The 1906 Central Park View (The Orwell) -- 2 West 86th Street

 

The original section (right) and the 1907 addition are defined by a zipper-like row of quoins.  photograph by Jim Henderson

On September 1, 1906 the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that the 12-story apartment building being erected by the Gotham Realty & Construction Co. on Central Park West and 86th Street was nearing completion.  The article noted that the $1 million structure (nearly 30 times that much in today's money) "is arranged in suites for forty-eight families."  Even as the finishing touches were being worked on, Gotham Realty broke ground for an addition on the 85th Street corner.  The nearly identical edifices were designed by the architectural firm of Mulliken & Moeller.

The Record & Guide described the architectural style as "French Renaissance...with an exterior of brick with buff limestone trimmings."  But Mulliken & Moeller toned down the style known today as Beaux Arts.  Other Beaux Arts style apartment buildings on other Upper West Side, like the Dorilton and the Ansonia, bubbled over with frothy French decorations.

A two-story, rusticated limestone base supported ten floors of deep red brick, highlighted by stone lintels, quoins and scrolled cornice brackets.  The 12th floor took the form of a sloped mansard pierced with stone framed dormers.

When this sketch was released in the summer of 1906, construction had already begun on the addition to the south.  New York Daily Herald, September 23, 1906

The entrance to The Central Park View was located on West 86th Street, under a French-style iron-and-glass marquee.  The building opened on October 1, 1906, offering residents "elegant housekeeping suites" from 8 to 11 rooms, with two or three baths.  A central courtyard provide light and ventilation to the interior rooms.

An advertisement boasted, "Every detail as to finish and for house service carried out to the highest degree."  Importantly, the term "housekeeping" set The Central Park View apart from residence hotels, so popular at the time.  It meant that the apartments had kitchens and dining rooms, while amenities like management-provided maid service, for instance, were not included.  Living in The Central Park View was not cheap--the 11-room suites rented for $4,000 a year--or about $10,000 a month today.  The southern structure, which doubled the size of The Central Park View, was completed in 1907.

Among the initial residents was Florence Guernsey, an unmarried socialite whose summer home, Cedar Lawn, was north of the city on the Hudson River.  Her name appeared in newspapers most often for social reasons.  In May 1914, for instance, she hosted the annual meeting of the board of managers of the Free Industrial School and Country Home for Crippled Children; and later that year, in September, she held a "small tea" in honor of her houseguest, Mrs. George Hewlett Clowes.

But in 1908, it was racial inequality that drew her focus.  Florence had five servants, four of whom were white and one Black.  On April 28 she stopped by the box office of the Colonial Theatre and purchased five tickets for women.  That evening Florence was surprised when her Black maid returned, alone, shortly after the group left.  When they arrived at the theater, they were told that the Black woman could not sit with her friends, "but must go up stairs where the colored people sat."  She refused to do so, and returned home.

The maid had been with Florence for more than 12 years.  Incensed, Florence fired off a letter to the editor of The Dramatic Mirror, which said in part:

I cannot understand in free America such a condition of affairs, when a thoroughly respectable, well-dressed woman, be she white or colored, should be refused a seat (already bought and paid for) in the part of the house for which her ticket called.

The Rev. Dr. Charles F. Aked and his wife were also initial residents.  Aked was the pastor of the Fifth Avenue Baptist Church--his most prominent congregant, perhaps, being John D. Rockefeller, Sr.  A native of Nottingham, England, he had been highly-involved in the Suffrage and Temperance movements there before immigrating to New York in 1907 to accept the church's pastorship.  He was, as well, an ardent pacifist and founded the Passive Resistance League.

Rev. Dr. Charles F. Aked, from the collection of the Library of Congress

Aked and his wife may have chosen The Central Park View on the recommendation of another resident, Carrie Chapman Catt.  She was also actively involved in Suffrage and was a mutual friend with the Akeds of Lady Philip Snowden (who preferred the title "Mrs. Snowden"), the famed English suffragette.  Carrie Catt and Reverend Aked had more than suffrage in common.  She, too, was a pacifist, and in 1915 would help found the Woman's Peace Party.

Born Carrie Clinton Lane in 1859, she had become involved with the suffrage movement in the 1880's.  In 1900, she was elected president of the National American Woman Suffrage Association, taking over for Susan B. Anthony.  Her husband, engineer George Catt, died in 1904, leaving her, according to one source, "a wealthy widow."

On September 23, 1908 the New-York Tribune reported that Mrs. Snowden "arrived yesterday at the home of Dr. and Mrs. Aked, No. 2 West 86th street, where she will be a guest for a month."  The Aked apartment was the scene of a press conference, during which Mrs. Snowden tried to describe the brutal treatment of suffragists in Britain, saying "The things that have been done to the suffragettes by the stewards of political meetings in which they asked questions would not be believed in America."

Dr. Aked chimed in, saying "It is true that neither Mrs. Snowden's word nor mine would be sufficient to convince the American public of the things that have been done to those women."

During her annual visit to America the following year, Mrs. Philip Snowden stayed with Carrie Chapman Catt.  The New York Press said on November 4, 1909, "Mrs. Snowden arrived on the Carmania, which docked about eleven o'clock, and went to the home of Mrs. Carrie Chapman Catt...where she received the reporters in the afternoon."  Dr. Aked was present during that press conference.  Mrs. Snowden stayed with Carrie Chapman Catt in The Central Park View apartment the following year, as well.

Carrie Chapman Catt around 1913, when she lived in The Central Park View. from the collection of the Library of Congress

The family of millionaire brewer Anton Schwartz, a partner in the Bernheimer & Schwartz brewery, lived in the building at the time.  Schwartz, his wife, and their daughter, Mrs. George Ruppert (the wife of another brewer), were in Europe during the summer of 1910.  Their 24-year-old son, Adolf, remained home to tend to business.

The family received an urgent telegram telling them that Adolf was seriously ill.  They hurriedly booked passage to New York, but upon their landing on October 11, they were told that Adolf had died the previous day.

Anton was grief stricken.  According Mrs. Max Bernheimer, the wife of his partner, "the father was wrapped up in this son, whom he expected to succeed him in the business."  He shut himself inside the apartment, The New York Times saying on November 7, "For two weeks the elder Schwartz had not been at his office."  Finally, his emotional anguish took its toll.  The newspaper reported that Schwartz "committed suicide by shooting himself yesterday morning in his apartment on the third floor of the Central Park View Apartment House."

Broadway producer Henry B. Harris and his wife, Renee, lived here by 1912.  In April that year, they were returning home from Europe on the R. M. S. Titanic.  On the afternoon of April 14, the couple joined a card game in the lavish stateroom of Lady Cardeza and her 40-year-old son, Thomas.  (That same promenade stateroom was used by filmmaker James Cameron as that of despicable character Cal Hockley in his 1997 film, Titanic.)

Carefree cardplaying turned to terror that night when the ship struck an iceberg.  Later the New-York Tribune recalled, "Henry B. Harris, when the Titanic was sinking, had been helped into one of the small boats with his wife, when an officer called out, 'Women and children first!'"  Harris looked at his wife and said, "That's right," and stepped back onto the ship.  Renee's boat was lowered to the ocean and rowed away.

When the monument to Isidor and Ida Strauss, Memory, was unveiled in April 1915, survivors were invited to participate.  Renee Harris could not bring herself to do so.  On April 16, the New-York Tribune noted, "In her home, at 2 West Eighty-sixth Street, Mrs. Harris sat alone with the little dog which has been her companion for ten years."  She explained to the reporter, "I can't talk about the Titanic.  It is all too dreadful to think of, and I have trained myself to keep it out of my mind."

The Central Park View had been the scene of another tragedy two years earlier.  Joseph Skolny was the head of the clothing manufacturing firm Joseph Skolny Co.  He and his wife had two live-in servants, Josephine Romer, the cook, and 22-year-old Anna Schaefer, a maid and companion to the Skolny's daughter, Rosa.  

In the fall of 1913 Anna showed signs of what today might be diagnosed as a brain tumor.  She began having excruciating headaches and her eyesight was failing.  Rosa took her to a specialist, who said she simply needed eyeglasses.  The Sun reported that the severe headaches made Anna "fear that glasses could not remedy the defect."  She and Josephine shared a bedroom, and as they prepared to go to bed on December 22, Anna said, "If it weren't for you, I'd kill myself."

The following morning the women arose and went into the kitchen to start the day.  Josephine walked out for a moment, and when she returned, Anna was gone.  The Sun reported, "A chair placed in front of an open window told the story.  The superintendent of the house found her body on the ground."

It was around this time that the Japanese Government leased an apartment for its Consul General, Kametaro Iijima, who arrived in New York in June 1913.  The Iijima's four-year-old daughter, Mosa, was playing in front of the building on March 22, 1914, directly across from the mansion of James "Diamond Jim" Buchanan Brady, at 7 West 86th Street.  Brady's chauffeur, Ray Lascher, was bringing the automobile around when he struck the little girl.

The New York Press reported that Lascher carried Mosa to her apartment.  Dr. Joseph Weinstein was called, who happily said she "was suffering from shock, but was not otherwise injured."

Kametaro Iijama as he appeared in 1913, the year he and his family moved in.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

Iijama's successor, Consul General Chenosuke Yada and his wife, took over the apartment around 1917.  On November 26 that year, Mrs. Yada entertained the Women's Oriental Club.  The New York Times reported, "Jean Bol, a Belgian tenor and recent war refugee, sang."

Early in 1919 the Peter Stuyvesant Operating Corporation leased the building and hired the architectural firm of Schwartz & Gross to convert it to a residential hotel.  On March 16, The Sun reported that it "is to be converted into the highest type of apartment hotel, containing on the upper eleven floors about 350 rooms and 200 baths.  The first floor will be used for a restaurant, lobby and reception hall."

The two-year conversion was completed in 1920.  Now known as the Hotel Peter Stuyvesant, there were 19 apartments per floor.  An advertisement in The Sun on June 27, 1920 touted "Special Summer Rates" and offered "Suites of one room to as many as required, furnished or unfurnished."

Now both transient and residential, the Peter Stuyvesant published this advertising postcard around 1938.

The conversion did not mean that all of the former residents evacuated.  The Yada family, for instance, was still here in 1920.  The long-term residents, for the most part, continued to be affluent.  Such was the case with the widowed Mrs. Elizabeth Bruch, who lived here with her 24-year-old son, Russell, in 1921.

That year the Bruches spent the summer season at Sound Beach, Connecticut, staying at the Greenwich Inn.  On the evening of August 7 at around 7:00, Russell took a canoe onto the Long Island Sound.  He never returned.  Two days later the New York Herald reported, "His mother, Mrs. Elizabeth Bruch of the Hotel Peter Stuyvesant, is prostrated at [the] Greenwich Inn."  Police had notified distant communities "on the theory that the young man may have been carried far into Long Island Sound," said the article.

Five days after Russell's disappearance, his mother offered a $50 reward ($725 in today's money) "for information leading to the recovery of the canoe," according to the New-York Tribune.  "She believes that finding the craft might help to locate her son."  But, tragically, the next day searchers in a small boat discovered his body.  The New-York Tribune said on August 13, "To-day the body came to the surface.  The canoe has not been found."

The conversion retained the iron-and-glass marquee.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

A socially-visible resident in the mid-1920's was Jesse Winburn, head of the Jesse Winburn Banking and Investment Company and of the New York City Car Advertising Company.  An avid sportsman, in 1923 he loaned 1 million francs to the French Olympic fund to stage the Olympic games in Paris.  

On December 20, 1926, The New York Times reported that Winburn had given a musical the previous afternoon.  Among the guest list were socially elite surnames like Rappaport, De Witt Rogers, and Crouch.  Following Winburn's death at the age of 58 at his summer home in Rye, New York, his estate was estimated at about $1.6 million--or around $24 million today.

In 1939, with Prohibition having ended five years earlier, a cabaret and piano bar was installed in the ground floor.  Two years later the building was sold to the Wilger Realty Corporation.  The Hotel Peter Stuyvesant was sold again in July 1960.

Among the residents at the time were renowned explorers Irvin Baird and Jill Cossley-Batt.  Irvin had also been a correspondent for Reuters in India.  The two had led an expedition into the Himalayas in 1931-32 where they discovered an isolated tribe that, according to their reports, lived to "great age and free of disease and pressures of civilization."  The people were believed to be one of "the lost tribes of ancient Chaldeans."  Following that expedition they were married by a missionary in Darjeeling, India.  Irvin Baird died on January 30, 1964 at the age of 63.  

The building was purchased in 1968 by Simon Haberman, who initiated a substantial renovation, completed in 1970.  The project reworked the floorplans and converted most of the first floor to a medical center.  A new main entrance was created with the address of 257 Central Park West.  Now a cooperative apartment building, Haberman renamed it The Orwell House.  An advertisement in The Sunday News on May 10, 1970 described, "Luxury Coop Bldg / Complete reconstruction has resulted in one of the finest & most complete deluxe Coop apt bldgs in all of Manhattan."

A decade later Haberman explained the name to The New York Times writer Edward Deitch, "I like [Orwell's] books.  I read 'Animal Farm' in high school and found it delightful.'"  Haberman, himself, lived in the The Orwell House, and told Deitch that his homage to the author went so far as to sometimes use the name George Orwell, Jr., although "just kiddingly."  Deitch noted, however, "Kidding or not, there is a George Orwell, Jr. listed in the telephone book.  The address is 257 Central Park West--Orwell House."

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The 1903 Hotel Woodstock -- No. 127 West 43rd Street

In 1896 traveling salesman Robert H. Spalding stepped off a train from Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania with his sample case of wood trimmings.  The 31-year-old was taken with the ebullient residential and transient hotels that were rapidly rising throughout the city.   Gushing with Beaux Arts ornamentation on the outside, their interiors dripped with overblown Belle Epoque festoons and frescoes, marble columns and thick carpets.

With gutsy daring, Spalding decided to get in on the trend.   Against all odds (The New York Times later remarked “he had little capital to back him) he successfully constructed the Ganoga Hotel on East 27^th Street.  He sold the new hotel at a profit and immediately commissioned architect Harry B. Mulliken to design the handsome residential Colllingwood Hotel just off Fifth Avenue on West 35^th Street.  The former traveling saleman’s latest project cost nearly $1 million.

The Collingwood had barely opened for business before Spalding and Mulliken were working together again.   Robert Spalding now turned his attention to the Longacre Square neighborhood (later named Times Square), where the new theater district was emerging.  Spalding purchased the land on which the old New-York Racquet and Tennis Club stood at No. 127 West 43^rd Street. 

By the time plans were filed in 1902, Mulliken had formed a partnership with Edgar J. Moeller.  Although Mulliken most likely took charge of the design of the Hotel Spalding, Mulliken & Moeller is given credit.

Demolition of the old buildings was completed and foundation excavation well underway by August 1902.  The neighborhood was still filled with high-stooped brownstones built in the 1870's; many of them now operated as boarding houses.  The construction site would cause neighbors what the New-York Tribune deemed “intense disgust and annoyance” on the night of August 18.

The excavation site, which stretched from No. 127 to 135 West 43^rd Street, necessitated the construction of a 55-foot “timber bridge” over the sidewalk.  At around 7:30 that evening the heavy bridge caved in, breaking a six-inch water main and a four-inch gas main below.  Luckily, although the street was crowded with pedestrians, no one was on the bridge when it collapsed.  But the broken mains soon created a major problem.

“Gas escaped so it could be smelled for blocks, and the police would allow no one with even a lighted cigar or cigarette near the scene, and all the gas lamps were put out,” reported the Tribune.   The gushing water main caused additional problems as it ate away at the soil beneath the street, part of which caved in.  “While people were standing on the edge of the trench the water had been loosening the earth under the street, and a big part of the street pavement gave way and sank with a loud crash into the water.  This caused much excitement.  Women fled in terror, and men disappeared almost as quickly.”

The thick gas seeped into the houses, causing some people to get ill.  Many were seen leaving their homes with suitcases, expecting a massive explosion at any moment.  In fact, the newspaper reported that within an hour the atmosphere was so permeated with gas “that it got to be dangerous to have lights anywhere in the neighborhood.”

Around 9:00 more of the pavement and remains of the bridge gave way, loudly crashing into the water-filled crater.   Many of those in the now-inky blackness thought there had been an explosion “and there was much excitement for a time about the neighborhood.”

Gas workers arrived around 10:00 and groped their way around the gas main in the dark—no lamps could be used.  The main was finally capped and by 10:30 the danger had passed.  Unfortunately for residents, there would be no water or gas service until the next day.

With the regrettable incident now taken care of, construction continued at a rapid pace.  On December 12, 1903 the Hotel Spalding opened “in the customary manner,” according to the New-York Tribune.  The newspaper called it “the latest and most notable addition to the long chain of hostelries in this City.”

An early postcard depicts the surviving brownstones on either side of the new hotel.

“The lobbies and dining rooms were handsomely decorated with flowers and plants, and the house was crowded the greater part of the day with guests and visitors.  Musical entertainment was furnished by the management, besides the usual chefs d’oevres of the culinary department.”

Mulliken’s façade was more restrained than the recent Hotel Collingwood.  There were no sculptured figures or heavy festoons; yet the limestone and brick was nonetheless stylish.  A two-story portico sheltered the entrance and French-inspired iron balconies punctuated the upper floors.  Copper-clad angled bays gave dimension and the 12-story hotel was capped by an ambitious, deeply overhanging spiky cornice.

A postcard shows the portico with its glass and metal marquee.

The interiors, however, were meant to awe.  Polished marble columns appeared in several of the public rooms.  The main Dining Room was lit by an immense stained glass skylight.  Decorated “in the style of Louis XVI," its cuisine and service were touted by management as “as good as it is possible to have them.”  Off the soaring two-story lounge was the slightly less-formal Grill Room, decorated with oaken Jacobean-style furniture and matching paneled wainscoting.

Complementary postcards depict the main Dining Room (note the stained glass skylight), and the less formal Grill Room.  Through the Grill Room's doors the two-story lounge can be glimpsed.

Like Robert Spalding’s others, the Hotel Spalding accommodated not only transient tourists and businessmen; but permanent residents (including Spalding, himself).    Apartments for the long-term residents were provided unfurnished.

There were 300 rooms for transients, consisting of suites of two, three or four rooms with private baths.  An advertisement that appeared one week after the opening promised that “A cosey, home-like effect has been carried out in the furnishings—the walls are hung with attractive pictures, the furniture does not consist of two or three uncomfortable chairs and a centre table, but is of the most luxurious and home-like character, the sort that fills your heart with good cheer.  There are soft, thick rugs and books and bric-a-brac and other thing that contribute so much to the cheerful atmosphere of the place.”

At the time of opening, a single room and with private bath would cost the guest $2.50 a day—in the neighborhood of $70 today.

After checking in in the rather somber wood-paneled lobby (above), guests entered the airy Lounge.

Robert Spalding’s wife did not live to move into the new hotel with her husband.  She died in the summer of 1903.   And one year almost to the day after the hotel’s completion, Spalding died in his apartment here. 

On Friday evening, December 9, 1904, he was “entertaining a quartet of professional singers who were rehearsing in one of the apartments,” according to The New York Times.   The 39-year old suffered a heart attack which caused his death at about 5:00 Saturday morning.

At the time of his death, creditors had been close on his heels.   Quickly the hotel was put into receivership and on January 20, 1905 a petition of involuntary bankruptcy was filed.  The Hotel Spalding owed debts amounting to $700,000.  It was sold in September for $660,000.

Robert H. Spalding’s namesake hotel was quickly rechristened the Hotel Woodstock.   Guests and residents would have noticed no real changes; although the single room rate was raised by 50 cents.

As Spalding had predicted, the site’s proximity to the theater district proved attractive to tourists and theatrical types.  In 1907 the internationally-known stage actress Rose Coghlan was staying here while she rehearsed The Unwritten Law before taking it on the road.  She was understandably upset in October that year when she lost a gold lorgnette on a pearl chain somewhere in the Times Square area.

Rose Coghlan - from the collection of the New York Public Library

Among the permanent residents at around this time was the young Madaline Davidson.  On November 30, 1909 she was met at the hotel by Bostonian H. F. Kersberg who took her to a nearby spot for tea.  Kersberg was an athlete, a member of the Harvard football team which had recently defeated Yale for the first time in six years.

The young couple was apparently paying a great deal of attention to one other and not enough to traffic when they started across Broadway at 44^th Street.  The pair was knocked down by a passing brougham.  Although Kersberg was uninjured, Madaline’s ankle was hurt and she had to be carried into the lobby of a theater.  The football player then flagged down a hansom “and took her away.”

The carriage driver, William Savin, was arrested for reckless driving.  Kersberg appeared in court the next day to defend him.  The New York Times reported “He and Miss Davidson, he said, had been to a hotel for tea, and in crossing the street were chatting and did not watch very carefully.”  Nevertheless, the judge fined Savin $10.

The Hotel Woodstock prospered under its new ownership.  On December 10, 1910 Mulliken & Moeller announced they were working on plans for a 12-story addition at Nos. 137 and 139 West 43^rd.  The Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide reported “The addition will be of the same style of architecture and finish as the present building.”  It added “the old dwelling on the site will be torn down at once.”

The addition successful melded seamlessly into the original structure.   The Hotel Woodstock now offered 375 rooms and 285 baths.  Possibly because the main entrance was now off-center the two-story portico was removed and replaced by a long glass and metal marquee.

The 1910 addition was seamless.  photo by Irving Underhill from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The hotel continued to be home to wealthy permanent residents like Charles P. Dennin, president of O. Dennin & Sons, one of the largest brush manufacturers in the nation, who lived here through the World War I years.

The revamped entrance did away with the two-story portico.

In the years following the war, many hotel operators in the Times Square area were concerned that loft and office buildings were taking over.   Rumors were fueled by Vincent Astor’s closing of his hulking Hotel Knickerbocker in 1920 and converting it to office space.  The Du Pont family not only scoffed at the idea; but increased their holdings in Times Square. 

On May 29, 1920 the Record and Guide suggested “The passing of the Hotel Woodstock…into the hands of the Du Pont interests would seem to show that this syndicate, which controls much hotel space adjacent, believes that the Times Square neighborhood is not going to be captured altogether by loft and office buildings.”

As with all hotels, the Woodstock saw its share of tragedy.  One such case occurred in September 1924 while theater manager Howard E. Weaver’s wife, Katherine, was gone on a visit to upstate New York.  The 45-year-old had been manager of the Henry Miller Theatre; but had recently gone on the road as manager of Merton of the Movies.  While in Detroit he was fired.

Weaver returned to New York and the Woodstock around 10 p.m. on Monday, September 15.  The next morning Peter Rice, a “theatrical man,” went to Weaver’s apartment to discuss his return to his former job.  When no one answered his knocks, he found the hotel’s manager, Samuel Wieder, who had also been a friend of Weaver for some years.

Howard Weaver was found hanging from an electric light fixture in the bathroom.  He had neatly typed three notes.  To his wife he regretted that he had become a “disappointment and a failure.”  He felt that losing his job had made him a burden.  To Wieder he apologized for the “mess he was making;” and the note to Peter Rice read “Am more sick than anyone knows—so what’s the use?  Please forgive me.”

Had Weaver held out a few hours, he would have discovered there was a job waiting for him.

The library featured comfortable easy chairs for reading.

The meeting rooms of the hotel were routinely rented by political and social groups, including the League for Industrial Democracy, several socialist organizations, and the Sunrise Club.  The topic of one of the latter club’s lectures, in February 1931, was “The Sources of Liberalism in Human Nature.”

And of course the banquet hall saw dinners thrown by fraternal organizations, corporations, and groups giving tributes.  On June 28, 1926, for instance, aviator and explorer Richard E. Byrd, Jr. and his pilot to the North Pole, Floyd Bennett, were feted here by the Adventurers’ Club of Long Beach, California.

Other timely issues were hashed out during meetings in the Woodstock.   In May 1937 a compromise was reached between the National Education Association and motion picture producers, represented by Hal Hode of Columbia Pictures.  The following day The Times reported “Cooperation between motion-picture companies and schools in the greater use of films in education was discussed last night by fifty educators."  

Movies, prohibited in the classroom, were defended by Hode.  “Movies do not create conditions—they are a vast mirror of society.” He offered that "the portrayal of evils on the screen led to their eradication by arousing the public."

  

In the 1940s liveried doormen still assisted guests, while inside the rooms were decorated in current war-time decor.  (postcard from author's collection.  photograph by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York)

And on June 9, 1943 William A. Lydgate, editor of the American Institute of Public Opinion, addressed the Advertising Women of New York, Inc. at a luncheon.  He pointed out that with the steady increase of men heading overseas to fight the war, “Women will play a more important role in the 1944 Presidential election than ever before in history.”

The reputation of the Hotel Woodward as a respectable place to stay was not lost on two women living in the City Infirmary of North Adams, Massachusetts.  Flora Dampier, 64, and Emily Brown, 62, decided to tick one item off their bucket lists around this same time.  The women earned extra money by making quilts and bedspreads and when their “vacation fund” was sufficient, they headed to New York City—with an escort, of course.

A New York Times journalist visited the two women in their rooms on May 18, 1944.  “Mrs. Dampier, resident of the infirmary for forty-one years, proudly patted her new hair-do and smoothed the pleats of a new gray dress as she and Mrs. Brown prepared to go to dinner with their chaperone, Mrs. Delia Gorman, matron of the infirmary, who accompanied them here.”  The writer noted that Emily Brown’s plain black dress “was set off by a white lace collar which she made herself in preparation for the trip.”

The two elderly women had carefully planned their trip—wanting to see the Statue of Liberty, Radio City, the Empire State Building, Chinatown and Times Square.  And they were living high on their quilt money.   “Both had steaks for dinner last night and both have directed that they be served breakfast in bed during their stay,” said the article.

But Emily’s and Flora’s agenda was not merely about sightseeing.  High on their list was “to go to a night club and see the dancing.”

Mid-century brought about further updated decor.

While some once-grand Times Square hotels became little more than flop-houses after mid-century; the Hotel Woodstock tried desperately to cling on.  In the 1950's it hosted weekly social dances for college students and in 1962 was the scene of a major jazz dance in the ballroom.

But by 1975 the time-worn hotel seemed lost.  The rusticated limestone base had been slathered in layers of paint.  Now outdated and dreary, it was described by one person as “dismally gray and decrepit.”  That year Project Find, a nonprofit agency that houses, counsels and feeds the elderly, leased the hotel.  Four years later it purchased the building.   Architects Hardy Holzman Pfeiffer Associates initiated the $405,000 renovation that included a refurbishing of the façade, including stripping off the paint.

Still called the Woodstock, the venerable hotel has lost its stately portico and its crown-like cornice.  Today it is operated by the city for low-income residents.  Despite the changes, the integrity of the grand hotel, built by a traveling salesman when Times Square was just coming to life, survives.

non-credited photographs by the author

vintage postcards from the author's collection

many thanks to Marc Mentzer for requesting this post 

The 1904 Hotel Lucerne -- No. 201 West 79th St.

The Upper West Side by the turn of the century was an established, bustling neighborhood of high-end homes, wide avenues, and up-to-date apartment houses.  In 1903 the Central Realty Company began construction on another upscale residential hotel at the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and West 79^th Street.

Called The Lucerne, it was designed by Harry B. Mulliken of Mulliken & Moeller.  Using the firm’s tried-and-true approach—a great block of masonry lavished with Beaux Arts froth and an elaborate entrance—Mulliken took a step out of the box for the Lucerne Hotel.  Rather than solely working in red brick, he mixed in bricks with a slightly purplish hue.  He then had the terra cotta, normally a muddish-red color, tinged with purple.  Completed in 1904, the massive apartment house changed color depending on the time of day and light—from pink or rose, to clay, to nearly violet.

An early postcard documented the intricate cornice ornamentation.

Central Realty Company planned for extra income by having Mulliken include retail shops along the Amsterdam Avenue side.  Like most family hotels of the day, it offered a mixture of permanent and transient accommodations.  Residence hotels offered families the convenience of hotel amenities and precluded the need to maintain a large household staff.  An advertisement for the Lucerne in 1907 noted “Cuisine and service of marked excellence.”

The Lucerne marketed itself as being home to “the best families”.  In January 1909 those families were rewarded with a song recital by renowned baritone Townsend H. Fellows.  The New York Times felt that “Mr. Fellows was in excellent voice, evoking hearty appreciation.”

Wurts Bros. photographed the elaborate entrance shortly after the building's completion -- From the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWS2VUG1&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Among the residents that year were F. Paul Harrison and his wife, the former Elizabeth C. Burke.  Harrison was President of the F. P. Harrison Electric and Manufacturing Company at No. 169 South Street.  He was described by The New York Times as being “connected with one of the oldest merchant families of New York City.”

A month before the Fellows concert, Elizabeth had undergone an operation in the apartment—a normal practice among upper class patients.  Following the procedure she suffered from what her husband deemed “melancholy.”  Thinking a change of venue would do her good, Harrison took her to the Gramatan Inn in Bronxville.

On Friday, December 29 the couple returned to New York to visit Catherine Newman at No. 25 West 84^th Street and the following day headed back to the Gramatan.  When the streetcar reached its northernmost point at 109^th Street, Elizabeth and her husband got separated by the disembarking crowd.

As the throng thinned, she was nowhere to be found—neither inside the car nor on the platform.  Harrison rushed back to the Lucerne thinking she may have gone home; but she never appeared.   The following morning Harrison supplied a description to police.  It gave an idea of the 30-year old woman’s affluent status.  She wore “a black velvet hat, a long black broadcloth coat lined with fur, a Persian lamb collar, a white silk shirtwaist, a green silk skirt, button shoes.  She carried a black walrus handbag, with a silver top engraved with her initials, and containing no money and only some visiting cards.”

A week later, Elizabeth Harrison was still missing.  Harrison told reporters that “she had been depressed since her illness, but that there was no cause that he was aware of which would cause her either to escape from her home, much less commit suicide.”  It is unclear if Elizabeth was ever located.

The red-and-plum colored brick and the purple-tinged terra cotta resulted in a uniquely hued structure.

The hotel filled with financially-comfortable families.  In 1911 Henry H. Samek, called by The Evening World “a young merchant” was living here when he avoided jury duty in the trial of the murder of W. E. D. Stokes.   Charles A. Robinson and his wife were also in the building and, as was the case with all socialites, the newspapers followed Mrs. Robinson’s movements.  On November 3, 1912 The Sun noted “Mrs. Charles A. Robinson of 201 West Seventy-ninth street will soon go to Panama for a short trip. On her return she will give a series of dinner parties at her home.”

Robinson was a member of the Produce Exchange and earlier that year he had been surprised by his wife for his birthday.   Mrs. Robinson engaged the Art Nouveau Room, College Hall, and an adjoining suite of rooms in the Hotel Astor for a lavish reception, supper and dance.    Among the well-known New Yorkers present were a number of eminent foreigners, including the Italian Consul, Giuseppe Gentile; Brazilian Vice Consul George William Chester; Count and Countess H. A. Jourdan de Couvin; Count Graf; Baroness von Schombert Howlett and Count and Countess Fabri.

A 1912 advertisement made the Lucerne the focal point of the Upper West Side.  The Common Cause June 1912 (copyright expired)

With the outbreak of World War I, one mischievous teen-aged residence of the Lucerne drew press attention.   The New York Times reported on October 26, 1914 “Somebody has been trying to persuade the Standard Arms Manufacturing Company of Wilmington, Del., to give up the manufacture of motor buses, with which it is now chiefly occupied, and return to the making of machine guns which are presumably to be used in the war in Europe.”

The firm, which was controlled by the du Pont family, received a telegram several days earlier signed “G. A. Lewis, Hotel Lucerne, New York” which said the writer would purchased the factory’s entire output of rapid-fire military guns for the next two years.  “It was added that money was no object, as the cash was already in the bank,” said the newspaper.   The writer asked how many guns could be delivered immediately.

The firm’s president, Frederick C. Field, sent a return telegram, saying there were no guns on hand, to which he received a reply saying “high prices would be paid for guns of any kind.”   Field was wary and wanted to know more about the mysterious writer.

A Times reporter telephoned the Hotel Lucerne on October 25 and asked for G. A. Lewis.   He was told there was no “Mr. G. A. Lewis” in the building, but was connected with the apartment of Miss G. A. Lewis.  “A woman who said she was Miss Lewis’s mother answered, and said that Miss Lewis refused to be seen and did not care to discuss the story.”

When Mrs. Lewis was asked if her daughter was buying artillery, she responded that if it were true, it was “only a matter of business, and if she was not it was nobody’s business.”

Later the reporter got in touch with Mr. Lewis who said his daughter “was old enough to engage in business ventures, but said that as far as he knew she was not buying guns for anybody.”  When he was told that his wife refused to comment on the story he replied, “that’s just like a woman.”

A grisly story unfolded in June 1917 surrounding the hotel’s house physician, Dr. Louis Apgar Queen.   The doctor’s brother, William H. Queen, had made a fortune and purchased “the finest farm” in the Flemington, New Jersey area, according to The Sun.  The newspaper described the estate saying “The house was a fine old Colonial dwelling.  The farm is in the highest state of cultivation.”

In May family hired a Lithuanian-born farmhand, Caro Mayworen based on a recommendation by Dr. Queen.  Despite his recommending Mayworen to his brother, the doctor described him as a “sullen, glowering fellow, who resented people looking at him.”  The Sun added that he “is five feet five inches in height, stockily built, swarthy, long black hair and piercing black eyes.  He possessed almost superhuman strength, a fact upon which Mrs. Queen commented.”

That comment happened on June 8 when the woman took an axe to a nearby blacksmith to have a new handle made.  She said “Her new hired man was so strong he broke the old handle the first time he drove it into a log,” related The Sun.

Mrs. Queen returned to the farm with the mended axe.  Later that afternoon Caro Mayworen landed one blow of that axe on the heads of William Queen, his wife, and their daughter Eleanor.  He then set fire to the house and barns.

The following day Dr. Queen left the Hotel Lucerne to help in the mass search for the murderer.  The National Guard, sheriff’s deputies, police and local farmers all joined in the dragnet.

On June 12 Mayworen was spotted by fishermen as he emerged from the woods carrying an axe.  The Philadelphia Evening Public Ledger said “soon the swamp was surrounded by hundreds of persons armed with pitchforks and guns.”   Mayworen tried to escape, but was stunned by a blast of birdshot.  Although he tried to defend himself with his axe, he was overpowered by the mob who threatened to lynch him.

It was only when the Sheriff and his deputies drew their handguns on the crowd that they were able to save the prisoner from being hanged in grassroots justice.  He was held in the Flemington jail under heavy security because, as the Ledger reported, “A mob of angry citizens remained nearby through the night waiting for a change to take the prisoner from custody.”

In 1918 the Robinsons were still living here.  With the U.S. now fighting in the war, an unlikely rummage sale was held by The Sun on May 21, 1918.  Animals, including “one Shetland pony, one pig, one drove of elephants (white)” were sold as part of the newspaper’s “Tobacco Fund.”  The proceeds of the white elephants—used clothing, knick-knacks, etc.—and the live animals provided cigarettes to soldiers overseas.

“Among the purchasers was Mrs. Charles Augustine Robinson of 201 West Seventy-ninth street,” said The Sun on May 22, 1918, “who is proud to own ten relatives at the front and says each one of them loves his cigarettes.”

More tragic attention came on the night of September 19, 1919 when resident Jed Prouty, his wife and mother, went for a drive.   Prouty was an actor.  His chauffeur, Charles Sileo, was driving along West 83^rd Street when he had no maneuver between a moving van on the north side of the street and a parked car on the south side.  Suddenly three children darted out from behind the van into the path of Prouty’s automobile.

Six-year old George Black and seven-year old John Hauser were knocked to the pavement.  But ten-year old James Smith was killed.  Prouty took the Hauser boy to the hospital, and then drove to the West 68^th Street Police Station where he reported the tragedy.

By now Prohibition was in full swing.  The only permitted manufacture of alcohol was for medicinal purposes and prescribed “at the discretion of physicians,” as noted in the New-York Tribune on March 11, 1921.   The lure of professionally-brewed beer was too much for three Hotel Lucerne residents.  On March 10 that year John Baldwin, Max jerkins and Robert Rockwood were held in $20,000 bail for stealing medicinal beer.  

The trio may have gotten away with it had they not been greedy.  The Tribune said “The complainants are William Brandt and Martin Fitzgerald.  They said that the three men sold them thirty barrels of water for $12,600.”

More law-abiding residents at the time were fashion writer Grace Margaret Gould, and Nathan Stern, Vice-president and Director of Stern and Saalberg Realty Company.  The American Elite and Sociologist Blue Book said of Stern “He is prominently identified with business and public affairs; and has filled several positions of trust and honor.”

Also in the building in 1922 was Adele Montfort, wife of banker Frank D. Montfort.  The couple had separated and Frank was living in the Waldorf in March that year when Adele sued him for an increased allowance.

The couple’s problems arose, in part, because of Adele’s lavish spending.  Frank complained that she had spent $3,500 on cosmetics within a year and a half (more in the neighborhood of $47,000 today).  When, a few months earlier, the Montforts traveled to Italy, they hired an Italian count to accompany them as a tutor for their son.

Mrs. Montfort complained in court that on the trip her husband had become enraged when she “listened” to the count and so he spanked her.   Frank, on the other hand, called his wife “a social jazzer” and an “extravagant.”

Adele demanded $10,000 a year in alimony—about $130,000 today.  The messy court case prompted headlines in The Evening World:  “Banker Spanked Wife Who Spent $3,500 On Makeup” and “Husband’s Rebuke Was Not for Paint and Powder, But a Count.”

Dr. Louis Apgar Queen was still house physician of the Hotel Lucerne in 1929.  The New York Times said on November 29 that he “had an extensive practice among wealthy patients and had been house physician at the Hotel Lucerne for fifteen years.”  The newspaper also mentioned that he “was subject to heart attacks.”

One attack would end horribly on October 28.  The unmarried doctor was reading the newspaper in an easy chair that morning.  Dressed in his bathrobe, he was smoking a pipe when, it appears, he suffered a stroke.  As he slumped unconscious, his pipe fell to his lap, igniting his robe and newspaper.

By the time smoke was noticed pouring from his window and the door was broken into, the room was ablaze.  Assistant Medical Examiner Robert C. Fisher later attributed the doctor’s death to severe burns, not to a stroke or heart attack.

Throughout the years the Lucerne would continue to attract white collar residents.  Abraham L. Richold, a manufacturer of straw hats was here through the 1920s, and Nathan Stern was still here in 1936. 

In the mid-1950s the Amateur Astronomers Association, Inc. had its headquarters on the 10^th floor of the building.   On April 29, 1957 six members viewed the comet 1956 H from the Lucerne.  The following year the group hosted a free lecture series on astronomy.

That same year Teatro Experimental was in the building.  In September it presented a Spanish language staging of Robert Anderson’s Tea and Sympathy.

Two years later Fidel Castro became Prime Minister of Cuba.  The Communist take-over of the island resulted in a flurry of refugees into America.  Two of them, former police lieutenants Ramon Alpizar and Lorenzo Cancio Crespo ended up living in the Lucerne Hotel.  On October 13, 1961 their hatred of Castro boiled over.

Despite their law enforcement background, Alpizar, 30 years old, and Crespo, 31, entered the Black Angus Restaurant at No. 148 East 15^th Street around 10:30 in the morning with criminal intentions.  They forced assistant manager Seymour Singer to open a safe at gunpoint and stole $2,200.  They were quickly apprehended.

According to The New York Times “They admitted the hold-up, the police said, and said they wanted money to buy a boat to return to Cuba and fight the Castro Government.”

As the 21^st century dawned, the Lucerne Hotel received a multi-million dollar renovation by the Empire Hotel Group.  According to the hotel’s website “The result is European-inspired architectural charm combined with sophisticated and modern accommodations.”

The conversion to a transient hotel did not alter Harry B. Mulliken’s striking pinkish façade.  Although the exuberant cornice has been diminished, the Lucerne survives as a arresting remnant of the turn-of-the-century Upper West Side.

photographs taken by the author