The Edward Roberts Mansion - No. 241 Lenox Avenue

 

On May 21, 1887 The Record & Guide drew readers' attention to "The Transformation of a Beautiful District."  The article described the lightning-fast development of the Harlem area near what was called Mount Morris Square.  Within the past three years, the writer said, "regions that were bare enough to raise crops upon have become the site of many handsome and costly buildings."

Among those transforming the district was architect-developer A. B. Van Dusen.  At the time of the article he had filled half the western block front of Sixth Avenue (renamed Lenox Avenue later that year) between 121st and 122nd Street; and the entire blockfront between 122nd and 123rd, with rowhouses.  The Record & Guide called the residences "tasteful and substantial."

Most "substantial" of the long row was No. 241, at the northwest corner of West 122nd Street.  Looking like a super-sized version of its otherwise nearly identical neighbors, it boasted the mansion-width of 25 feet.  Faced in brownstone on the avenue and ruddy red brick on the side elevation, it rose above the row because of the exceptional ceiling heights inside.  Van Dusen's up-to-the-minute design was transitional--melding neo-Grec with the newly-appearing Renaissance Revival styles.

The expensive exceptions that set the house apart from the row suggest that Edward Roberts had purchased the residence before Van Dusen had put pen to paper, and gave input on amenities.  Exposed on three sides--affording a luxurious abundance of air and light--its carved architrave window surrounds did not diminish on the upper floors.  Their prim cornices, tiered sills, and foliate brackets were continued on the 122nd Street side.

The stately Renaissance Revival portico featured Corinthian columns on paneled pedestals and an elaborately-carved entablature.  Handsome iron fencing protected the deep light moat that girded the English basement level.

Even the stone fence post is carved with Renaissance Revival panels.

Edward Roberts was born on March 23, 1812 and had an impressive military pedigree.  His great-grandfather, John Roberts, earned prominence in the French and Indian War; his grandfather, Christopher Roberts, had served in the Revolution; and his father was Major General Martin Roberts.

Until 1841, when he arrived in New York City, Roberts had traveled, studied and taught school.  His proficiency in Greek, Latin and Hebrew drew repeated offers for professorships, all of which he declined.   The year before arriving in New York he married Lucy Maria Benjamin.  The couple had three children before Lucy's untimely death in 1845.


In 1848 he married Irene Bartlett Robinson, and they had another five children.  Like her husband, Irene had an imposing family history.  She was descended from John Robinson, who arrived in Massachusetts in 1636.  His son married the great granddaughter of John Alden and Priscilla Mullen.  Another relative, Josiah Bartlett, was a signer of the Declaration of Independence.

Shortly after coming to New York Roberts helped found Roberts, Cushman & Co.  The firm manufactured "hat materials," like hat bands, mechanical hat size rulers, and trimmings.  As successful as the firm was, The New York Times later noted that he "amassed a fortune in real estate."

Just three years after moving into the mansion, in 1890, Roberts was diagnosed with cancer.  In April 1891 his condition had deteriorated to the point that he was bedridden.  Two weeks later, on May 3, he died.

Irene was involved with the New-York Indian Association; a reform group organized following the Civil War.  Its founding was spurred by the western migration of settlers and the corruption in the Indian Service (now the Bureau of Indian Affairs).  The goals of the group were, foremost, to convert Native Americans to Christianity, to grant them citizenship, and to do away with the reservation system.

On April 16, 1895 she opened the Lenox Avenue house for a reception and sale for the benefit of the New-York Indian Association.  The drawing rooms were filled that afternoon with the wives of wealthy New York businessmen.

Irene suffered a fatal heart attack on Monday, March 7, 1897.  Her funeral was held in the house three days later.

The Roberts family retained ownership of the mansion, but never again would it be a private home.  The well-to-do families moving into the Harlem neighborhood brought with them the need for upscale stores, handsome churches and private schools.  Mary Schoonmaker leased the Roberts house for her New York Collegiate Institute.

Schoonmaker had established the private girls' school in 1888.  The Handbook of Private Schools explained it provided "courses from kindergarten through college preparatory and finishing work."  Also advertised as Miss Mary Schoonmaker's School for Girls, its graduates were from socially-elite families.  A mention in Harper's Magazine in 1899 noted "Certificate admits to Smith, Vassar, Wells, Wellesley."

The New York Times reported on May 7 that year that "An exhibit of school work was given yesterday by the pupils of the New York Collegiate Institute in the school building, at 241 Lenox Avenue...The manual training work was much admired by the visitors, especially that of the classes in history and art.  The paper work and clay modeling of the kindergarten classes also excited interest."

Mary Schoonmaker apparently made a brief trial of admitting boys.  An advertisement in the New-York Tribune on August 28, 1910 read "Boys prepared for the Colleges and Scientific Schools.  Well-equipped Gymnasium."

But the experiment did not last.  On April 19, 1913, when the students gave their annual exhibit of school work, the facility was once again called Miss Mary Schoonmaker's School for Girls.  Students read their literary compositions to what The Sun called a "large audience."  Among the titles of the essays read that day was Marjorie Page's "How We Went a-Frogging," Eleanor Hope's "Cleaning My Room," and Elizabeth I. Lyons's "Racketty Packetty House."

Before the fall session that year Mary Schoonmaker moved the school to No. 345 West End Avenue.  In October the Roberts family leased the house to the Finnish Women's Co-Operative Home.  New York had seen the advent of working women's residence hotels; but this one was starkly different.

Founded by Finnish servants around 1908, it was described as "really a working girls' club."  The women, mostly domestic maids and cooks, paid $5 a year to become a shareholder.  Those who did not live with their employers lived here.  Elene Foster, writing in the New-York Tribune on November 3, 1918, described the larger upper floor rooms as "fitted up with a row of small white iron beds like a dormitory, while the smaller ones are rented as single rooms."

Girls using the dormitory accommodations paid $7 for room and board.  Single rooms went for $8.50.  Foster said "The meals are excellent, and any shareholder has the privilege of inviting guests of either sex to luncheon or dinner by paying a nominal sum."

Unlike other working girls' residents, which had strict regulations, the Finnish Women's Co-Operative Home was operated on an honor system.  "There are no rules to be observed in the home except those which any girl of decent inclinations or education would naturally observe," said Foster.  "The house is never closed and girls are admitted at any hour."

The dining room and kitchen were in the basement.  Irene Roberts's front parlor was used as an employment bureau; while the back parlor was communal lounge.  Here was where "the girls receive their men friends and where they can meet in the afternoon for a cup of coffee and the dainty Finnish wafers, which, according to the old home custom, are served at 3:30."

Although the Roberts estate sold the house in September 1921 (the buyer announcing he planned "extensive alterations"), the Finnish Women's Co-Operative stayed on through the term of its lease.  It was still here on June 23, 1922 when an advertisement appeared in The New York Herald:  "GIRLS--Two Finnish girls desire positions together in country.  241 Lenox av."

By now Harlem in general saw a shift in demographics as whites were replaced by blacks.  But the neighborhood around 122nd Street and Lenox Avenue was, perhaps surprisingly, still one of mostly middle-class whites.  In 1923 the renovations to No. 241 were completed, resulting in a doctor's office on the parlor level, a store in the basement, and a single family home on the upper floors.

Around the time of the Great Depression and area saw its further transition to a black neighborhood.  By 1930 Edna Mattke was running a rooming house here, while David Reich's Chapel, a funeral home, operated on the parlor level.

Despite the disastrous Stock Market Crash, Edna was persuaded by an elderly roomer to let her invest $300 in stocks on September 9, 1930.  Marion La Touche, who was 85-years old and described as a "slim, faded" woman, let her in on "confidential information" from a "high authority in Wall Street."  She promised Edna that Republic Steel stock was "the best on the market" would gain "5 to 6 points daily."

The old woman's knowledge and her grandmotherly demeanor not only convinced Edna, but ten female neighbors.  Marion La Touche did buy stocks with the several thousand dollars she collected; but she kept them for herself and disappeared.

What Edna and her neighbors did not know was that Marion had a rap sheet that extended back to March 1884 when she had been sentenced to Welfare Island for grand larceny.  Police records showed that in the past 47 years she had been arrested nine times on theft charges and had served several prison terms under various names.

Edna Mattke was running her rooming house at No. 241 Lenox Avenue (left) when this photo was taken on July 28, 1932.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Edna Mattke had the old woman tracked down and arrested.  The two faced each other in court on August 6, 1931.  Relying on her innocent appearance, La Touche appeared in a "drab black dress" and answered examination "in faint, measured words," according to The Times, with the dexterity of a politician.

When District Attorney Charles Pilatsky asked if it were true that she had been incarcerated in 1884, she replied "You're asking me something that happened so long ago I don't remember."  When pushed, she outright lied, insisting she had not been imprisoned and this was "the first time I've been on a witness stand in my life."

The jury indicted La Touche on second degree grand larceny on August 19; but officials now grappled with the elderly woman's fate.  State Law mandated that because of her repeated offenses a conviction would bring a mandatory life term in prison.

Staff Captain Agnes H. McKernan of the Salvation Army heard of the case and offered "to provide a home for her to remove her from temptation," reported The Times on September 1.  Judge Donnellan took pity and allowed her to plead guilty to a misdemeanor.  She was sentenced to six months to three years; but the judge suspended the sentence based on the Salvation Army's promised to house her for life "in the proper environment."

The funeral home (it became Steinfeld's Chapel around 1933) remained for years.  And the upper floors were rented as furnished rooms through the rest of the century.  The elegant rooms where the Roberts family had lived now saw tenants come and go often on a weekly basis.

Then in 2008 plans for a residential conversion were filed.  The extraordinarily sympathetic restoration and renovation was completed in 2014.  Above the basement and parlor floor commercial spaces, there are now just one spacious condominium apartment per floor.

Astoundingly, the ornate Eastlake-style woodwork, including the original shutters that fold back into the walls, survive intact.  photo by Oxford Property Group via realtor.com

photographs by the author

Church of the Holy Trinity (St. Martin's Church) - 230 Lenox Avenue

The Lenox Avenue neighborhood above 120th street was one of wealthy professionals in 1888.  Comfortable homes, some worthy to be called mansions, had made this section of Harlem a new upscale suburb.

On May 21 that year The New York Times reported on the ongoing construction of the Episcopalian Holy Trinity Church, at the southeast corner of Lenox Avenue and 122nd Street.  "When completed," the article promised, "this will be a handsome and spacious religious edifice, the material used being Worchester granite and Long Meadow sandstone.  This combination of stone and colors, a reddish hue with the hue of the dove, was a favorite one, it is said, with the architect Richardson."

That Richardson was Henry Hobson Richardson, whose beefy take on Romanesque Revival earned the name Richardsonian Romanesque.  The Times critic was well founded in mentioning him.  After the church's completion, the Real Estate Record & Guide noted "Most observers of the new church will be impressed by its likeness to the works of the late Mr. Richardson, though this is nowhere an imitation."

The architect was William Appleton Potter and his choice of styles was not surprising.  For years he had been supervising architect for the United States Treasury--a post he held until 1877.  He produced civic structures like courthouses, post office buildings and custom houses; and formed a partnership with Robert Henderson Robertson, Potter & Robertson, in 1875.  Robertson was highly influenced by Richardson and his name, too, would be linked to the Romanesque Revival style.

By now Potter had been on his own for seven years.  His Church of the Holy Trinity, completed in 1889, reflected his past works; a masterful design of chunky, undressed blocks; rounded arches; contrasting hues and a dominating bell tower.  While the Record & Guide had asserted it was in no way an imitation of Richardson, it could not help pointing out the similarities.

In describing Potter's "triplets of round arches," the Guide said it "was a favorite feature of Mr. Richardson's."  And regarding the materials--red tile for the roof, red granite as the main material, with "rich brown sandstone" for the trim--the article added "This combination was one of Mr. Richardson's happiest introductions."

Nevertheless, the architect was given his just recognition; several of the elements being termed "novel" and almost all described as "successful."  And both adjectives were used in describing the inside:  "The interior of the church is quite as successful as the exterior, and has much more of the interest of novelty."  The writer explained that the "novelty" was important because it "comes not of an attempt to do something new, but ensues from the effort to meet requirements in some respects novel in the most straightforward way."

Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, October 12, 1889 (copyright expired)

The pews and other furniture were of oak, matched  in the paneling over African marble wainscoting in the chancel.  Potter had commissioned Louis C. Tiffany to decorate the space.  The Record & Guide described "Mr. Tiffany's decoration" as "deep in tone and of a sombre richness.  The richness of the interior has been very judiciously concentrated upon the apse."  The seating area, 90 feet square, church accommodated more than 1,200 worshipers.

The Church of the Holy Trinity was among the first major congregations in the area.  It was organized in 1868 by the Rev. William N. McVickar, when, according to the New-York Tribune later, "that part of the city was taking on active life."  Its first building was erected in 1870 on Fifth Avenue and 125th Street.   King's Handbook of New York City explained in 1892 that it "has enjoyed a continually increasing measure of prosperity, culminating in the present beautiful edifice, and a communicant list of nearly 1,000."

The construction of the magnificent structure brought with it enormous cost.  It would be years before the congregation would pay off its $210,500 debt--an amount equal to nearly $5.6 million today.

Among the congregants was Civil War hero Major General Abram Duryee.  Duryee saw action in the battles of Bull Run, Antietam, and Cedar Mountain, among others.  His service was recognized by Presidents Abraham Lincoln and Andrew Johnson.

Following the war, in 1873, he was New York City Police Commissioner.  It was during his tenure that the police were called out to quell a labor protest in Tompkins Square Park on January 13, 1874.  They attacked the crowd with batons and mounted police charges.  Surprised and defenseless, many were injured and dozens arrested.  The New York Committee for Safety, which had organized the protest, condemned Duryee for having "charged his police upon inoffensive workingmen like so many 'bulldogs.'"

Duyree's response was cold.  According to Richard Hofstadter and Michael Wallace in the 1970 book American Violence, he said "It was the most glorious sight I ever saw the way the police broke and drove the crowd. Their order was perfect as they charged with their clubs uplifted."

When Abram Duryee died at the age of 76 on on September 27, 1890 at his nearby home on 126th Street, New Yorkers preferred to remember his wartime accomplishments.  His funeral in the Church of the Holy Trinity on September 29 was conducted with full military honors.  The Evening World provided a list of the esteemed pall-bearers: including among others General H. T. Tremain, General Hiram Duyrea, General Philip F. Viele, and Colonel Daniel Appleton.  The New York Times remarked that the military attendance of at the funeral was "almost without precedent on any similar occasion."

As with most churches, many of the stained class windows were installed later; gifts of congregants.  One of the most impressive was that donated by Leander H. Crall in memory of his wife.  Designed by Francis Lathrop, who had created the windows and chancel decorations for St. Bartholomew's Church, it was 23 feet high and 7 feet wide.  Depicting "The Adoration of the Magi," it contained 13 life-size figures and was unveiled during Christmas Eve services in 1899.   The critic for The New York Times deemed it "the most satisfactory, and, in some ways, the most artistic that he has yet produced."   He added that the window was "remarkably fine" chiefly due to the "devotional spirit which Mr. Lathrop has breathed into his work, and which is rare in any art work of this material and unpoetic age."

"The Adoration of the Magi" was the center of the three large windows.

As New York City grappled with the push for legalization of alcohol on Sundays, the Rev. Dr. H. P. Nichols chimed in from the pulpit on February 2, 1902 with a surprisingly open-minded attitude.  He pointed out that the Sabbath was reserved for worship and leisure.   But some for some people, leisure included drinking beer; and their only opportunity to do so in those days of six-day work weeks was on Sunday.  The legislation of morals, he proclaimed, was a slippery slope and quoted the Archbishop of York who said "I would rather have England free than England sober."

The contrast of granite and brownstone is seen in this photograph taken by Thaddeus Wilkerson around the time of the church's consecration.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

It was not until New Year's Day 1910 that the church was finally debt-free and, therefore, could be consecrated.  An anonymous check for $35,498 found in the collection plate on Thanksgiving Day had wiped out the congregation's debts.

In 1923 a new organ costing $35,000 was installed.  At the time the demographics of the Harlem neighborhood had been changing for years as black residents replaced white.  Those changes would come to the Church of the Holy Trinity only after a devastating fire nearly destroyed the building.

Around 7 a.m. on April 15, 1925 a passing motorist noticed smoke coming from the windows.  Before long the fire had grown to what The New York Times described as "the most spectacular blaze Harlem has had in years."  Four fire companies responded and battled the flames for three hours.  "The firemen had scarcely started to get inside when the groaning of roof timbers caused them to run for shelter under the stone pillars on the west side of the church.  In a few seconds the roof collapsed."

Thousands crammed Lenox Avenue to watch the horrifying inferno.  When it was finally extinguished The Times wrote "The tower and a mere shell of blackened stone walls are all that remain of the Protestant Episcopal Church of the Holy Trinity."  The organ, the stained glass windows, "said to be art treasures," the bronze and marble baptismal font, the work of Paul Winters Morris--essentially everything inside--were destroyed.

Potter made repeated use of Richardson's "triplets of round arches."

The congregation never returned.  Three years later, on January 15, 1928, the superintendent of the New York Protestant Episcopal City Mission Society, the Rev. Dr. L. Ernest Sunderland announced plans to "rebuild and refurnish" the burned-out building.

The $150,000 project would "make it a social and religious centre for the negroes of Harlem."  The Society announced "The structure, which was badly damaged by fire several years ago, will be renamed St. Martin's Church."  Dr. Sunderland stressed the importance of revitalizing the church, saying that Harlem "is the battleground of good and evil in the negro life of America."

The renovations were completed by summer; but it was not until June 5, 1932 that the church was officially dedicated.  Bishop William T. Manning conducted the services.  The formal name of the edifice sounds shockingly racist to 21st century minds: the Protest Episcopal Church of St. Martin for Negroes."

In his remarks Manning attempted to prove he was racially unprejudiced; with remarkable failure at least by today's viewpoint.   His comments about "my own close association with your race" were the near-equivalent of "some of my best friends are black."  He insisted "It is a fact, as many of you know, that the first two babies I ever baptized were colored babies; the first church building I consecrated was for colored people, the first parish house I dedicated was for colored people, the first class I confirmed after I was made Bishop was a class of colored people."

Seven years after the dedication fire devastated the building again.  A five-alarm blaze on January 19, 1939 resulted, once again, in only the outer walls standing.  The damaged was estimated at a quarter of a million dollars, more than $4.25 million by today's standards.

The congregation was determined to rebuild.  Included in the reconstruction was the replacement of the carillon.  It was executed by the Royal Eijsbouts foundry in Asten, the Netherlands, and installed in 1949.  (When the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris celebrated its 850th anniversary in 2014, it called on the Royal Eijsbouts foundry to recast its largest bell, the 6-ton "Marie.")

The Church of St. Martin continues to serve its neighborhood.   It also operates The Little Theatre to train young residents in dance and the arts.  Although covered in decades of grim, William A. Potter's masterful Romanesque Revival structure miraculously survives after two near misses with destruction.

photographs by the author

The Harlem Club - Lenox Avenue and 123rd Street

On June 22, 1889, as the Harlem Club's new headquarters was nearing completion at the southwest corner of Lenox Avenue and 123rd Street, the Record & Guide opined, "In composition and in detail we scarcely know of a more creditable recent building."  It could also have been described as imposing.

Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, June 22, 1889 (copyright expired)

Well-to-do Victorian gentlemen were expected to hold at least one membership in a high-end social club.  As Harlem evolved into a vibrant suburb, its new residents found themselves inconveniently far from the club district, which was around 75 blocks to the south.  In 1879, "some of the most prominent gentlemen who reside in the upper part of the City," as described by The New York Times, formed the Irving Club of New-York, and in 1881 acquired an existing residence on Fifth Avenue near West 127th Street for its clubhouse.  The New-York Tribune later explained, "There were clubs and meeting places in the Harlem district at that time, but they lacked the qualities of the good clubs in the lower part of the city." 

Five years later, the name was changed to the Harlem Club.  Its membership, which had risen to 100 by now, was composed, according to a newspaper, "principally of bankers, brokers, lawyers, and merchants."  The Harlem Club listed as its purpose, "to cultivate friendly and social intercourse among its members, and to further and advance by means of concentrated action, matters of public welfare in the upper section of the City."

By 1888, the membership had more than tripled to 340 and, according to the New-York Tribune, the clubhouse "was too small and not attractive, and offered few club features for the younger element."  A committee was formed on January 14 that year to consider a more commodious and impressive clubhouse.

On September 8, 1888, The American Architect and Building News published an understated, one-line announcement that architects Lamb & Rich had completed plans for a four-story "brick club-house" with a projected cost of $50,000.

A terra cotta sunburst decorates the blind arch and delightful stone leaves parade along the upper frieze.  The Record & Guide described the black tiles as "japanned." 

Now, nine months later, the Record & Guide assessed the completed structure.  Hugh Lamb and Charles Alonzo Rich had created a hulking Romanesque Revival structure of brick and stone, with touches of Queen Anne.  The critic could find little to criticize, saying for instance, "Over each wing is a dormer in metal, of rather fantastic but effective design, relieved against the steep roof of dark japanned tiles..." and noting, "The gabled roof would have been uncouthly large if it had occupied the whole width of the central division.  The awkwardness is happily got over by the clever and effective introduction of a broad chimney on each side."

The actual costs, including the expensive furnishings, draperies, carpeting and such, had risen to $150,000--nearly $3.9 million in 2017.  On June 14, 1889, The New York Times reported, "The house is equipped in the latest style.  In the basement are bowling alleys and kitchens; on the first floor parlors and a library; on the second floor billiard rooms and a cafe; and on the third and fourth floors three private dining rooms and ten chambers."  The "chambers" were sleeping rooms.  Not only did out of town members need a place to stay, but so would those briefly in town on business from their summer residences.   The room, said the newspaper "are furnished in a manner that leaves nothing to be desired."

A long balcony, now lost, graced the second floor and stocky iron lampposts flanked the entrance.  photo via harlembespoke.blogspot.com

The New-York Tribune was more detailed, describing the first floor as having "a handsome reception room, a large drawing room, and back of these a cosey reading room with great easy chairs and comfortable lounges and handsome wall decorations.  In the hall stands a great stuffed bear, which was killed by the Grand Duke Alexis of Russia when he hunted big game with Buffalo Bill."

An antique tall case clock graced the entrance hall (above).  Masculine oak furniture in the library complimented the mantelpiece.   New-York Tribune, February 2, 1902 (copyright expired)

The Harlem Club opened its new clubhouse on June 13, 1889 with a reception for men-only.  It would be another six months before women would get a peek inside.  On December 13, The New York Times reported that the previous evening, "the wives and daughters and sisters of its members had their first chance to inspect the beauties of the new domain of their male relatives."

Although women's visits were restricted, a delicately-furnished Ladies Parlor accommodated them.  New-York Tribune, February 2, 1902 (copyright expired)

Plants and flowers softened the decidedly masculine atmosphere for the event.  "The building was prettily decorated with palms, roses, and flowering plants, and a band played in a floral bower in the reading room."  Oddly enough, despite the spacious dining rooms, the guests ate in the basement.  "Dancing went on for the younger folks in the drawing rooms, and supper was served by Steward Marsich on small tables arrange in the bowling alleys."

The Billiard Room was outfitted with five tables. New-York Tribune, February 2, 1902 (copyright expired)

Like its downtown counterparts, the exclusivity of the Harlem Club was not limited to wealth and family, but to religion.  On July 10, 1889, The New York Times wrote, "The Harlem Club, which recently moved into its handsome and costly new house...is disturbed by the raising of the Hebrew question."

The issue went back to the June 13 opening, at which Senator Jacob A. Cantor was a guest of George McGown.  Banker Robert Bonynge proposed him as a member that night.  Later another member approached the senator and said, "Jake, I have known you for a long time, and I am a friend of yours, but I must tell you that in this club we draw the line at Hebrews."

Understandably insulted, Cantor went to Bonynge and offered to withdraw his name.  But, explained The New York Times, "that gentleman and the other friends of the Senator had their blood up and said the Senator's name should stand and be passed on if it took all Summer."

The issue, indeed, simmered throughout all summer, and in the end the senator was not admitted.  A reporter who spoke to Cantor during the drawn-out process noted, "he was satisfied to know that if it did reject him, it would do so on account of his race and not on personal grounds."

The ugly and bigoted affair would stain the Harlem Club for the rest of its existence.

An early postcard depicted a nearly deserted Lenox Avenue. (copyright expired)

In the meantime, the clubhouse was the scene of "smokers, euchres, and concerts," among other events.  An annual exhibition of works by American artists was held here, and musical entertainments were common.  In January 1903, for instance, 200 hundred members and guests heard soloists perform operatic arias, after which supper was served in the dining rooms, and dancing went on until 1:30 in the morning.

During the 1904 Presidential campaign two members got into a heated political debate.  James O'Reilly insisted that Judge Alton B. Parker, the Democratic candidate, would beat Theodore Roosevelt in the election.  Herman J. Elkhoff was equally confident in his choice.  Their argument resulted in a bet, the conditions of which were "that the loser swim across the East River some time during the month following election day."

Parker lost the election and O'Reilly lost the bet.  True to his word, on Sunday morning November 10 he plunged into the river and swam to Randall's Island and back.  O'Reilly was physically prepared for the challenging feat.  The Evening World said, "he takes a plunge in the river every morning during the winter."  The apparently out-of-shape Elkhoff, on the other hand, was lucky his candidate had won.  Other members confided that he "was taking a desperate chance" with his bet.

Modern Harlem historians are wont to blame the decline of the Harlem Club on its anti-Semitic policies.  In fact, while the stigma of the Cantor affair hung on, it was more likely finances that brought the club down.  Suit was filed against the club on June 19, 1906, "to foreclose a mortgage of $60,000 on the club's property."  That was the original July 12, 1889 mortgage; a second mortgage of $52,779 brought the liabilities to more than $3 million in today's dollars.

In October a Supreme Court judge ordered the building to be sold at auction on January 31, 1907.  Two days before the sale, The New York Times wrote, "After nearly thirty years of active life, during which it came to be known as the first club of Harlem, the Harlem Club is about to be dissolved.  Upon the two iron lamps which stand on either side of the front steps of the handsome building...are glaring yellow posters announcing in large type that by order of the Supreme Court the clubhouse and its furnishings will be sold out at auction."

The clubhouse was purchased by developer William A. Martin.  He resold it within the month to the Eastman Business College of Poughkeepsie.  Established in 1859 by Harvey Gridley Eastman, the school readied young men for clerical business work.  Included in the curriculum were "Civil service, shorthand, typewriting, telegraph, penmanship and correspondence."

The new Manhattan branch was called the Eastman New York Business Institute, and an advertisement boasted that it was housed in "one of the most attractive structures in the most aristocratic neighborhood of Upper New York."

The school remained in the building until 1935, when it fell victim to the Great Depression and changing demographics.  Reportedly it refused to admit black students--a major problem in a neighborhood that was now significantly black.

The building was taken over as the Unity Mission Church, the headquarters for the charismatic if questionable "Father" Major Jealous Divine.  The leader of what at least one newspaper called "a Negro cult," Divine had made a name for himself by conducting revival meetings, curing the sick, and declaring himself a deity.  Telling his followers that he had been born a fully-formed adult, he amassed a following of tens of thousands.

The progress of the 4-foot, 6-inch leader was closely followed by law enforcement.  By 1933 he had "kingdoms" in Manhattan, Newark, Baltimore, Washington DC, Bridgeport and other cities.  A 38-page typewritten report ordered by Common Pleas Judge Richard Hartshorne that year credited Divine with "some socially helpful results."   But it also noted, according to a New York Times report, he "has equipped himself with an airplane, automobiles, several secretaries and a large staff of employes in his headquarters and 'kingdoms' in New York City" and that "his followers, including many whites, did in fact worship him as God."

Adherents to Father Divine turned over all their possessions to the Kingdom, earning them the status of angel.  The angels then took on a heavenly name--such as Lovely, or Kind.  The process caused endless problems, from followers trying to file tax reports under their unregistered new names; to husbands suing Father Divine for alienation of affection.

One case was that of chauffeur and oboe player Carl Davenport, who sued for $100,000.  He testified that he and his wife Alice, had been happily married until February 1933 when she was "subjected to public and private exhortation by Father Divine and his servants and employees."  Alice walked out on Carl and their eight children.

Her actions were mirrored by Madeline Green two years later.  She left her husband, Samuel N. Green, Jr., a postal clerk, and their seven children (aged 3 through 14).   Samuel filed a petition alleging that when she had abandoned them, she said the children should be sent to an orphan asylum.  She explained to the Children's Court judge "I have no more children.  The life I lead is one of sacrifice.  All belongs to God now."

When Judge Levy asked "How can you give up seven children and say you lead a Christ-like life?" she responded flatly "Because I see the light.  I am out of darkness."

A "children's dinner" in Unity Mission Church.  photo via libertynet.org

Father Divine's magnetism did not affect everyone.  Washington DC pastor Rev. Dr. Walter H. Brooks, a son of slaves, was asked about Divine's movement in April 1935.  "People like to be humbugged," was his curt reply.

Despite his constant legal battles (he was accused of having a harem, engaging in outrageous sexual activities, and illegally housing minors), Father Divine continued to lead throngs--his meetings drew tens of thousands of followers.  His main companion and assistant was No. 1 Angel, Faithful Mary; and his celebrity was such that in 1936 John Hoshor wrote God in a Rolls Royce.  The Rise of Father Divine, Madman-Menace or Messiah.

Following an incident in which three men were stabbed by one of his angels, Father Divine was wanted for questioning.  He fled Harlem, but was found hiding behind the furnace in the cellar of Milford, Connecticut house.  Divine had tried to "invisibilize" himself, but seems to have failed.

Initially he denied being Father Divine.  But at the West 123rd Street station house, he notified authorities that "the Father had resumed his earthly body," and he was once again Father Divine.

The Unity Mission Church left West 123rd Street in 1946.  The building was sold to Jacob Goodman & Co., which announced they were "considering plans for altering the property into apartments."  Instead, the firm resold the structure "to a buyer who intends to spend $50,000 on alterations," as reported by The New York Times on February 1, 1947.

Especially charming were the metal dormers, with openings on three sides. 

A second church took over the building; followed by the newly-formed Bethelite Community Baptist Church (known as the Bethel Gospel Assembly) in 1948.  Founded by Rev. Millard Alexander Stanley, he supposedly invented the name "Bethelite" after a drug addict said to him "If y'all gonna be a church, you better 'Be-The-Lite."

Bethel Gospel Assembly remained through 1984, when the congregation purchased and renovated the former Fennimore Cooper Junior High School.  The Lenox Avenue was sold to Pastor James David Manning's ATLAH (All The Land Anointed Holy) Worldwide Missionary Church.  He used the church's outdoor signboard to spread his outrageous and, some would say un-Christian, viewpoints.

Hateful messages like "We will take Harlem back from the pinch nose sellout Negroes and the demonic homos" and "Jesus would stone homos.  Stoning is the law" in 2014 drew protestors to Lenox Avenue.

Manning sided with Donald Trump, posting that Barack Obama was a Muslim and not a valid president.  In August 2014 he asserted that Russian President Vladimir Putin would release KGB intelligence "that would prove that President Obama is homosexual."

The splinter group is still in the former Harlem Club, although financial pressures make its future questionable (Manning refuses to pay taxes, insisting the church should be exempt like other religious institutions, although his is not a recognized sect.)

In the meantime, despite the loss of the Lenox Avenue balcony and altered windows; Lamb & Rich's striking clubhouse survives as an imposing reminder of a far different period in Harlem history.

photographs by the author