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 American 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 attorney.

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 rug 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 Manhattan Academy Building - 213 West 32nd Street

 

from the Manual of the Corporation of the City of New York, 1870 (copyright expired)

An announcement in the New York Herald on September 29, 1864 informed New Yorkers about the newly opened Manhattan Academy, a branch of Manhattan College.  It said:

This new academy is now ready for the reception of students.  Its object is to afford the important advantages of commercial, scientific, classical and moral education.  Terms: Classical department, $12 per quarter; Commercial department, $12 per quarter; Intermediate department, $8 per quarter; Primary department, $5 per quarter.

The more expensive tuition would translate to about $250 per quarter in 2026.  That initial ad, however, did not mention  the non-educational costs.  There were also an entrance fee, board, a "washing" fee, and a physician's fee.  The total yearly cost would equal $5,700 today.  

Operated by the Brothers of Christian Schools, the Manhattan Academy was organized in 1864 and chartered the following year.  An ad in King's Manual of the Corporation of the City of New York commented, "The location is healthy, and a few minutes' walk distant from Central Park."  (The 27-block stroll might not be described as "a few minutes' walk" today.)

The academy's newly built structure at 127 West 32nd Street (later 213 West 32nd Street) was four stories tall above a high English basement.  Shallow buttresses divided its symmetrical, Gothic Revival-style facade into five vertical sections.  The large Gothic-pointed arch that held the double-doored entrance was echoed in the windows of the first through third floors.  The exception were the centered openings, which, like the fourth floor, were square-headed and wore Gothic drip moldings.  A regimented corbel table ran below the minimal cornice, and a mansard-capped cupola or bell tower sat atop the roof.

Each year, the students underwent a three-day "annual examination," or what today might be called finals.  The tests culminated with an awards and honors ceremony.  The New-York Tribune reported on the 1868 ceremony on July 1.  "The exercises were held at the Everett Rooms, where a very large audience was assembled, among whom were a number of clergymen," said the article.  "The Manhattan College band furnished the music on the occasion, discoursing some very fine airs."

The newspaper reported on the academy's "rapid progress" on July 2, 1869, saying it, "now presents the combined advantages

of classical, scientific, and commercial course of instruction."  In also noted, "An excellent musical corps has been organized from among the 250 students of this institution."

A rare instance of criminality within the confines of the Manhattan Academy came in the summer of 1888.  On August 22, The Evening World reported, "George Burns was held in $300 bail, at Jefferson Market, this morning, for stealing a picture of Pope Pius IX, from the wall at the Manhattan Academy."

By 1891, the formerly bucolic neighborhood around Seventh Avenue and 32nd Street had changed.  Now part of the often notorious Tenderloin District, its demographics had severely changed as the Black community moved here from Greenwich Village.  

On January 31, 1891, The New York Times reported that the Christian Brothers had erected a new academy building at 50 Second Street.  "The new academy will be opened Monday," said the article.  On the same day, the Record & Guide reported that the "property known as the 'Manhattan Academy,' a five-story school building, Nos. 209 to 213 West 32d street," had been sold to Benedict Fischer for $90,000 (about $3.2 million today).

Fischer made substantial renovations and on February 14, 1892 advertised in the New York Herald, "For Sale on Favorable terms, the five story Building...formerly Manhattan College, suitable for manufacturing or business purposes."

The buyer defaulted, and in September 1898, Benedict Fischer foreclosed on the building.  On November 6, the New York Herald reported that he hired architect Joseph Wolf to make additional renovations.  The changes, including converting part of the building to a stable for the New York Fire-Proof Stabling Company, cost Fischer the equivalent of $195,000 today.

Fischer preserved the school's auditorium.  It became home to St. James's Presbyterian Church with its all-Black congregation.  Its pastor, Rev. P. Butler Thompkins, explained in the New York Observer on October 13, 1898, "Instead of the old 'Tenderloin,' we now have 'Little Africa,' for this has become the great centre of our colored population."  The article said, "This entire district is without a church of any denomination for these people, except St. James's Church, which was organized by the Presbytery of New York, April 26, 1895."  It noted, "The hall, 213 West Thirty-second-st., in which the congregation is now holding services, is in the same building with a stable.  The ventilation is poor, the odor is bad, and the rent is high."

Three years later, St. James's Presbyterian Church was still struggling to raise funds for a permanent structure.  On December 28, 1901, The Evening Post reported,

St. James Presbyterian Church, at No. 213 West Thirty-second Street, the only church of any denomination in "Little Africa" that ministers solely to the colored people, is still without a church edifice.  Thirty-four thousand dollars in cash and subscriptions has been raised.  Sixteen thousand dollars must be secured within the next five days, that is, by January 1, or a very large part of the $34,000 already secured will be lost to the work.

The deadline mentioned in the article was very real.  The church was about to be evicted at the end of its lease.  A month earlier, on November 26, The New York Times reported that Benedict Fischer's son, William H., had sold the building, calling it a "five-story stable."

The property sat within land that Alexander Cassatt was quietly amassing.  On December 11, 1901, he announced the "New York Terminal and Tunnel Extension Project."  The greatly abused Manhattan Academy building was erased as part of the massive venture that would bring trains directly into Manhattan from New Jersey and would include the masterful McKim, Mead & White-designed Pennsylvania Station.  

The Lost Mutual Bank Building - 49-51 West 33rd Street

 

The scale of the building can be judged by the figures standing on the steps.  photograph by Irving Underhill, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In the fall of 1910, the Mutual Bank had operated from leased space at the northeast corner of Broadway and West 33rd Street for years.  But that was about to change.  In October, the bank purchased the property at 49 and 51 West 33rd Street, just steps away from its present home, as the site for a permanent building.  On October 8, the Real Estate Record & Guide reported that construction would begin as soon as an architect was chosen, adding, "It was said that...in all probability a tall structure would be put up, containing offices above, the bank occupying the two lower floors."

By the time architect Donn Barber filed plans in January 1911, the idea of a "tall structure" had been scrapped.  It was now to be a "two story brick and stone bank" to cost $100,000 to erect (about $2.9 million in 2022).  His office provided a preliminary sketch to journalists which showed a neo-Classical facade with two-story Scamozzi columns and a stone balustrade along the roofline.  

Barber's preliminary rendering proved to be strikingly accurate.  Real Estate Record & Guide, January 21, 1911 (copyright expired)

The bank opened for business on February 13, 1912.  The Sun called the building "the latest word in design."  The New York Times agreed, deeming it "one of the most unique structures in the Greeley Square section," and remarking, "The exterior is entirely of limestone with granite base and steps and is treated in an adaptation of classic architecture."

Customers entered a one-story vestibule that provided second-story space for offices.  Beyond that, the great banking room opened up--soaring 38 feet upwards to a coffered ceiling and leaded glass skylight.  The walls were clad, full-height, in Caen stone.  The counters were of Bottichino marble, the teller cages of bronze, and the floors of Tennessee marble.  The Sun said, "Hung from the ceilings are eight gilded electric chandeliers, reasonable in size and delicate in modelling, which with the wall brackets around the panelled  [sic] walls give good light to all parts of the room."  

Within the second story space was the director's room.  "This room is almost Colonial in character," wrote The Sun, "having grayish blue stuff on the walls, white painted trim, mahogany doors and furniture, bluish leather furniture covering, and a blue rug, together with certain ornaments and antique silver electric fixtures."

The vaults were below street level, accessed by a marble staircase.  The doors of the security vault and of the safe deposit compartment weighed, respectively, 12 and 23 tons.  The article said, "They are so evenly balanced on a line of crane hinges, eccentric effects, ball and pin bearing degrees that a child could swing them."  

Architecture magazine, April 1913 (copyright expired)

The opening advertisement promised, in part:

The location of the new Mutual Bank building, at West 33rd Street, just a few feet from Broadway, and in the heart of the city, makes it one of the most centrally situated banks in New York, and unusually convenient for important business institutions now locating in this section of the city.  Its appointments, moreover, are unique in the measure of convenience they afford to patrons.

The New York Times noted the "ingenious device which forestalls any possibility of a holdup man making a 'getaway.'"  The article explained that should a gunman demand cash, "he would no doubt find that gentleman very obliging so far as the handing over was concerned."  But simultaneously, the teller would press a foot button that locked "the main and only exit," and activated a huge gong.

It was not a holdup man who confronted cashier William J. McGirr on October 8, 1921, but two young men wishing to cash a $1,000 railroad bond.  Edmond Foughot, who was 18 years old, and Dennis Doyle, 21, handed McGirr the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad bond.  As they waited, he carefully compared its serial number with a list of stolen bonds and found a match.

At the West 13th Street police station, they said that they had been in Washington the previous Friday, where a man approached and attempted to sell them the bond.  While they debated whether it may or may not be stolen, he disappeared, leaving them holding the bond.  The story did not preclude their being charged with attempting to cash a stolen bond.

Shortly after the incident, the institution's name was changed to the Mutual National Bank.  It would be changed again in 1927 when the Chase National Bank stockholders voted to acquired Mutual National Bank.  The elegant limestone structure survived until 1951, when it was razed to make way for the four-story Modernist structure that remains.

image via loopnet.com

many thanks to reader Doug Wheeler for prompting this post

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The Beleaguered 1856 Emanuel Augustus Thouron House - 46 West 36th St

 

photo by Ted Leather

On October 1, 1856 an advertisement appeared in the New York Herald titled "Houses On Murray Hill, Near Fifth Avenue."  It touted, "Just finished, and for sale, Nos. 42 and 46 West Thirty-sixth street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.  They are first class houses, with brown stone fronts, and built in the very best manner throughout."  Although just 16-feet-wide, they were, indeed, first class houses.  The block was filling with handsome residences as the fashionable tenor of Fifth Avenue spilled down the side streets.  No. 46 (which was most likely a twin to 42) was designed in the popular Italianate style.  A high brownstone stoop led to the entrance, and handsome Renaissance style pediments sat above the upper windows.

Surprisingly, the developer could not find a buyer for 46 West 36th Street.  A year later in September the advertisements were still appearing.  It seems he leased the house for two years, then tried again.  This time the advertisement was slightly reworded:

For Sale--The handsome four story brown stone English basement House 46 West Thirty-sixth street, Murray Hill.  The house is elegantly finished, frescoed throughout and ready for immediate occupancy.  A large amount of the purchase money may remain on mortgage.

A buyer was finally found in Emanuel Augustus Thouron and his wife, the former Hannah Neilson Borrowe.  The couple had been living at 68 Bond Street, once among the most fashionable streets in Manhattan, but now becoming severely commercialized.

Thouron was a well-respected merchant and a member of the Chamber of Commerce.  He and his brother, Elisha Henry, were partners in Thouron Brothers & Despres at 62 Reade Street and in Philadelphia.

The childless couple remained in the house through 1866, after which it was sold to John Wentworth and his wife Mary.  John was the principal in the furniture firm of Wentworth & Sons, which he ran with his two sons, Mitchell E. and Joseph W.  Joseph was living in New Jersey at the time, while Mitchell and his family moved into the house next door to his parents, at 44 West 36th Street.  

The wives of well-to-do businessmen were expected to involve themselves in a least one charitable organization.  Mary E. Wentworth's choice was the Morning Star Union Mission Sunday School.  Interestingly, it was an interdenominational institution, the New York Herald noting, "The officers and teachers are volunteers from the various churches."  Mary was in elevated company.   Heading the committee for a fund-raising fair in 1874 was Melissa Phelps Dodge, wife of millionaire William E. Dodge.

The uncomfortable commute from New Jersey to Wentworth & Sons at 109 Bowery may have proved too much for Joseph.  By the time of that fair, his parents had moved to 150 East 38th Street and Joseph and his family were living at 46 West 36th Street.  Presumably Joseph paid rent, since the title remained in John Wentworth's name.

By the late 1870's the once-fashionable block was becoming increasingly commercial.  Although Mitchell and his family remained at 44 West 36th Street several more years, in 1878 the Joseph Wentworth family left No. 46.  His parents leased lower floor rooms in the house to doctors.  It became a sort 19th century version of a medical building. 

Among the initial tenants were Dr. Pilcher and Dr. M. J. De Rosset.  The apparently busy De Rosset was, according to the American Journal of the Medical Sciences in 1878, "Ophthalmic Surgeon to Dispensary Holy Trinity, Assistant Surgeon New York Eye and Ear Infirmary, etc. etc."  Both physicians were published that year, Pilcher's "letter" on "Colles Fracture--Urethral Stricture and Diluting Urethrotomy--Obscure Abscess of the Liver, their Association with Hypochondria, &c." appeared in the North Carolina Medical Journal.

The 1890's saw the offices of Drs. Caleb J. Wood, Thomas M. Dillingham, Ernest W. Auzal, and Ellsworth Eliot, J. in the former house.  Dillingham was joined in his practice by Dr. Arthur G. Allan in 1895.  

Dr. Caleb J. Wood was in Madison Square park on November 18, 1891 when a woman named Addie Davis "held him in conversation," according to the New York Herald two weeks later.  He had no way of knowing that the woman was "one of the 'badger' girls of the East Twenty-sixth street gang."  While Addie had Dr. Wood distracted, Maggie Jones snatched his gold watch and chain.  The entire gang was arrested and brought before a judge on November 29.  Wood was there to identify his robbers.

Dr. Dillingham took on a heart-wrenching case on April 4, 1892.  For about a week Elizabeth Beale's friends "noticed she was depressed," according to The World.  The newspaper described the unmarried 48-year-old as belonging "to an old New York family and for a number of years [she] taught the higher branches to young women of wealthy families."  Dr. Dillingham prescribed a "much-needed rest," and called upon Rev. S. S. Seward, who invited Elizabeth to stay at his house on Lexington Avenue with his family for a while.  A professional nurse was engaged to watch over her.

The next night Elizabeth was "very excited" and "walked the floor until 4 o'clock...but was closely watched by the nurse."  Unable to get any sleep herself, the nurse began to prepare coffee at 6:00 on Wednesday morning while Elizabeth was in bed.  When she returned to Elizabeth's room, she found her 

gone.

She ran downstairs to a horrible discovery.  "A servant girl informed her that Miss Beale lay on the flagging outside."  Mrs. Seward, had heard the ghastly thump of Elizabeth's body hitting the stone paving of the areaway where it landed headfirst.  Dr. Dillingham was summoned, but he said that taking her to the hospital was "useless, as Miss Beale could live only a few hours."  She died at 9:00.

Dr. Dillingham appeared in court during the trial of Herman Clarke on November 12, 1894.  Clarke was a member of the stock brokerage firm of Hunter, Clarke & Jacob and had been arrested for forgery and falsifying the firm's books.  His embezzlement caused the firm to fail.  Dillingham testified that Clarke's actions were prompted by a drug addiction.  The Sun reported, "Dr. Dillingham said that he knew Clarke to be a user of drugs which made him entirely irresponsible mentally and morally."  He petitioned the judge to send Clarke to an asylum for the insane, rather than to a prison.  (It was the rather ineffective 19th century equivalent of a drug rehabilitation center.)  Dillingham's efforts were only partially successful.  Rather than send Clarke to State prison for five years, the judge sentenced him to two years and four months.

Around November 1, 1897, Dentist William Kenzel took an office here.  But, according to the other tenants, he "spent very little time there."  In fact, he would never see a patient in his new space.  His worried sister came to his office looking for him several times.  Kenzel checked into the Warwick Hotel on November 5 where his physical condition alarmed the staff.  The New York Herald reported that he was taken to New York  Hospital that afternoon.  His condition worsened and he was transferred to Bellevue Hospital.  Three days later the New York Herald he was "dangerously ill with phthisis," known today as pulmonary tuberculosis.

While physicians and dentists operated from the basement and parlor floors, the top two were rented as upscale bachelor apartments.  Ironically, given the nature of the building's professional tenants, among the residents in 1899 was 19-year-old Henry Caney, a Christian Scientist.  Described by the New York Journal and Advertiser as "well dressed and of good appearance," on August 17 Caney "was found in Fifth avenue near Fortieth street...uttering injunctions to a number of persons and a policeman about the ethics and physics of Christian Science."

Caney was incoherent and a crowd began to collect around him.  When a policeman arrived, according to The New York Times, a "handsomely dressed girl" told him, "He's ill.  Why don't you call an ambulance?"

The comment caught Caney's attention.  "Ill, madam?  No, indeed.  I am never ill.  Nor are you ever ill, Madam.  If you think you are ill all you have to do  is to pray, and you will be cured.  Just pray."

Canney was, however, ill.  He was taken to New York Hospital where he was diagnosed with epilepsy.  He was given medicine, which he surprisingly took, and then the attending doctor accompanied him home.  Equally surprisingly, The New York Times reported, "At 46 West Thirty-sixth Street last night the servant refused to admit callers, saying that Henry Caney was ill."

Living on the top floor in 1901 was Julian Potter.  The Morning Telegraph explained, "Mr. Potter is a nephew of Bishop [Henry C.] Potter and lives at 46 West thirty-sixth street, a fashionable neighborhood."  Potter, said the newspaper on May 18, "loves to burn the midnight oil and linger over his favorite magazines.  His aversion to early rising is equally pronounced."  But the continuing changes in the "fashionable neighborhood" were disturbing Potter's routine.  Behind the house, on West 35th Street, a new commercial building was being constructed.

Potter went to the West 30th Street police station on May 17, 1901, telling the desk sergeant, "These men come there early in the morning and wake me up with the noise they make.  Why, they come right under my window, in the rear of my house, where they are leveling a building.  Really, I am nearly dead for sleep."

His complaints went further.  "At night these workmen keep a bonfire going continually.  The glare is reflected on my bedroom windows and this keeps me awake all night."  Sergeant Norton promised Potter "he would do all in his power as a police official to remedy the evil."  In the meantime, a journalist went to 46 West 36th Street to ask the landlady "as to Mr. Potter's means of livelihood."  She replied, "He is a gentleman of leisure, sir."

In 1914 the Wentworth estate sold house to the Collingwood Realty Co. for $55,000--just over $1.5 million in today's money.  The firm hired architect Adolph Mertin to alter the building "into store and residence purposes," reported the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide on February 26, 1915.

Mertin removed the stoop and installed a two-story storefront that projected forward to the property line.  Faced in gray brick, its no-nonsense design was vaguely Arts & Crafts in style.  The facade of the two upper floors, which now held furnished rooms, was left unscathed.

photo by Ted Leather

The commercial spaces were home to a variety of small businesses, like the Select Hat Frame Co. which moved in during the summer of 1922.  

The Millinery Trade Review, July, 1922

Living in one of the rooms on the third floor that year was 32-year-old Marc Connelly, who had reportedly begun writing plays at the age of five.  In 1921 he had teamed up with the drama critic for The New York Times, George S. Kaufman, to write comedies, two of which were staged in 1922: To the Ladies and Merton of the Movies.  Connelly was a member of the famed Algonquin Round Table and would receive the Pulitzer Prize for his 1930 drama The Green Pastures.

Moving into a fourth floor room in 1922 was 20-year-old Ellen Miriam Hopkins, who had come to New York with her sister Ruby and was working as a chorus girl, sometimes getting small parts in plays.  According to Allan R. Ellenberger in his Miriam Hopkins, Life and Films of a Hollywood Rebel, "She moved into a boarding house at 46 West Thirty-Sixth Street, a small dark cell on the fourth floor that delighted her because it was utterly shabby.  Struggling artists and authors lived there."

Like Marc Connelly, Miriam Hopkins would rise far higher than her humble start.  She landed a role in the 1926 staging of An American Tragedy, and by 1933 was a leading lady, starring in the Broadway production of Jezebel.   By then she had been on contract with Paramount Pictures for three years.

Little changed to the building for half a century as soaring office towers rose around it.  A renovation completed in 1970 resulted in a restaurant on the ground floor, offices on the second and third, and two apartments on the fourth, a configuration that lasts today.

photo by Ted Leather

Squeezed in between modern structures, the former Thouron house looks sadly beleaguered.  Yet a hint of its once-proud history is evident on the upper two floors.

Many thanks to reader Ted Leather for suggesting this post

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The Doomed 1919 Hotel Pennsylvania - 401 Seventh Avenue

 

photo by Antigng

On May 9, 1916 the New York Hotel Record reported that the Pennsylvania Railroad Company's subsidiary, the Pennsylvania Terminal Real Estate Company, had announced plans "for [a] hotel to be erected on Seventh avenue, between Thirty-second and Thirty-third streets...to be known as the Hotel Pennsylvania."

The Pennsylvania Railroad had completed its monumental Pennsylvania Station, designed by McKim, Mead & White, six years earlier.  Across from the station on Eighth Avenue was the Post Office, also designed by McKim, Mead & White, and completed in 1913.  The proposed hotel would be an extension to the grand plan.  

McKim, Mead & White had been called back to design an architecturally harmonious structure (most notably in its six three-story Ionic portico columns).  The firm put architect William Symmes Richardson in charged of the design.  Like the Post Office, the hotel would be connected to Pennsylvania Station with underground passes, "so that patrons of the hotel can then travel in all directions, inside or outside the city, without going from under shelter," said the New York Hotel Record.  

As construction was underway, in its August 4, 1917 issue The Hotel World reported that the Hotel Pennsylvania "will be the world's largest hotel--2,200 rooms."  It was purposely designed to be "200 rooms larger than any hotel now in existence, or under construction."

The Hotel World, August 4, 1917 (copyright expired)

Because stores were not included in the street level plans, shops were located in the basement level.  Also on this level would be a grill room, a lunchroom, and a barber shop.  The ground floor held a men's café, "buffet-lounge," and the main restaurant, described by The Hotel World as "the largest dining room in New York City."  Also on the main floor were a "supper room," a tea room and an "elaborate soda grill."  Elsewhere in the building would be ballrooms, the largest of which was 72 by 144 feet, assembly rooms and private dining rooms.

The railroad had contracted "one of America's most prominent hotel men--E. M. Statler," to operated the Hotel Pennsylvania.  He promised The Hotel World, "We are going to the limit; we are going to build a hotel that is the 3qual, or the superior, of any hotel in the world, built to satisfy the very best people who travel, the most exacting and most critical."

With a construction cost of $10 million--15 times that much in today's money--the 22-story building was completed in 1919.  Although not entirely finished, on January 25, 1919 the Hotel Pennsylvania opened.  The New York Times reported, "Of the total of 2,200 rooms, 700 were ready for guests, and all were taken in a few hours.  Three thousand visitors viewed the building during the day and evening, and 2,000 of them dined and danced in the main dining room."

The newspaper estimated the daily income of the hotel, upon completion, at up to $15,000 per day.  Between 1,500 and 2,000 employees were necessary to run the massive operation.  "Sixty girls will be required to operate the hotel telephone exchange, with its 200 trunk lines," said The New York Times.  It added, "A few of the special features for the guests include a library of 4,000 volumes, Turkish baths, and swimming pools for men and women, and roof garden."

Guests entered through a foyer into the two-story main lobby that--following the ancient classical motif of Pennsylvania Station and the Post Office--was modeled after a peristyle court of a Roman period house.  Its barrel vaulted stained glass ceiling was design by G. Rae & Co.

Visitors passed through the foyer before being awe-struck by the two-story lobby. The Architectural Review, 1919 (copyright expired) 

Although the striking stained glass ceiling of the lobby was removed in 1942, the intricate terrazzo floors survived.  photos from Architecture magazine, April 1919 (copyright expired)

The magnificent hotel immediately became a favorite venue for high-profile events.  Two months after its opening a grand reception was held in the main ballroom for the Consul General of the new Polish Government.  After having been controlled by other powers for a century, Poland had been liberated in 1918 by the Allied Forces.  Along with more than 1,000 Polish New Yorkers, the reception was attended by Governor Al Smith and Mayor John Hyland.

The main ballroom.  Architecture magazine, April 1919 (copyright expired)

The Hotel Pennsylvania attracted well-known international guests.  In August 1920 British essayist and drama critic  William Archer checked in.  He had dipped his toe into play writing and his first work, War is War, was in rehearsals in New York.

Later that year, on December 28, well-known English suffragist Mrs. Emmeline Pankhurst, arrived at the Hotel Pennsylvania.  She told reporters she "was here this time not to propagate suffrage ideas but to smite Bolshevism wherever and whenever it appears."  She said, "I was astounded, in going about in your Southern States, to find this insidious doctrine of the destruction of society among the less educated people in those States."

A resident of those "Southern States," Mrs. Elizabeth Tyler, checked in on September 10, 1921.  The New York Times described her as "one of the 'Big Three' of the Ku Klux Klan."  She was known as the "Empress" of the Klan, but told the reporter "she had come to New York to shop and that official business of the Ku Klux Klan would be the lease of her worries."

Although presumably here to shop, she did defend the organization to The New York Times reporter.  She said its purpose was to preserve "sacred principles and noble ideals of chivalry" and "American ideals and institutions and the maintenance of white supremacy."   The article noted, "Mrs. Tyler, however, admitted that the organization was opposed to Jews and Catholics, as well as negroes."

In the meantime, guests in the café danced to Vincent Lopez's "world-famous" Hotel Pennsylvania Orchestra.  The band's renown was boosted by a 90-minute radio show each week.   Lopez began each broadcast with "Hello everybody, Lopez speaking!"

Vincent Lopez conducts his Hotel Pennsylvania Orchestra.  (original source unknown)

On October 19, 1939 popular bandleader Artie Shaw and his orchestra began a three-month engagement in the hotel's Coq Rouge café.  But, shockingly, a month later Shaw failed to show up.   Calling him "one of the ranking younger swingmasters," on November 22 The New York Times reported that he "had been absent from the band stand for a week" and "has severed all connection with his orchestra and left yesterday for Mexico."

Tony Pastor, the band's saxophonist, had taken over, but the hotel management was understandably displeased.  Reporters were told the "reorganized band" would be replaced within a week until Glenn Miller's band, scheduled to open on January 3, arrived.

The Glenn Miller Orchestra would return to the Coq Rouge repeatedly.  Like Vincent Lopez, some of his performances were broadcast.  When Artie Shaw abandoned his band, Miller hired Shaw's orchestrator, Jerry Gray.  It was during a 1940 Glenn Miller Orchestra engagement here that Gray wrote Pennsylvania 6-5000, the highly popular song that took its title from the telephone number of the hotel.

It was in the Coq Rouge in November 1944 that the singer of Les Brown's band, Doris Day, introduced their new song Sentimental Journey.

The main dining room.  Architecture magazine, April 1919 (copyright expired)

The wall fountain in the main dining room.  The Architectural Review, 1919 (copyright expired) 

The 1920's was a period of international political and social unrest.  On October 28, 1925 political dissention boiled over at the Hotel Pennsylvania.  The group Fasciati in America was celebrating the third anniversary of the Fascist march upon Rome in one of the rooms off the main ballroom that night.  The New York Times reported, "Much of the speechmaking was over when there came shouts and jeers from the street just below the windows of the room.  At first no attention was paid, but the shouts became louder as the crowd gathered strength."

The fury of the 400 anti-Fascisti protestors grew to a riot.  Three times the mob attempted to break through a police cordon and enter the hotel.   The article said that while the 25 police officers waited for back-up of 75 reserves, they "had a hard quarter of an hour repelling the attack."  All the while the chants, "Down with the Fascisti!" reached the meeting room above.

The Grill Room (left) and the Palm Room.  Architecture magazine, April 1919 (copyright expired)

In 1942 the hotel was given a make-over.  A full-page advertisement in Time magazine on May 4 that year touted "Nothing Old-fashioned but the Hospitality."  It boasted that all the bedrooms had been done over, "beautifully redecorated and furnished" with "scores of air-conditioned rooms, too."  The ad proudly announced, "In fact, the entire Hotel Pennsylvania lobby has just had a brand-new beauty treatment."  Included was the removal of the stained glass ceiling.  The former Coq Rouge was now called the Café Rouge.  "Here's the place to find that rare combination--delicious food, wonderful music by the nation's foremost orchestras, and a really spacious dance floor," said the advertisement.  Single room rates started at $3.85 per night, doubles at $5.50 (the latter equal to about $87.50 in today's money).

In 1954 hotelier Conrad Hilton purchased the hotel, renaming it The Statler Hilton.  It hotel continued to attract international figures, like Fidel Castro who checked in on April 22, 1959.  To garner favorable public opinion following his Cuban coup, he hired a public relations firm, ate hot dogs, and held babies like a campaigning politician.

Castro signs a photograph for 19-year-old Gladys Feijoo.  photo by George Lockhart, New York Daily News April 22, 1959

It was here on November 3, 1964 that former Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy addressed his supporters after being elected to the United States Senate.  

When the hotel was sold for $46 million in August 1983, it underwent a massive renovation, emerging as the New York Penta.  Eight years later it retook its original name, the Hotel Pennsylvania.  But trouble dawned in 1997 when Vornado Realty Trust purchased the hotel with Singaporean hotel developer Ong Beng Seng.  In 2007 the owners announced plans to demolish the building to make way for a modern office building for Merrill Lynch.

In response, preservationists formed the Save Hotel Pennsylvania Foundation (later the Hotel Pennsylvania Preservation Society)  In November 2007 Manhattan Community Board 5 implored the Landmarks Preservation Commission to designate the building an individual landmark.  The request was denied.

The dining room fountain, according to Vornado Realty Trust, will be salvaged as part of a "museum of the hotel" later. photo via Wikimedia.

In September 2021 International Content Liquidations, Inc. initiated sale of the hotel's contents in preparation for demolition.  Chandeliers, furniture, the fitness equipment, and the historic guest rooms doors were sold.  Once the grand dame of New York hotels, the Hotel Pennsylvania's doom is apparently sealed.

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many thanks to reader Andrew Cronson for prompting this post.