building.

photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

The Lost Biltmore Hotel - 335 Madison Avenue

photo by Bryon Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

The New York Central and New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroads embarked on a grand real estate project called Terminal City in 1903.  On May 12, 1912, The Sun reported that the Grand Central Terminal "plan of improvement" covered 79 acres--from 42nd Street to 50th Street and from Lexington to Madison Avenues.  Saying it "surpasses the Panama Canal in some respects," the project comprised commercial, apartment and office buildings, including the Biltmore Hotel.  

The commission to design the hotel was given to Allen H. Stem and Charles A. Reed.  Their plans were in work when Reed died in 1911.  According to architectural historian Christopher Gray, "The day after the funeral, [Whitney] Wetmore secretly approached the railroad and got it to void the initial contract, naming Warren & Wetmore sole architects for all future related work."  

The following year, in March, Warren & Wetmore filed plans for the 26-story hotel to cost $4.5 million (about $150 million in 2025 terms).  It would span the block from Madison to Vanderbilt Avenues and 43rd to 44th Streets.  The New York Times remarked on March 31, "Twelve sets of tracks will run under the hotel, giving immediate access from the trains to the hotel without going to the street."  

A "novel feature," reported The Times six months later, was "a number of private apartments...built into the hotel by the tenants themselves from plans and designs prepared by their own architects."  Ranging from 8 to 12 rooms, the dozen apartments would be located on the 18th through 20th floors.  Each would include, "quarters for maids and servants."  The article said that several tenants had already signed leases, paying yearly rentals of $10,000 to $15,000.  (The most expensive would translate to a staggering $41,000 per month today.)  

Among the permanent residents would be Whitney Warren (one of the architects of the building); William Rutherford Mead, partner in McKim, Mead & White; William Washington Cole, owner of W. W. Cole's circus; and William H. Newman, Chairman of the Board of the New York Central.  There was one restriction.  The New York Times reported, "it is not intended to have cooking done in these suites."  The article explained, "Meals for the various families will be prepared in a special culinary department of the hotel and served in a special way in the dining rooms of the several suites."  The article commented, "Some of the apartments will cost a small fortune to build in accordance with the wishes and needs of the tenants."

Construction began on March 1, 1913, the steel construction was completed on August 15, and on December 26, The Sun reported, "This week 1,300 men are working night and day putting on the finishing touches."  By the time of the article, the cost of  the hotel had risen to $10 million, including furnishings.  The craftsman mentioned by The Sun were working furiously because the opening of the Biltmore Hotel was scheduled for New Year's Eve.

The Brickbuilder December 1914 (copyright expired)

The Sun said, "Warren and Wetmore...designed the exterior of the Biltmore so that it might harmonize with the architecture of the station and other buildings of the terminal.  The exterior is of granite, limestone, brick and terra cotta in the Italian Renaissance."  There were three entrances: one on 43rd Street and two on Vanderbilt Avenue.  (The northern entrance on Vanderbilt was for women only, "and leads directly to the rooms provided for their comfort," reported The Sun.)

The hotel had 1,000 bedrooms, nine elevators and six "continuous staircases."  The New York Times listed the up-to-the-minute technology, including the "telautograph, dictograph, telephone, and pneumatic tube systems...which, it is said, are the most complete in existence."  The newspaper described the main dining room as "the chief" of the "elaborate rooms."

The carpet, upholstery, and window draperies are in subdued red and the furniture in dark oak.  The ceiling has classical figures in low relief of gold against a background of white.  The walls are of marble in panel effect.  The room is lighted from three large prismatic glass electroliers.

The lobby's Palm Court (above) and Main Dining Room The Brickbuilder December 1914 (copyright expired)

The grill room, two bars and the men's clubroom were decorated in the Elizabethan style, while the women's clubroom was "treated in the Gregorian style.  "The lobbies and palm room have marble walls with mural decorations in bronze," said the article.  The main ballroom on the 22nd floor was decorated in blue and gold in the Louis XV style.  The New York Times said it would be called The Cascades.  "The reason for its name is a big waterfall which will occupy one end of the room."  A secondary ballroom could accommodate 300 persons.  The furnishings and interior decorating were done by W. & J. Sloane.

Atop the six-story section on Vanderbilt Avenue was the Italian Garden.  The New York Times described it on June 16, 1914 saying it had, "real grass and shrubs, walks, and a fountain in which goldfish play.  A pergola runs for 200 feet along the front, and back of it are a lot of gay-looking French umbrellas, under each of which is a tea table."

photo by Bryon Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

The Biltmore Hotel was run with military precision by Gustav Baumann.  On October 15, 1914, The New York Times said, "It was Mr. Baumann's custom each morning to make a thorough inspection of the building from the lowest floor to the roof."  The previous morning, just before 11:00, he had visited the carpenter's shop on the 22nd floor, after which he was to inspect the hotel's waiters in the Italian Garden.  The first waiter to arrive was Frederick Rugen.  He found Baumann's body on one of the paths.  It was surmised that Baumann had leaned out to see if the waiters had assembled and lost his balance.

The Italian Gardens were transformed the following winter into the Biltmore Ice Gardens.  On December 12, 1915, the New-York Tribune reported, "The first open air ice skating rink that has ever been built in a New York hotel will be ready for skaters tomorrow."  The article said that the Italian Gardens had been turned "into an artificial lake...at a cost of approximately $10,000."  Colored lanterns illuminated the rink at night.  At one end of the 50 by 75 foot oval of "real ice" was a glass enclosed tea room.  "This room is kept at an even temperature by steam heat and a large open fire," explained the New-York Tribune.

The Evening World, December 20, 1915 (copyright expired)

When America entered World War I in 1917, the proprietors of the Biltmore Hotel joined the war effort.  The Food Administration initiated a campaign to conserve meat and wheat that could then be exported American Allies in Europe.  The Hotel World reported on November 10, 1917 that the Biltmore had saved "more than a ton of meat on its 'meatless Tuesday' and of five barrels of wheat flour on 'wheatless Wednesday.'"  On the previous Tuesday, said the article, "1,927 pounds of various meats were saved."

The war came even closer to home in 1918.  Madame Despina Davidovitch Storch, a 23-year-old native of Turkey, checked into the hotel.  Described by The Evening World as "beautiful," she had been married to Paul Storch, a French army officer prior to their divorce.  Unknown to her, she had been trailed by the Secret Service for two years.  On March 18, 1918, she and two men and another woman were arrested and turned over to the French Government.  The Evening World reported, "The web of the world-wide German spy system is believed to have been torn in a vital part today."  

The article said Madame Storch had "mingled in European intrigues for at least six years, since she was seventeen."  She and the other three spies had been financed by Count von Bernstorff, the former German Ambassador to the U.S.

The Ballroom was the scene of the Homecoming Dinner for Baseball's World's Tour Players on March 7, 1914.  image via wikimedia.org

Clarence and Regina V. G. Milhiser checked into the Biltmore in the spring of 1919.  On May 20, Clarence died and that evening Regina brought her jewelry to the front desk, asking that it be placed in the hotel safe.  James E. Foye brought out a metal box and Mrs. Millhiser placed three bundles of jewelry into it--"two of them wrapped in paper and the third in chamois," according to The Sun.

When she called for the jewels a month later, "she was surprised to find the chamois bundle was missing and the paper had been torn from another," according to The Sun.  Foye told the hotel manager that the box had not been touched.  On June 26, the New-York Tribune reported that the Biltmore management had offered a $10,000 reward "for the recovery of the Milhiser jewels."  (The items were valued at the equivalent of nearly $6 million today.)

Eventually, James E. Foye was arrested and charged.  A year after the theft, on June 8, 1920, Mrs. Milhiser was a witness in his trial.  She was shown 82 pearls and a diamond clasp.  The New York Herald reported, "She said they were part of a pearl necklace valued at $325,000 which was among the stolen jewels."  

The Bowman Room, seen here in 1956, had a similar, smaller version of the famed Palm Court clock.  from the collection of the Library of Congress.

The ballroom was the scene of at least one controversial event over the decades.  In April 1927, Gerardo Machado y Morales, President of Cuba, stayed here.  Perhaps not coincidentally, the U.S. President, Calvin Coolidge was also in residence.  Machado was the official guest of New York City and Governor Al Smith traveled to town to greet him.  The Biltmore Hotel was decorated with the flags of the United States and Cuba.  Not everyone agreed with the "royal welcome," as reflected by the coverage in The Daily Worker.  Its headline on April 27 read, "Murderer of 200 Island Unionists Guest of Mayor and Financiers."

from the collection of the Columbia University Library

Half a century later, an advertisement in New York Magazine on March 26, 1979 touted, "Great times in New York begin Under The Clock."  That clock was in the lobby, or Palm Court, and was famous as a meeting place.  Newsday journalist Nathan Cobb would later explain, "'Under the clock at the Biltmore' was the place where hundreds of young women who always seemed to have names like Bitsy and Bunny began dates or assignations with equally preppie young men who always seemed to be called Skip or Chip."

But at the time of that advertisement, the end of the Biltmore Hotel was on the near horizon.  In 1981 owners Paul and Seymour Milstein announced their plan "to strip the historic Madison Avenue hotel to its steel skeleton and rebuild it as the Eastern headquarters of the Bank of America," as reported by The New York Times on September 20.  Demolition started on August 13, 1981 "catching preservationists by surprise," said the article.  The Milsteins agreed to preserve the 19th-floor ballroom and the lobby as part of the new building.  In return, the LPC agreed not to designate the exterior a landmark.

However, on August 26, 1982, Norman Pfeiffer, a partner in the architectural firm of Hardy Holzman Pfieiffer Associates, told The New York Times, "we discovered that further demolition had taken place" and there was nothing left of the ballroom or lobby to restore.  His firm told the New York Landmarks Conservancy that they would no longer be a part of the project.

The sole relic to survive was the clock.  On March 24, 2013, The New York Times columnist Christopher Gray remarked, "The Biltmore clock was placed in the lobby of No. 335, but has the pickled aspect common to architectural elements divorced from context."  He suggested that the structure that replaced the Biltmore Hotel--the "brutal red granite 335 Madison Avenue, designed by the firm Environetics"--might be promoted by preservationists a hundred years hence, adding, however, that would be, "hard to imagine."

many thanks to reader Doug Wheeler for suggesting this post.