The 1907 West 86th Street Studios -- 257 West 86th Street

 

photo via cityrealty.com

In 1903 artist V. V. Sewell mulled “people have no conception of how difficult it is for one to find a suitable studio in New York.”  It was a problem that had prompted James Boorman Johnston to erect the famous 10^th Street Studios Building in Greenwich Village nearly half a century earlier, in 1858.  His was the first step in the movement of artist residence-workspace buildings that would gain momentum at the turn of the century.

Joining the trend in 1906 was the West 86th Street Studios Corp.  It hired the architectural firm of Pollard & Steinam to design an upscale studio building at 255 through 259 West 86th Street, between West End Avenue and Broadway.  Their plans, filed in May, called for a 12-story "brick and stone studio building" to cost $300,000--nearly $9 million in today's money.

Completed in 1908, the neo-Italianate structure was, in fact, 14-stories tall.  Its tripartite design featured a grand, double-height entrance with two-story piers upholding a substantial cornice.  The limestone of the three-story base gave way to 11 stories of Roman brick, decorated with palazzo-inspired pseudo balconies.  The building faced north, providing artists the much sought after natural northern light.  Of the 41 apartments, many were duplexes, offering soaring double-height studio spaces.  The larger suites had as many as eight rooms.

A musicians'-gallery-like window opens onto the double-height studio portion of this apartment.  via cityrealty.com

Among the initial residents were playwright and author Lee Wilson Dodd and his wife, the former Marion Roberts Canby.  In 1909, soon after they moved in, Dodd's play The Return of Eve was produced on Broadway.  Around the same time he published a book of poems, A Modern Alchemist, of which he said, "The critics told the public it was good but the public did not happen to be listening."

As intended, the building attracted artists and musicians.  Portrait painter Ernest L. Ipsen was another early resident, as was pianist Paolo Martucci, the son of the Italian composer Giuseppe Martucci.  On December 20, 1914 The New York Press noted, "Martucci, who recently has renewed his teaching in his new studio No. 257 West Eighty-sixth street, is conceded to be one of the foremost of modern piano virtuosi."

At the time of the article, Martucci intended to travel to Europe, but the worsening political tensions abroad ended those plans.  On May 22, 1915 Musical America noted that he had "made a most successful appearance at the popular concert at the Metropolitan Opera House on February 7," but "will be unable to take his usual trip to Europe.  He will remain in New York City during the entire Summer and will teach at his studios, No. 257 West Eighty-sixth street."

Other musicians in the building at the time were Arthur E. Stahlschmidt, who trained pupils in "all branches of voice production for the singing or speaking artist;" and soprano Charlotte Lund.

Musical America, October 16, 1915 (copyright expired)

Not all residents was associated with the arts.  The highly-respected engineer Frederick Remsen Hutton and his family were among the building's initial residents.  He was the former dean of the faculty 0f engineering at Columbia University and had written several engineering textbooks.  Sharing the apartment was their adult son, Dr. Lefferts Hutton.  Following his marriage to Esther Whitney in 1915, he and his bride continued to live in the building.

That year there were two vacancies in the building.  An advertisement on August 22 offered a duplex "of eight rooms and two baths."  The studio section had 18-foot ceilings.  The rent was not cheap--equal to about $6,000 per month today.  The other apartment was a "single," with "north light, of studio, bedroom, kitchenette and bath...including service."  The ad noted there was a "mail chute [and] house water filter."  The rent for that space was equivalent to about $2,200 per month today.

Novelist, screen writer and motion picture producer Louis Joseph Vance and his wife, the former Anne Elizabeth Hodges, signed a lease in July 1916.  He had founded Fiction Pictures, Inc. the previous year.

A vintage postcard shows the building towering above its neighbors.

Exhibiting in the 1917 exhibition of The Society of Independent Artists at the Grand Central Palace on Lexington Avenue were residents Marian Y. Bloodgood, Oscar Fehrer, Franklin De Haven, and Charles L. Wachter.

Franklin De Haven would live and work from the West 86th Street Studios for years.  He had married Elizabeth Woodcock in 1902.  He was a member of the National Academy of Design, the Salmagundi Club, the National Arts Club and the Allied Artists of America.

De Haven painted Silvery Waters in 1916 while living here.  from the collection of The Bridgeman Art Library

The West 86th Street Studios was known as a "partial cooperative" building, meaning that some of the studios were owned by the residents.  Composer and impresario David Gould Proctor was among the owners.  He graduated from Columbia University in 1900 and then served with Scotland Yard in London during World War I.  Back at home, he headed his own theatrical company and wrote piano compositions and 

songs.  

In August 1922 Proctor sold his "large duplex studio apartment," as described by the New York Herald, to Charles Otis.  Otis was president of The Wall Street Journal and of Dow Jones & Company.  He was, as well, publisher of American Banker and Bond Buyer.

Resident John R. Koopman's The Call of the Wild was used for the cover of Leslie's magazine in 1914.

Also living in the building that year were artist John R. Koopman, motion picture actor Ira M. Lowry, and pianist C. Virgil Gordon.  Lowry, who had appeared in silent films like the 1918 For the Freedom of the East, and 1919 releases Speedy Meade, The Road Called Straight, and a Misfit Earl, found himself on the wrong side of the law in 1922.

Silent movie actor Ira M. Lowry (original source unknown)

On July 29 The Evening World reported, "Ira M. Lowry, thirty-three, a motion picture actor, living at No. 257 West 86th Street, was locked up last night in the West 47th Street Station on an indictment charging grand larceny."  A Fifth Avenue jeweler, Rudolph Hammell, accused Lowry of taking $9,500 worth of jewelry--more than $145,000 today--"on memorandum" and not returning it.  The practice of allowing a potential customer to essentially borrow pieces for approval was common--as was theft.

On December 18, 1929 The New York Times reported, "Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Dixon and Mrs. J. C. b. Hebbard gave a musicale last night at the studio of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, 257 West Eighty-sixth Street.  Miss Leonora Corona of the Metropolitan Opera Company was the guest of honor.  She and Mr. Dixon gave a piano program."  Frederic Dixon had studied piano under Fanny Bloomfield-Zeisler and Rafael Joseffy.  Joseffy had commented at one point that he "regretted he was not destined to live long enough to see this pupil become famous."

(original source unknown)

The piano on which Dixon played that night was a rarity, a Mason & Hamlin Ampico grand.  According to the Chicago Tribune, at a time when a Steinway cost $1,000, a Mason & Hamlin Ampico grand sold for $25,000.

Another concert pianist, Conrad Forsberg, leased an apartment in the building in June 1931, at the height of the Great Depression.  Despite the economic conditions, the West 86th Street Studios building did not suffer.  On October 1, 1932 The New York Sun noted, "The building, semi-cooperative...was considered especially suited for artists and musicians.  It not only proved popular with that clientele, but today is 100 per cent rented."

Two of the building's best known residents died in 1934.  Franklin De Haven succumbed on January 10.  His right foot had become infected at his summer home in Connecticut in 1933.  It was amputated that November, but he died of complications on January 10, 1934.  The 77-year-old had won scores of awards and his paintings today hang in prestigious museums nationwide.

Cartoonist and illustrator Dan Smith died of heart disease in his apartment on December 10 that year, surviving his wife, Wilhelmina, by about a year.  Born in Greenland of Danish parents, he had studied art in New York, Philadelphia and Copenhagen, and became famous for his newspaper and magazine illustrations.  The 69-year-old's funeral was held in his apartment.

Smith's "Fairyland" series appeared on the covers of the Hearst American Weekly Sunday Supplements in the mid-1920's.  

Another cartoonist living in the building was Rudolph Dirks, famous for his syndicated comic strip the "Katzenjammer Kids."

The West 86th Street Studios continued to attract artists, musicians.  In 1936 pianist Harold Henry signed a lease.  Sculptor Gutzon Borglum, who designed and sculpted Mount Rushmore, was a tenant; and in the early 1950's voice coach William S. Brady had his studio here.  

By 1965 Raoul Gelabert's dance studio was in the building.  Gelabert was a pioneer in kinesiotherapy for dancers.  On September 10, 1979 New York Magazine noted, "A seasoned teacher and pioneer in the field of physical therapy for dancers, Raoul Gelabert runs children's ballet classes at Gelabert Studios."  In 1989 he opened the Gelabert Studios Gallery, an art space, here.

More recently actor Robert Duvall lived in the building.  

photo via apartments.com

There are still only 41 apartments in the building.  The cornice, which was lost in the second half of the 20th century, was recently refabricated.  Inside, much of Pollard & Steinam's 1908 interior detailing survives.

many thanks to Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

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Pollard & Steinam's 34 West 22nd Street

By the early 1890's Mother Elizabeth ran an industrial school for girls in the house she personally owned at No. 34 West 22nd Street.  Avoiding the term "industrial school," Mother Elizabeth and the Society of St. Martha called it St. Martha's Home.  The name perhaps referred to the fact that some of the girls, orphaned or otherwise homeless, lived here.  Mother Elizabeth ran the facility independently of any church, although the Rev. Arthur Ritchie of St. Ignatius's Church was its chaplain and he president of the Home.  He visited daily to say mass.

The Sun described the school, saying "The children are taught sewing, cooking, and housework, besides receiving a plain English education."  And the New York Journal called it "celebrated for its instruction among devout Protestant Episcopalians."

Dealing with girls who sometimes came from the streets could be difficult.  In the spring of 1897 one of the older girls, according to Rev. Ritchie, "became unruly" and "tried to stir up a disturbance in the school.  She was finally told to leave, as I heard the story, and two or three other girls left with her."

The trouble came at a time when the 22nd Street block was changing from a quiet residential enclave to a commercial hub of lofts and stores.  It prompted Mother Elizabeth to rethink her options.  On December 6 that year The Sun reported that "Miss Elizabeth Faitoute, or Mother Elizabeth" had moved the school into a "two-story Queen Anne house" in Bronxville.  "Miss Faitoute purchased the Bronxville property with her own means, and conducts the school practically unaided, hiring the teachers and servants who assist her."  Rev. Ritchie told the reporter "When the school was moved to Bronxville last spring the Twenty-second street house was closed, and is now for sale or to rent."  

Mother Elizabeth's full lay name was Jane Elizabeth Faitoute and whether she was an actual Episcopal nun or not is unclear.  She was born in 1837 in New York to Jonathan and Nancy Pierson Faitoute, and at some point came into a fortune.  When accused of abusing her pupils in 1897 she protested "I have spend from seventy to eighty thousand dollars of my own money in this work, and is it likely that I do this to maltreat children?"  On the higher end, that amount would be equivalent to about $2.5 million today.

Rather than sell the vintage 22nd Street house, she hired the architectural firm of Pollard & Steinam to design a replacement structure.  On May 27, 1898 the firm filed plans which called for a six-story "brick store and offices" to cost $20,000 (in the neighborhood of $625,000 today).

The architects produced a neo-Renaissance store and loft building 23-feet wide.  The storefront and the second story show window were framed in a limestone architrave outlined by egg-and-dart carving and capped with a decorative keystone draped in foliate swags.

Lines of dainty bellflowers stream down the Ionic piers.

The third through fifth floors were clad in beige brick around sets of three grouped openings.  The architects set back the wall of the top floor slightly, to accommodate a layered, projecting section where bands of tone alternated with the brick.  Each of the openings was given an ambitious scrolled keystone which upheld the frieze below the cornice.

The building was completed in 1899 and along with the apparel factories that moved in was the New York and Paris Millinery School.  An advertisement in the New-York Tribune urged "Begin now.  French millinery taught from foundation to finish.  Material furnished.  Individual teaching.  Evening school Monday, Wednesday and Friday."

The school was in the building for years, and its success seems to have sparked a sister school.  On March 4, 1900 an advertisement in The New York Press read:

New York and Paris

Dressmaking School

34 West 22d st., New York.

Only school in City where you get a thorough and practical knowledge of Cutting, Fitting, Draping and Finishing.  You see all kinds of latest style garments cut and made for customers; in fact we teach you every branch of the business fully.  You have your choice of the best Systems and Cutting.  We don't compel you to take a special system, or any system if you don't need one. 

Dressmakers wishing to learn Tailoring have advantages that no other school can offer.

Britton & Co. was also among the initial tenants.  The ladies' tailor and furrier created upscale fashions as well as "remodelling and repairing furs."  Its ad in the New-York Tribune in September 1900 promised "Best workmanship, perfect shape, and absolute satisfaction guaranteed" and offered "a variety of this season's smartest effects, in a very choice line of fine imported cloths of the newest weaves and colors."   Britton & Co. catered to the carriage trade--women who could afford a suit costing the equivalent of $1,850 today.

Also in the building at the time was The Holly Co., makers of petticoats, suits and its branded Holly Waist.  The firm touted "The acme of Shirt Waist Making is exemplified in the Holly Waist.  The Best Fitting Garment Made."  The blouses were not inexpensive.  Prices started at $3 "and up" in 1902--a significant $92.50 today.

O. H. Bleil was another of the initial tenants.  On the night of November 19, 1901 he worked late in his office.  Unaware that anyone else was still in the building, the janitor left, locking the street doors behind him.  Unable to get out, Bleil went back upstairs and, according to The New York Times, "shouted out the front window of the third story, and [he] says many persons passed without paying any attention."  Finally his shouts attracted Policeman Hynes who instructed Bleil to climb out onto the rear fire escape.   Hynes managed to get to the roof of the two-story extension of No. 36 then directed Bleil to jump to him.

The roof of No. 36 was about ten feet below the third floor fire escape of No. 34 and Blieil "was timid at first, as the jump was somewhat risky."  But he did, resulting in the newspaper's headline the following morning "Jumped To Policeman's Arms."  His rescue did not end his troubles that night.  Now Policeman Hynes wanted to make sure he had not just liberated a burglar.  He was held until another man, whose business was at No. 58 West 22nd Street, vouched for him and he was let go.

By 1909 women's neckwear manufacturer Altman, Schulhoff & Silvins was here, soon joined by Horowitz, Golden & Co., cloak and suit makers, and furriers Zwedling & Rabinowitz.   In 1917 N. Becker & Sons moved in.  Run by Nathan Becker and his sons, David and Louis, the firm dealt in fabrics.

That same year Lilliam Manufacturing Company opened its store in the ground floor.  The firm made lamp shades.  N. Becker & Sons expanded into the store in 1921.

The following year, in July, Frieda Altman purchased the building.  It is tempting to connect her with Altman, Schulhoff & Silvins; however any possible relationship is unclear.

Throughout the 20th century No. 34 continued to attract small manufacturers.  But as the Chelsea and Flat Iron districts grew trendy, the change caught up with the vintage factory.  In 1999 the store space, where dealers once hawked bolts of wool and lamp shades, became home to the Gotham Comedy Club.  In March 2000 Jesse McKinley, writing in The New York Times, said the "sleek joint...has recently been the home base of the quintessential New York comic, Robert Klein."  The article, entitled "Where the Howlers May also be a Hoot," said "It has a young clientele (a lounge and smoking area are downstairs) and special nights tailored to Latino and gay comedians, a trend mirrored in larger clubs as well."

The Gotham Comedy Club stayed on through 2005, after which the space became the Metropolitan Room.  What would be a tradition of top-tier entertainment here began immediately.

On May 13, 2006 Times columnist Stephen Holden wrote an article devoted entirely to Billy Stritch's show "Billy Stritch Sings the Mel Tormé Songbook."  Calling the Metropolitan Room "a new music club," he raved about the show, deeming it "a loving, carefully researched tribute to his idol and role model."

In 2008 the second floor was converted to a beauty parlor and the upper floors to offices.  The Metropolitan Room was allowed to provide "eating or drinking" but "no dancing."

The Metropolitan Room was by now known for its famed entertainers as well as "up-and-coming stars."  In the summer of 2010 Tony Award-winning performer Tammy Grimes opened a one-woman show called "Miss Tammy Grimes: Favorite Songs and Stories."  One reviewer said "If you wish you could have been around to witness Lotte Lenya mutter out dark cabaret songs in Weimar-era Berlin, or to experience Elsa Lanchester belt bawdy beer-hall standards, live, in a seed London tavern, don't miss this unique opportunity to witness these underground icons' rightful heir--Tammy Grimes is the Lotte Lenya of our time, with more than a little Elsa through in for good."

No. 34 received another renovation, completed in 2015, which added a penthouse level, unseen from the street.  There were now offices on the second floor, one apartment each on floors through through five, and a duplex above.  The Metropolitan Room continues to occupy the street level.

Through it all, except for expected replacement windows, Pollard & Steinam's handsome industrial structure survives little changed.  A reminder of 22nd Street's change from residential to commercial to residential.

photographs by the author

The Colonial Studios No. 39 West 67th Strreet

In 1903 American impressionist painter Robert Vonnoh and his wife, sculptress Bessie Potter Vonnoh, took studios in the newly-completed 67th Street Studios building at No. 27 West 67^th Street.  The 14-story co-operative structure was constructed especially as artists’ residences and studios. 

The following year construction began on a similar studio building, The Atelier.  It was the second domino to fall in a trend that would soon give the 67^th Street block between Central Park West and Columbus Avenue the reputation as a “studio colony.”

In 1905 Robert Vonnoh joined the movement when he commissioned architects Pollard & Steinam to design a studio building at Nos. 39 and 41.  On November 5 that year The New York Times advised that plans had been filed for what would be called the Colonial Studios.  The architects had cleverly addressed the artists’ need for light and ventilation in designing the deep building.

“It is to be fourteen stories high in front, seven in the centre, and ten in the rear,” reported the newspaper.”  Pollard & Steinam estimated the cost at $200,000 (about $5.5 million in 2015).

Like the other studio buildings on the block, Vonnoh’s Colonial Studios would be a cooperative.  On June 26, 1906 as the building rose, he advertised in The Sun “YOUR OWN STUDIO APARTMENT; opportunity to become a stockholder in an attractive and safe investment of $8,000 to $15,000.”  By now the construction cost had risen to $275,000.

The Colonial Studios was finished in 1907, a neo-Renaissance structure influenced by the Arts and Crafts style also seen in other studio buildings on the block. The two-story rusticated limestone base included a classical pediment supported by planar pilasters.  Handsome double-height oriels, clad in pressed copper, overlapped the base and the third floor.  Above three projecting stone sections clung to a brown brick façade.  The deeply-overhanging cornice was supported by hefty copper brackets.

Unlike other studio buildings on West 67^th Street, the owner-residents in the Colonial were a mixed group.   Along with the expected artists was Dr. Lindsley F. Cocheu, who moved into the building 1908; and pianist Agnes Osborne who presented pupil Fanny Elizabeth Cass in a recital in her studio here on Friday, March 20 that same year.

Another non-artist in the building was Frederic Dean, a lawyer.  He leased his seventh floor studio to Mrs. Mary Castle in the summer of 1909.  Mary had recently separated from her husband and had been staying in the home of her cousin and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. William B. Craig.

In the brief time she lived there, Mary became infatuated with Craig, who was 35 years old.  It was possibly this awkward situation that led to her leaving the Craig household and moving into the Colonial.  Mary Castle’s passion for William Craig progressed to stalking and, finally, to violence on August 3.

The New York Times noted “She had a handsomely appointed apartment on the seventh floor, where she kept house with one servant.” Apparently William Craig had, at least initially, contributed to Mary’s affections.  Other residents of the building told reporters that he had been one of her most frequent callers.  “The lawyer, it was said, was here several times a week, and frequently took her out in the afternoons.”

The newspaper described the 36-year old Mary Castle as “rather fine looking, with plentiful dark-brown hair and large dark eyes and regular features.”  On the afternoon of August 3 when she left the apartment, she carried with her a “capacious handbag” in which was, “besides many articles of feminine use, nearly a full box of cartridges.”  The bullets were for the cheap revolver that was also in the purse.

Mary found William Craig on 34^th Street, outside of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.  Patrons later said Craig appeared at first startled, then seemed to enter the hotel in an effort to “get rid of the woman.”  She followed him into the crowded lobby and “were soon in an animated conversation.”  The Times reported “the man seemed to be urging the woman to leave him alone, she half pleading and half demanding to be heard.”

Craig rushed through the corridors, closely pursued by Mary; “he several times throwing up his hands as if in deprecation.”

As they passed a bank of elevators, the doors of one began to close.  William Craig bolted inside in an attempt to lose Mary Castle.  The Times reported “He had one foot in the car when the woman, apparently seeing that he certainly intended to leave her standing alone in the corridor, quickly drew from the black handbag she carried a small revolver.  Before the lawyer could offer the least resistance she had fired.”

Inside the elevator was, coincidentally, E. R. Carrington, a detective from Montreal.  He and the elevator boy, William J. Fitzgerald, were momentarily stunned as Craig staggered into the cab and Mary followed.  As the car shot up to the seventh floor, Mary desperately tried to shoot Craig again while Carrington struggled to wrest the weapon from her grasp.  She was finally disarmed and Fitzgerald returned the elevator to the lobby.

While the drama was playing out in the moving elevator, the lobby had been a scene of panic.  Now it turned to one of curiosity.  “The return of the elevator was the signal for the throng, many of whom were women dressed in bright Summer garb, to gather about the spot,” said The Times.

Maids scrambled to bring pillows and cushions to prop up Craig and house detectives worked to calm the crowd.  An inspection was made of Craig’s condition—the near range of the shot feared to be fatal.  Unbelievably, his brown suit had a clear-cut bullet hole and the fabric was scorched from the closeness to the firearm.  But the inside pocket held a heavy silver fountain pen, its “mountings bent and twisted by the impact of the ball.”

The bullet had struck the fountain pen which had taken the impact.  Later, even more astoundingly, the bullet was found in the same pocket.

Mary Castle, nearly hysterical, was taken away along with Craig to the police station.   In the car going to the station house she sobbed repeatedly, “He was the cause of all my troubles!”

Twice at the station she tried to break free and get to Craig.  And when he left she exclaimed “He loves me.  He will come back tonight and bail me out.  I have no fear of that.”

Rather predictably it was not Craig who bailed out his attempted assassin, but Mary’s landlord, Frederic Dean.  In the meantime, Mary’s cousin had little compassion and refused to believe there was anything to the affair.

“It is a clear case of ingratitude,” she told reporters.  “We took this woman into our house and did everything we could for her, but she became infatuated with Mr. Craig, and this is the result of it.  I know well enough what she says, but it is not true.”

Eye-catching pressed copper bays with dripping blossoms and garlands adorn the facade.

Among the resident artists was Charles Courtney Curran.  The painter was born in Kentucky in 1861 and by the time he moved into the Colonial (of which he was secretary and treasurer) he had garnered many prestigious awards including several medals from Expositions ranging from the 1893 Chicago Columbia Exposition to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in 1904.  He was also an accomplished fencer.

Another was Isabel Vernon Cook, who preferred to be known as Mrs. Jerome C. Cook.  Isabel had studied in Paris and now lectured on art and travel as well.  The Woman’s Who’s Who of America later mentioned in 1915 that she “Favors woman suffrage.”

She had a comrade in painter Harriet Sophia Phillips.  The colorful artist had been trained in Germany and Paris and had a broad range of interests, including woman suffrage.  Among the entertainments she hosted in her studio were suffragist teas.

But not everyone in the building shared the women’s passion.   Richard Barry was, as described by The New York Times in 1911 “the ardent anti-suffragist.”  A writer of magazine articles, he raised the ire of the theatrical community and the Woman’s Suffrage Party when his article appeared in Pearson’s Magazine in March 1911 entitled “Why Women Are Paid Less Than Men.”

The highly-sexist article included passages like:

The chorus girl gets as much as the chorus man.  She ought to have more, for who cares anything about the chorus man  It is the chorus girl that draws people to the musical shows  Again, the reason her pay is not more is that the supply of her is seemingly inexhaustible.  Besides, she is not dependable; she may be on hand for a performance; she may not be.

If the theatrical community did not find that, alone, insulting; it definitely took offense to “Very few persons on the stage know how to think.  In fact, few of them know how to feel, though they all make some sort of bluff at it.”

The Players, the Gramercy Park club for those in the theatrical profession, dropped Richard Barry from its rolls.

Mrs. Barry shared her husband’s convictions and on March 23, 1913 signed the petition that was sent to Albany.  It began with the sentence, “We, your petitioners, believe that the present favorable status of women in this State is just and right because we are women.”  One may imagine that the corridor conversations in the Colonial Studios building between Mrs. Jerome C. Cook or Harriet S. Phillips and Mrs. Richard Barry were polite and short.

While some residents of the Colonial Studios busied themselves with political issues, Bernetta Miller had more thrilling adventures on her mind.  She had been a bookkeeper in Canton, Ohio but moved to New York at the age of 22 in 1912 to pursue a dream.

She procured an apartment in the Colonial Studios and enrolled in the Moissant School.  What her family did not know was that it was an aviation school.   Bernetta was still a novice student on June 21, 1912, having only had three lessons.  To date she had “not yet attempted anything more difficult than running an aeroplane over the ground,” said The Evening World the following day.

To ensure that the plane stayed on the ground, the wing elevators were disabled. Newspapers gave conflicting accounts on what went wrong.   According to The Sun, “a piece of wood that blocked the elevating plane dropped out;” while The Evening World said “some one removed the fastening.”

Whatever the case, Bernetta Miller suddenly found her monoplane shooting into the air.   “She retained her presence of mind,” said The Evening World, “and before the monoplane had ascended higher than about twenty feet, shut off the motor.”

The airplane nose-dived to earth where it “pancaked” to the ground.  The Sun reported “Miss Miller climbed out of the machine somewhat frightened, but unhurt.”  The Evening World deemed the aircraft “completely wrecked” and said “Miss Muller [sic] was not injured, and jumping up ran for the hangar to escape the newspaper men.”

A much more tragic story played out in 1916.  Socially prominent Estelle Garrett Baker, society editor of The Atlanta Georgian and a member of the well-known Garrett family, was in the process of divorcing her husband.  She slipped away from Georgia press to stay with her widowed sister, Emma Garrett Boyd, who lived in the Colonial with her 10-year old son, Spencer Boyd.

Although Estelle seemed, for the most part, normal; she gave her sister a scare on the day she moved in when she bolted up and tried to snatch a firearm from the mantelpiece, “but was prevented,” as Emma later recalled.  Following that episode, Emma made sure that Estelle’s bedroom window was always locked.

Estelle was undergoing treatment for “nervous shock” by Dr. Foster Kennedy.  He mostly prescribed rest for her condition.    The treatments seemed to be working.  On Tuesday February 22, 1916 she seemed happy at breakfast and the New-York Tribune reported “She romped with Mrs. Boyd’s children and played the piano so cheerfully that her sister was not surprised at her fatigue in the evening, when she said she would not eat with family.  She retired to her bedroom.”

Estelle told her sister what she would have for dinner and asked her to have it sent up from the dining room.  Before going down to the dining room with Spencer at around 6:00, Emma double checked the window lock.

Fifteen minutes later “a chauffeur ran into the building and told the switchboard operator that a woman was lying dead on the sidewalk.”  Estelle had unlocked the bedroom window an thrown herself from the 10^th floor apartment.  Her skull was crushed and her legs broken.

The Colonial Studios continued to attract successful artists, including Theresa F. Bernstein, Maurice Molarsky and Clara Weaver Parrish; and in at least two cases, opera singers.  

Mme. Rappold, former Metropolitan Opera singer was leasing the studio of Mrs. Jerome C. Cook in 1922 when her habits prompted the New York Clipper to report on September 13 “Whatever charm an opera diva’s golden notes may possess when wafted over the footlights during regulation opera hours does no obtain during the wee small hours of the morning, according to the owners and tenants of a studio apartment at No. 39 West Sixty-Seventh Street.”

Mme. Rappold paid $300 a month rent on the apartment and had reportedly spent $2,500 in redecorating.  But Isabel Cook received numerous complaints, she said, from tenants who objected to her after-midnight concerts.

The diva laughed at the tempest, saying “I am going to stay…The whole affair amuses me.”

Mrs. Jerome C. Cook was less amused.  She filed eviction proceedings against her tenant, whose lease was up on October 1.   The New-York Tribune reported “Mrs. Cook declared, however, that she had started the action against the soprano not because of other tenants, but because she had made plans for some time to make the apartment her home after October 1.”  The newspaper noted that the majority of the tenants were “singers and painters.”

Eminent contralto Mme. Marguerite d’Alvarez lived here by 1925.  Early that year she received a “wild letter” from a perfumer who demanded immediate payment for expensive scents sold to “Mme. D’Alvarez.”  The curious invoice prompted an investigation and the opera star was soon to be shocked.

In February it was found that Mrs. Harriet Bridgeford, “tall and impressive,” according to The Times, had been impersonating Mme. D’Alvarez for years.  Among her ruses, the woman, who bore a striking resemblance to the singer, went about the city selling cheap silk as quality goods under the diva's name.   She was arrested on February 10, 1925 after Marguerite d’Alvarez pleaded with police that she “was causing her much embarrassment.”

After living in the Colonial Studios for more than two decades, Harriet S. Phillips died of pneumonia here at the age of 78 on July 30, 1928.

Other artists to live in the building were Charles Allen Gilbert, best known for his magazine illustrations; modern artist Walter Pach who moved in in 1932; A. Phimiser Proctor, Wheeler Williams and John Alonzo Williams.

By now described as “a leading American artist,” Charles C. Curran was still living in the building in 1942 when he died at the age of 81.

In 1962 the building took on another face when The Drama Studio moved its headquarters here.  It staged live productions for several years.

Outwardly little has changed to the Colonial Studios.  Like most of the studio buildings along the West 67^th Street block, it now is home to fewer artists and more wealthy residents attracted by the unusual layouts.

photographs by the author.