The Lost Railroad Branch YMCA - Madison Avenue and 45th Street

 

via King's Handbook of New York City, 1893 (copyright expired)

By 1875 Cornelius Vanderbilt II, the favorite grandson of Commodore Vanderbilt, had risen from a clerk in the treasury department of the New York Central Railroad to a position of major importance.  He was also active in St. Bartholomew's Episcopal Church and sat on the board of directors of the Young Men's Christian Association of New York.  That year he received a visit from General John H. Devereaux, the president of the C. C. C. & I. Railroad, who lived in Cleveland.

Three years earlier the first Young Men's Christian Association for railroad workers had been formed in Cleveland.  Now Devereaux explained the organization to Vanderbilt, who quickly embraced the idea.  The concept of a Y.M.C.A. expressly for railroad workers had advantages to both the men and to the system.   The employees would have a comfortable place to relax while in New York City, one which offered a variety of pastimes.   On the positive side for the railroads, the men were not tempted to get drunk or jailed and therefore unable to return to work, and morale would be greatly uplifted, as well.

Vanderbilt began with a basement space in Grand Central Depot.  In 1900 Railroad Men magazine, would recall, "the first Railroad Branch at the Grand Central Station, New York, began with a single room, a canary bird, a few volumes of U. S. Reports, and a secretary."

The detractors who warned that "The men won't have it" were soon proved wrong.  The Railroad Branch of the Y.M.C.A. was a success and in 1886 Vanderbilt acquired land at the northeast corner of Madison Avenue and 45th Street as the site for a permanent building.  Ground was broken on September 20, 1886 and construction was completed exactly a year later, in September 1887.  The building rose three stories at the corner, with a two-story extension that ran 45 feet along the avenue.  Vanderbilt personally paid for the construction, which cost him $100,000--about $2.95 million today.

R. H. Robertson of the architectural firm of Robertson & Potter, had designed the structure in a toned-down version of the Romanesque Revival style.   While there were no chunky, undressed stone blocks and no medieval inspired carvings and gargoyles, so often seen in more aggressive Romanesque structures, it featured arcades of fully arched openings, a regimented corbel table below the roof, and steep hipped roofs covered with "Spanish Akron glazed tiles," according to the New-York Tribune.  The Real Estate Record & Guide noted, "The basement is of Scotch sandstone, the superstructure of red brick, red terra cotta and tawny brown brick."  The "tawny brown" bricks were Tiffany bricks, so named because they were recently used in the construction of the Louis Tiffany mansion.

The formal opening was held on October 3, 1887 "with appropriate ceremonies," according to the New-York Tribune.  The newspaper said the building was "designed to be a 'place where railroad men may spend pleasant hours.'"  In the basement were the "appliances for the physical improvement of the members," according to the article.  These included a gymnasium, bowling alleys and a six-foot deep "plunge bath," or swimming pool.  

On the main floor was the impressive library of 6,400 volumes.  "It is a general and miscellaneous library," said the New-York Tribune, "intended to instruct, amuse and divert the railroad men."  The branch's general secretary, George A. Warburton, confided a secret about the arrangement of the books:

Our library has this peculiarity, we have placed the works of instruction on the lower shelves, where they will be easy of access.  The novels and lighter literature we have put up in the gallery, where those who want to read them will have to climb up stairs for them.

Also on the main floor were the reading room, furnished with easy chairs and outfitted with 100 daily, weekly and monthly newspapers; the social room were members could play chess, checkers and other games; the general secretary's office; and the "committee of management" room.

On the second floor was a 66-foot-long hall capable of seating 400 persons.  Drop-down partitions enabled it to be divided  into classrooms, "or the separated part can be used as a dining room during entertainments," suggested the New-York Tribune.  There were also "beautifully finished" committee rooms on the second floor.  In the tower were the kitchen and pantry, a janitor's apartment, and a lunchroom for the members.  The New-York Tribune said the latter was "admirably furnished with lounges of an enticing character, while in the centre of this room is a table where hot coffee is served to members free of charge."

Trainmen stopping over in the city could take advantage of ten free sleeping rooms in the attic floor, furnished with brass beds and "fine clean linen."  The New-York Tribune assured, "Like all the other floors it is finished in excellent taste."  The newspaper commended Cornelius Vanderbilt, saying his intention "has evidently been, throughout, to give the railroad men the best that could be obtained without regard to cost."  And, in fact, Vanderbilt felt that the initial budget of just $35,000 would not be sufficient, and directed Robertson to improve and expand the plans, ignoring the original figures.

Among the first events held in the hall was "an instrumental and vocal concert" on October 27.  The New York Times said, "The crowd of invited guests could not get into the big meeting room, but contented themselves by packing the staircases and the approaches and there catching what they could of the music."  Of great interest was the hall's volalion organ, a free-standing reed instrument.  The New York Times said, "The audience was surprised apparently that, from an instrument seemingly not large nor built into a wall, such a rich volume of tone could be produced, united with a sweet and harmonious blending of reed and pipe sounds."  There were also performances by a 30-voice choir, a pianist, and vocal soloists.

The branch offered many opportunities to the members, who paid 10 cents per month dues.  There were classes in mechanical drafting, stenography, penmanship, and vocal music, as well as regular lectures.  

So successful was the Railroad Branch that Robertson was called back to enlarge the facilities.  On May 20, 1893 The Railway Review reported, "The large increase in the membership of the club has made it necessary to enlarge the present quarters."  Once again, Cornelius Vanderbilt paid for the annex and the furnishings, which were projected to cost $80,000.  The article said in part:

Every department of the club will have larger quarters.  The gymnasium will be increased so that its dimensions will be 29x50 ft.  The library, which contains 7,000 volumes and the most complete collection of railroad books in this country, will be enlarged by an extension of 8x18 ft.  A bowling alley and a large set of baths will be added to the present equipment of the building.

The addition to the rear effectively doubled the size of the original building.  Annual Report of the Young Men's Christian Associations, 1909 (copyright expired)

The addition to what was now known as the Railroad Men's Building was completed in time for the 19th anniversary of the Railroad Branch of the Young Men's Christian Association.   Cornelius Vanderbilt addressed the ceremony on January 8, 1895, noting "the gratifying fact that an addition to the building had been necessary."  In the past year, there had been 33,070 lodgers, 1,272 members had taken books from the library and, as reported by the New-York Tribune, "1,664 baths have been given."  On an average day, between 530 and 640 men took advantage of the facility.

Cornelius Vanderbilt II died on September 12, 1899.  His will left $100,000 to the Railroad Branch of the Young Men's Christian Association--a significant $3.7 million today.  The club continued to offer comfort and education to its members.  In his 1904 The Better New York, Its Sights and Insights, Allen Beekman Sutcliffe noted, "Everything is done to attract and make comfortable the railroad men.  All classes of railway men meet as equals here, whether they be clerks, yardmen, baggage men, brakemen or the highest officials of the road."

As technology advanced, the Railroad Branch offered courses to keep its workers up to date.  On September 29, 1905, The Railroad Gazette reported that three courses "of study for railroad men in electricity as applied to railroads" were being offered here.  The article said, "Trainmen and other railroad employees are invited to join the classes with a view of preparing themselves for efficient service when the steam locomotive shall be superseded by electric locomotives on the lines running into Grand Central Station."

The planned expansion of the Grand Central Station complex in 1912 included the Madison Avenue corner.  On February 23 The Sun explained, "The rebuilding of the Grand Central Station  made necessary a change of site for the Y. M. C. A. building.  It was said on authority yesterday...that the new building will be on Lexington avenue at about Forty-eighth street, and that it will be the finest railroad Y. M. C. A. building in America."

The designers of the new Grand Central Station, Warren & Wetmore, designed the new home of the Railroad Branch Y.M. C.A. on Park Avenue between 49th and 50th Streets.  Vanderbilt's brothers Frederick W., Alfred Gwynne and William Kissam, donated $100,000 each towards its construction.  

Warren & Wetmore's 1913 building has also been demolished.  Record & Guide, December 6, 1912 (copyright expired)

The Madison Avenue building was demolished in 1917.

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The Eric P. Swenson House - 13 East 71st Street

Eric Pierson Swenson was born in Austin, Texas to Svante Magnus Swenson and the former Sue McReady and educated at the prestigious Trinity College.  Although he moved his family to New York City in 1875 he still owned a sprawling cattle ranch and was president of a pioneering Texas sulfur firm, the Freeport Texas Company (later renamed the Freeport Sulphur Compay).  In New York he continued to diversify, entering the banking business and investing heavily in railroads.

Swenson married Maud Tilgman around 1881.  She died in 1891, the year after the birth of their son, Svant Magnus.

On November 23 that same year Swenson purchased the four-story brick-faced house at No. 13 East 71st Street from Edward H. Van Ingen.  He paid $20,000 for the property, about $569,000 today, and immediately hired esteemed architect R. H. Robertson to design a stylish home to replace it.  

Completed in 1892, the 20-foot wide Queen Anne-style residence sat on a brownstone base.  In contrast to the high stoop of the former house, the entrance sat three steps above the sidewalk.  The upper floors were clad in light brown Roman brick, trimmed in brownstone.  Atypical of the style, the design was strictly symmetrical.  The faceted oriel of the second floor wore a copper roof and the openings of the third floor--arranged in a stylized palladian configuration--were fully framed in brownstone.  Brilliant stained glass transoms would have filled their transoms.  The slate-shingled mansard level featured a full-height brick dormer.

Swenson was seemingly indefatigable in his business pursuits.  By the time he and his baby son moved in he was a director of the San Antonio & Aransas Passenger Railway Company.  He would add directorships to the Southern Pacific Company, the Pacific Oil Company, Pacific Mail Steamship Company and the New York Shipbuilding Company to his resume.

In 1895 Swenson married Amelie B. Berthelot.  The following year, in December, a son was born, Swen Randolphe.

Swenson and seven other investors formed a new bank in March 1900 when they incorporated the Fidelity Bank.  Among Swenson's partners were Robert Olyphant, Jacob H. Schiff and Seth M. Milliken.

Entertainments in the 71st Street house were routinely intimate.  On March 11, 1900, for instance, The New York Times reported that Amelie "gave last evening at her residence, 13 East Seventy-first Street, a small dinner of twelve covers."  Almost assuredly two of the guests that night were Eric's sister, Eleanor, and her fiancé, John Henry Towne.

The Swensons' father had died by now and Amelie was highly involved in her sister-in-law's pre-wedding entertainments.  A month later, on April 18, 1900 The New York Times reported "Mrs. Eric P. Swenson (Miss Amelie Berthelot) of 13 West Seventy-first Street gave a tea yesterday afternoon in honor of Miss Swenson and her bridal attendants."  Eric Swenson gave his sister away at her wedding in the fashionable St. Bartholomew's Church.  

"Camping"--a term vastly different in meaning than today--was becoming popular with millionaires at the time.  Upper Saranac Lake in the Adirondack Mountains caught the attention of wealthy New Yorkers for its pristine views and ample hunting and fishing.  The Swensons' "camp," was named Indian Carry Farm.

On June 10, 1906 the New-York Tribune would note "Upper Saranac is one of the most beautiful spots to be found in the mountains, and on its shores are some of the finest camps which the Adirondacks can boast."  The newspaper mentioned some of the millionaires who maintained "fine camps on this lake," including Levi P. Morton, John D. Rockefeller, Jr., Percy Rivington Pyne, Isaac N. Seligman and the Swensons, among others.  

But well before that article Eric Swenson headed the charge of wealthy landowners against an unlikely foe--Cornell University.  As president of the Association of Residents on Upper Saranac Lake, he petitioned the State Attorney General to prevent the school from destroying 30,000 acres of virgin forest.  The school's College of Forestry had arranged for a Brooklyn barrel firm to harvest the trees, build a "stave and heading factory" on the lane, and construct a railroad to transport the logs and cord wood.  The university argued that with the land denuded of trees, it could institute a "scientific replanting and natural reproduction" reforestation.  Swenson's tireless battle saw him appear in Albany over a period of two years before Cornell was forced to cease "lumbering of the land for purely commercial purposes," as worded by the Attorney General.

The New York Times, August 15, 1945

Swenson was in court for another highly-visible case in 1902.  On September 23, 1900 millionaire William Marsh Rice was found dead in his bed by his valet, Charles F. Jones.  It was assumed that he had died in his sleep.   Rice had been a long-term friend of Swenson and a customer of his bank for 20 years.  He and other of Rice's close friends knew that he intended his fortune to be used to found Rice University in Houston, Texas.  But almost immediately Rice's attorney, Albert T. Patrick, announced that elderly man had changed his will just before his death, leaving the bulk of the estate to him.

Patrick arrived at the bank the day after Rice's death with a check for $25,000 (more than three-quarters of a million today) made out to him.  Swenson immediately recognized the signature as a forgery and refused to cash it.  He informed the lawyer that, as he should well know, Rice's assets were frozen upon his death.

Now certain there was foul play, Swenson went to the authorities and warned them not to cremate the body.  An investigation was launched and Swenson testified in court on January 24, 1902.  The New York Times said "His story of his meeting with Patrick and his conversation with him on the day following the murder, told in a simple, straightforward manner on the direct examination, was listened to with breathless interest in the crowded courtroom."  Patrick and the valet Jones were convicted of conspiracy to commit murder and forgery of the will.

In August 1916 the Swensons hired architects Trowbridge & Livingston to update their home.  Plans filed in August 1916 called for "alterations and additions."  The renovations cost the equivalent of $118,000 today.

A reassignment of posts within of the National City Bank occurred in May 1921 following the resignation of its president, James A. Stillman.   At a board of directors' meeting on May 3, Eric Swenson was elected Chairman of the Board.

By now Swenson's cattle interests in Texas had greatly increased.  In June 1922 The New York Herald reported that he had "just completed a tour of his cattle interests" there.  The Swenson Land and Cattle Company owned "broad grazing lands and operates several ranches in Texas," explained The New York Times.  He also owned oil companies, one of which was the Swensondale Company of Texas.  In November 1927 he formed the Swenson Texas Company "to function as a holding concern for his stocks in various enterprises," reported The New York Times.

Amelie Swenson died in 1929.   Eric resigned his position as Chairman of National City Bank that year, although he remained on the board.  Called by The New York Times "one of the most influential men in the financial community," he continued to live at No. 13 East 71st Street until his death at the age of 90 at Indian Carry Farm on August 14, 1945.

In 1947 the Swenson house was converted to a multi-family dwelling.  There was now a doctor's office and apartment in the basement, a duplex on the second and third floors, and two apartments each on the upper floors.

The most colorful and celebrated tenant was Magda Gabor, the elder sister of Zsa Zsa and Eva Gabor.   In 1950 she was introduced to Arthur Gallucci, known as Tony, at a Long Island cocktail party in 1950.  In his Finding Zsa Zsa: The Gabors Behind the Legend, author Sam Staggs writes "Magda and Tony became inseparable and eventually lived together in Magda's town house at 13 East Seventy-first Street and in Tony's estate on Long Island."  It was a rocky relationship at best, troubles arising from Tony's womanizing and drinking.

In 1996 the house was reconverted to a single family residence.   Because the Swenson family remained in the home for half a century, its Victorian presence survived while throughout the early 20th century limestone and marble mansions rose around it.

photographs by the author

Rutgers Presbyterian Church - 236 West 73rd Street

photo by Jim.henderson

By the 18^th century the Dutch Rutgers family had established itself in Manhattan with a large estate north of the city and a fine mansion.  Henry Rutgers survived service in the Revolutionary War to enter a life of public service and distinguish the family name with his generous philanthropies.  One of these would result in the change of the name of Queens College to Rutgers College.

A devout man, in 1798 he donated land to a Presbyterian congregation at what would become the corner of Henry and Rutgers Streets.   It was known as the Rutgers Street Church, or more familiarly “The kirk on Rutgers Farm,” and opened its doors for worship on May 13, 1798.  

In 1888, after three previous moves, the Rutgers Presbyterian Church congregation acquired a large lot at the southwest corner of Broadway and 73rd Street and hired architect R. H. Robertson to design a forceful Romanesque Revival church on the site.  The substantial structure cost $240,500 to construct--more than $6.5 million today.

A stereopticon slide shows the R. H. Robertson church with newly-planted trees.  Streetcar tracks run up Broadway.  

Thirty years after the building was completed the property on which it sat had become extremely valuable.  On the northwest corner was the imposing Ansonia Apartments and Broadway bustled with activity.  The New York Times noted in November 1921 "The six lots there were purchased for $93,700.  Today the property is worth approximately $1,000,000."

On December 6, 1919 The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide announced "The Rutgers Presbyterian Church property...has been purchased by Sheriff David H. Knott and Henry J. Veitch, president of the Hotel St. Andrew Co., as a site for a 14-story hotel to cost about $3,000,000."

The architectural and building firm Fred F. French Company was contracted to design and erect the 500-room hotel; but then things faltered.  When the Rutgers Presbyterian congregation celebrated its 125th anniversary in November 1921, it was still in the corner church.

With the hotel project defunct, in July 1922 the trustees leased the vacant plot abutting the church to the real estate firm of Wood, Dolson Co., In. for $12,500 per year as the site of its new headquarters.  "The architecture of the new structure will conform with the church building," announced the Record & Guide.

As 1923 drew to a close the trustees of Rutgers Presbyterian Church thought they had found a solution to getting the most value from their property--a skyscraper church.  The concept was becoming popular in large cities.  Church buildings were being demolished to be replaced with apartment or office buildings which retained space for the religious organization.

On December 13, 1923 The Hudson Valley Times wrote "Rutgers Presbyterian Church on Broadway at 73rd Street is to be remodeled.  The lower floors will be occupied by a branch bank.  The church will have he upper part and will gain an income of $25,000 a year to help bear the cost of its program."  

But that plan, too, never came to fruition.  Instead the church leased the corner plot jointly to Wood, Dodson & Co. and the United States Mortgage and Trust Company; while retaining for itself a rear portion of the property for a new, smaller building.  The cornerstone was laid in February 14, 1925 "in the presence of several hundred parishioners and a number of distinguished clergymen," according to The Hancock Herald.

Within the cornerstone were placed documents relating to church calendars, ministers, photographs of the exterior and interior of the old church, a copy of the leases for the corner site, and related papers.  The article noted "The cornerstone weighed two and one-half tons."

The trustees had hired Henry Otis Chapman to design its new home.  Construction was completed early in 1926 and the dedication ceremonies took place on March 21.  Chapman's red brick and limestone sanctuary and church house were a 1920's take on English Gothic and, in the case of the church house, neo-Tudor.  

The entrance doors were slightly recessed within an elliptical arch; its width was carried on to the three pointed-arched stained glass windows directly above.  Limestone was used on either side of the gable to create grouped, blind Gothic arches that simulated towers.

The American Architect & Building News, December 5, 1926 (copyright expired)

Inside Gothic co-existed with the waning Arts & Crafts movement.  The oak elements--pews, pulpit, railings, and such--were carved with Gothic arches and trefoils and sat upon a pavement of Arts & Crafts mottled tiles.  Worshipers accustomed to R. H. Robertson's highly-decorated sanctuary now found plain plastered walls free of frescoes or nearly any other ornamentation.

The American Architect & Building News, December 5, 1926 (copyright expired)

Three years later the country was overwhelmed by the onslaught of the Great Depression.  Political and social issues often made their way to the pulpits of Manhattan churches and in 1934 the Rev. Daniel Russell gave his opinion of Franklin D. Roosevelt's National Recovery Administration to the congregation of Rutgers Presbyterian.

On July 19 the Stamford Mirror-Recorder reported that he "told his congregation that the N.R.A., far from bringing the masses any relief, had in fact reduced even further their living standards.  He said that he would render no greater service from the pulpit than to point out to the wage earner that a planned economy offers but little hope, in the long run, but rather blasts his chances for independence, prosperity and the good life."

With tensions building in Europe the issue of war and education was addressed in the church in January 1936.  A conference of "peace educators" concluded "The trouble about peace education along idealistic lines is that it rests so largely on emotion appeal, a psychological factor which can never be trusted in the excitement and alarm of an impending war," as reported by the Buffalo Courier-Express on January 19.  "The war-makers are past masters in the treatment of mass psychology when popular ideals are all too easily confused."

A situation that would bring nationwide press began the following year when the church held a contest among artists for a 26-foot-wide, 35-foot-high mural for the unadorned rear chancel wall.  The design of well-known muralist Alfred D. Crimi won the $6,800 commission for his Spreading the Gospel.

Crimi worked on the mural for two years.  Upon its unveiling on November 20, 1938 the pastor, Dr. Daniel Russell, described it as a picture of "the human Christ, whose muscles have hardened with the toil of rude and heavy tools in a primitive carpenter shop."  A large number of the female members disagreed, finding it disturbing to look at the muscular naked torso of Christ throughout the service.

Late in the summer of 1946 Crimi was in Manhattan and dropped into Rutgers Presbyterian Church to visit his work.  The Rome [New York] Sentinel reported "he was horrified to find that it had been blotted out by the church authorities."  That mural had been erased by a thick coating of white paint.

"It was explained by the Rev. Dr. Ralph W. Key, the pastor, that members of the congregation felt the central figure of Christ 'portrayed physical rather than spiritual strength--they just didn't like it and when the church was redecorated the mural was included in the plans."

The offending Spreading the Gospel. New York Post, March 11, 1947 

Incensed and indignant, Crimi went to court for damages.  He admitted to reporters that while "he could not legally force the church to restore the mural, he would attempt to force the issue on moral grounds.

Crimi's case was interesting.  He said the church had replaced his mural with "an undignified burial shroud" and asked the courts to "protect his honor and reputation." (And grant him $50,000 as well.)  To do so attorneys and a judge would have to decide if such a thing as "moral ownership" existed.

It didn't.

After dragging on for years, the courts ruled on January 29, 1949 that "when the picture has been painted and delivered to the patron and paid for by him, the artist has no right whatever left in it."

In the meantime an annual occurrence at Rutgers Presbyterian Church, going back to around 1929, was the two-day Interdenominational Missions Training Institute.  Each year's gathering had a theme.  With World War II raging in 1941 the sessions focused on "Democracy at Home and the Old Order Round the Globe."

Independent schools and small colleges routinely used the auditoriums of churches for their graduation ceremonies.  By the 1960's Rutgers Presbyterian was the annual venue for the commencement exercises of the American Academy-McAllister Institute of Funeral Service in New York--perhaps less expected than the more common beauty institutes and industrial schools that filled New York churches at graduation time.

In 2013 a restoration was initiated by Rand Engineering & Architecture, DPC.  The all-inclusive project replaced the roof, repaired the masonry and restored the stained glass rose window, executed by G. Owen Bonawit.  While in overall good shape, the glass was dirty and some panes were cracked.

photograph via LandmarkWest!

While work is still necessary on the other windows, the restoration brought the facade of the Rutgers Presbyterian Church back to its 1926 appearance.

The Lost Madison Avenue M.E. Church - Madison Ave at 60th Street

When photographed in 1907, brownstone rowhouses shared the 60th Street block with the church; while modern structures loom in the background.  photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In 1881 Methodist Episcopal Bishop William L. Harris called a meeting to discuss "a place of worship for Methodists in a locality where it was thought a church was greatly needed."  That locality was the rapidly-developing Upper East Side.  The New York Times reported "A number of gentlemen purchased the ground to hold until the society was organized."

It was a remarkable scheme.  The building plot at the northeast corner of Madison Avenue and 60th Street was purchased for a congregation that did not yet exist.  A fund raising drive was initiated and when $150,000 had been amassed in November 1881, "the society was incorporated," said The Times.

That society was the Madison-Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church.  At the time there were just 30 members (the wealth of whom was evidenced by the building fund already accumulated--more than $3.6 million today); but, according to the newspaper "The projectors look for a large membership and feel gratified at the success they have met with in raising funds."

On April 21, 1882 architect Robert H. Robertson filed plans for the church and adjoining chapel.  The cost of the structure was estimated at $125,000.  With the land, the total cost would be $225,000, or just under $5.5 million today.   The cornerstone was laid in July, with construction on the chapel projected to be completed that fall, in time for services for members returning from their summer homes.  It would take a full year to complete the church proper.

As the complex neared completion on November 9, 1883 The Record & Guide expressed its satisfaction with the design, calling it "the most important, architecturally, of recent churches in New York" and "also one of the most successful."  The journal thought Robertson's Romanesque Revival design was "much more domestic than ecclesiastical in character."

In 1889 the church was still surrounded by rowhouses.  A woman navigates crossing the streetcar tracks on Madison Avenue.  Note that the stained glass windows on 60th Street (deemed by the Record & Guide "the best side") are fitted with awnings.  photo by John S. Johnston, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Built of rough-faced brownstone, it was 89 feet wide on the avenue and 125 feet deep along 60th Street.  Robertson's church was decidedly Norman in character.  The Madison Avenue elevation was stark in comparison to many contemporary Romanesque Revival buildings--with their massive arches, heavy carvings, and hefty columns.   But severe gave way to flamboyant in the 128-foot tall central tower.

The Record & Guide said the obvious, "The most noticeable feature in the composition of the church front is the treatment of the tower."  Toward the top of the tower Gothic arches opened (Robertson's single step away from the Romanesque), each containing a bowed balcony.  This was the feature The Record & Guide found "domestic" since, it said, "the belfry of a church not being primarily an observatory--but it is so pretty it is ungracious to find fault with it."

The architect topped it all with a pyramidal cap, ornamented with blind dormers containing flat discs that begged for clock faces that would never be, and corner pinnacles.

Robertson lavished equal attention on the interior.  The New York Times described the treatment as "of whitewood and pine in panes and heavily ribbed."  Capable of seating 750 worshipers, its ceiling rose 53 feet from the floor.  

The lower gallery, at left, was reserved for guests.  from American Architect & Building News, January 5, 1884 (copyright expired)

The first service in the church was held on Sunday, November 11, 1883.  It was one of a week-long series of "special services" that would culminate in the formal dedication on November 18.  By now the membership had risen to 120.  The cost of construction had risen as well, to a total of $250,000 including the land.

A reporter from The New York Times was satisfied with the smaller details.  "The acoustics are excellent, and the low tones of the preacher can be heard distinctly all over the building...The pews are large and comfortable."

On Good Friday 1884 the church was host to a group which might surprise modern readers--the Knights Templar.  The Times reported that 50 members of the Palestine Commandery, No. 18, Knights Templar, assembled at the Masonic Temple at 7:00 and marched in full uniform "with waving plumes and clanking swords" to Park Avenue and 26th Street where special cars were waiting.

The circus was appearing in Madison Square Garden, and "the circus-ticket speculators became impressed with the idea that they were an organization about to visit the circus and descended upon them with offers of the most advantageous bargains."

Once at their destination, the Knights presented an impressive show.  "Upon arriving at the church they formed in the parlor of the edifice and marched in double file up the centre aisle, while the choir sang 'Onward, Christian Soldier.'  Then, while Eminent Sir O. H. Tiffany, D. D., offered an invocation, they stood in a double row facing each other with swords crossed."

Among the well-known congregants were Ulysses S. Grant and his wife, Julia.   Three days after Grant's death on July 23, 1885, members filled the stiflingly-hot church.  The New York Times reported "The Madison-Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church, in Sixtieth-street, was unusually crowded yesterday morning, considering the intensely hot weather."  The congregants were aware that the Rev. Dr. O. H. Tiffany would be speaking on "Personal Memories of Gen. Grant as Former Parishioner."  The newspaper said that during the sermon "a complete silence reigned among the audience.  Several ladies wept, and the whole congregation seemed profoundly impressed."

In 1901 the church announced its new pastor, the 38-year old Rev. Dr. Wallace MacMullen.  The minister had been pastor of the Park Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church in Philadelphia and was deemed "one of the most eloquent pastors in this city."

MacMullen and his family moved into the rectory at No. 46 East 60th Street where, five years later, the pastor discovered that some home repair jobs were best left to the professionals.   For some reason the lighting gas in a room on the second floor was not flowing.  MacMullen suspected that water had gotten into the gas line and set out to investigate.  He asked his 11-year old son, Paul, to accompany him to the cellar and hold a candle while he attempted to blow the water through the pipes.

The following day, on December 7, 1906 The Sun reported "The minister and his son no sooner landed in the cellar with the lighted candle than there was an explosion which knocked both men off their feet.  Rubbish in the cellar took fire at the same time."  Paul ran to the fire house on the same block and the fire was soon put out.  The Sun concluded "Dr. MacMullen will preach on Sunday minus his eyebrows and some hair."

Preachers like MacMullen were uneasy with a modern fad that was sweeping the nation: the motion picture.  In the eyes of many clerics, the theater had always posed a threat to morality.  This new technology, inexpensive and accessible to the masses, was worse.

On December 22, 1908 Mayor George B. McClellan was faced with a conundrum: whether or not to allow moving picture shows to operate on Sundays.  He called together a public hearing on the matter and Rev. MacMullen was there to make his opinion known.  He summed up his feelings about motion pictures in two words "abominable and degrading."

But the minister would have problems much closer to home to be concerned with in the spring of 1911.   On March 13 The Sun ran the headline "Minister's Son Shot Boy."   Paul, now 16 years old, had been arrested and charged "with shooting Robert Polinsky in the right eye with an air rifle."  The eight-year old victim was taken to the German Hospital where doctors said he would most likely lose the sight in that eye.

It all started when Paul was "amusing himself with an air rifle" in the back yard of the rectory.   Robert and a friend were on the roof of his house on 59th Street; the backyards of the two properties nearly back-to-back.  MacMullen's lawyer said it was all an unfortunate accident; but the judge, Magistrate Herbert, was not so sure.  He said "that would be determined at the examination when the other boy is able to appear in court."  Paul father paid the $500 bail to free him, a substantial $13,000 in today's dollars.

One of the most colorful of the Madison Avenue M.E. Church's congregants was Charles G. Gates.  The son of steel tycoon John W. Gates whose estate had been estimated at $38 million, he lived life large.  He was especially fond of hiring "special trains" and ordering the engineer to run them as fast as possible--on one occasion reaching the reported speed of 90 miles per hour.  The Times noted in 1913 that he "had made himself conspicuous...in the last few years for his record-breaking dashes across the continent in special trains."  When a friend asked him why he spent thousands of dollars to arrive a few minutes before a regular train, he replied "Speed is life."

Gates bragged that he spent $1 million every year on tips to waiters and such.  "I can't take it with me when I die," he told a reporter, "and I believe in spending my money."   He spent his money at the gambling tables, as well.  In 1911 he reportedly lost $40,000 gambling.  The Times said that although "he pooh-poohed the story, it was generally credited."

He and his wife, the former Mary W. Martin, lived in an apartment at No. 667 Madison Avenue.  But their domestic life was noticeably souring in 1911 and Mary obtained a divorce on August 5 that year.   A month later, on September 27, he married Florence Hopwood.

In September 1913 Gates boarded his private train car, the Superb, with six companions for an extended hunting trip in Wyoming.  After five weeks in the hills hunting elk, deer and bear, the men returned to the Superb which was on a side track in Cody, Wyoming.  A newspaper reported that it was a "very successful hunt" and "elk heads, bear hides, and other trophies of Mr. Gates's skill with the rifle are now being prepared for shipment east."

On October 29 The New York Times said "On his return from his hunting trip Mr. Gates spent more than $7,000 buying fur coats for friends.  He gave his chauffeur $1,000 and presented to his guide on the trip $10,000 in cash."  They would be the last of Gates's extravagant gifts.

The 37-year old fell ill on the morning of October 28 and was taken to his private car,  Doctors were called and at one point it was planned to connect the Superb to a train headed for Billings; but his condition had worsened to the point that moving him was deemed inadvisable.   Around 1:40 that afternoon he died "of apoplexy," or a stroke.

Gates's funeral in the Madison Avenue M.E. Church did justice to his flashy lifestyle.  The Sun reported "Lilies of the valley, chrysanthemums and orchids predominated in the floral offerings."  Orchestra leader Nathan Franko played the same songs he had performed at the funeral of Gates's father.  The Sun said the services were attended by "many Wall Street financiers and men interested in racing."  Among them were Charles M. Schwab, James Buchanan, and millionaires from as far away as Chicago and Texas.

In May 1915 the Rev. Dr. Worth Marion Tippy took MacMullen's place as pastor.  According to newspapers he was the highest salaried pastor in the Methodist church.  He took the pulpit at a tense time, as war spread across the European continent.

On Thanksgiving 1915 the churches were unusually crowded, The Sun explaining "Pastors generally attributed this to the fact that the dreadfulness of the world war and the good fortune of the United States in being able to keep out of it has stirred the religious feeling of the people and caused great numbers to feel a special reason for giving thanks."

While many pastors across the city waxed militant in their sermons, Rev. Tippy was decidedly more diplomatic, noting that "the outpourings of the Germans about God must not be thought a mockery because they represented the deeply religious spirit of the German people."

Within a few months at least one New Yorker felt the pastor's sentiments did not go far enough.  In the spring of 1916 Tippy received a letter from George Jacobson, who said that the war in Europe could be ended if the ministers in America "would do their duty."  Tippy replied to that letter, but ignored those that continued to pour into his mailbox.

Finally, the letter that came on Thursday, May 18, got his attention.  The New York Times reported "the writer said that if Dr. Tippy did not agree to an appointment to discuss steps to end the war, he would be shot on Sunday as he stood in his pulpit."  The letter got the attention of the police department as well.

That Sunday Jacobson was arrested and Magistrate Murphy of the Yorkville Court had him committed to Bellevue Hospital "for observation as to his sanity."

Tippy was by no means ignoring the European conflict.  Well before the United States became involved and "stirred by the calamity of war," as explained by The Times, he opened the church for relief work.  Scores of women arrived every day to make bandages for the wounded.

On February 19, 1917 Tippy announced that he was leaving Madison Avenue M. E. Church to become Secretary in Charge of Social Service in the Federal Council of Churches of Christ in America.  The New York Times noted that he was taking a $4,000 a year salary cut to do so.   But the progressive-thinking minister had other things, apparently, than money on his mind.

"Mr. Tippy has also been of the belief that the churches of the nation should take a leading part in bettering conditions of labor, in elevating women to an equal status with men, in enforcing a six-day work week, in advocating prison reform, and in turning the churches over to the use of the people for proper recreation purposes," said The Times.

Two months before the end of World War I a somewhat surprising guest speaker took the pulpit at the Madison Avenue M. E. Church.  Bishop Yoshishu Haraiwa gave the sermon on September 1, 1918--one that might have been interpreted more as self-promoting propaganda for his homeland that as religious enlightenment.

"Japan has been grossly misrepresented," he began.  "Japan is not in lust of territory, but any improvement in her army and navy has been brought about because of her desire for self preservation.  Our attitude toward America is and always has been friendly."

Rev. Tippy's replacement was the Rev. Dr. Ralph W. Sockman.  He made his voice heard repeatedly regarding the issues that naturally followed the declaration of peace.   He pointed out in his sermon on May 11, 1919 that "The army and navy of Germany have been taken away from her.  We no longer need fear her in those realms."  But, he warned, the real danger was the commercial rivalry of the trade routes and reminded his parishioners that was one of the chief causes of the war.  He stressed that the United States and its allies needed to control the commerce of the world.

Five years later, at a world-wide conference, he warned against the rearming of the world's military.  "Armies should be reduced from the level of war power to a police power level...There can be no war to end war."  He believed that the only avenue to lasting peace would come "by stopping preparations for war."

Like Tippy, Sockman was progressive in his thinking.  In 1924 he modified the church's long-standing ban "against dancing, attending theatre, cards and other forms of amusement."  He calmed his congregants in his sermon on June 8 saying he "expected no orgy of abuses" and considered the fear that the church would become a center of "dancing and card parties" as absurd.

A month earlier he had condemned the Government's proposed policy of censorship.  "There must be self-mastery before than can be healthy self-expression," he said.  Regulation of what a person could do or see was not a solution.  He recommended teaching people self-control.  And the following year he denounced the very concept of the Scope Trials.  "Some legislators think they can preserve belief in Christian truth by passing laws to prevent the teaching of certain scientific theories," he said.

When this photograph was taken on October 20, 1930, the tower had lost its topmost portion.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

On April 29, 1929 The New York Times announced "in a transaction involving nearly $4,000,000, the Madison Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church has sold its present building and site on the northeast corner of Madison Avenue and Sixtieth Street and purchased a larger site in the same block at the northwest corner of Park Avenue and Sixtieth Street."  The following day the newspaper ran the headline "Office Skyscraper to Replace Church; Campagna Building will Rise on Madison Avenue M. E. Site."

But fate had other ideas.  The church sat vacant and neglected for years; The New York Times explaining that the Campagna development firm faced "delays due to depression and war."  Finally in 1941 things seemed to be progressing when Robertson's striking building was demolished to make way for the long awaited Campagna Building.

But then World War II brought on another delay.  The empty lot was purchased by the Madison-Sixtieth Street Corporation in 1943; but it would not be until 1950 that work finally began on the 24-story International Style building known as 655 Madison Avenue.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

That building survived until the turn of the century, remodeled in 2002 as the 25-story office building designed by Swanke Hayden Connell & Partners.

photo via 655madisonavenue.com

The 1899 Park Row Building -- 15 Park Row

photo by Nyjockboy2

As the 19^th century inched closer to the 20^th, New Yorkers embraced the exciting modern age that gave them the phonograph, electric lights and telegraph.  But the advances in construction, like the elevator and steel-framed construction which allowed buildings to rise ever higher, were causing some concern.

On October 8, 1896, Engineering News reported, “The rage for phenomenally high office-buildings still continues unchecked in New York city, and there seems to be at present some rivalry here as to who shall build the highest structure.”  The journal turned its attention to “the highest building thus far designed in New York city,” the Park Row Building.  Slated to replace the old International Hotel opposite the leviathan Post Office, it would rise 26 stories with two four-story towers at the corners.

The steel frame is evident in construction photographs --photograph Library of Congress

“This will be an office building, with stores on the street floor, and a restaurant at the top,” explained the paper.  The office of architect R. H. Robertson had already released water color drawings depicting a soaring tower that diminished the structures around it.  A building nearly 30 stories tall created a problem for both the architect and the engineer.  Robertson was charged with creating a visually-appealing edifice that required the viewer to unaccustomedly crook his neck backward to take in all in; and the engineer, Nathan Roberts, had to figure out how to support the mammoth weight.  There was also the problem of the plot; what Engineering News called “very irregular.”

Engineering News published the oddly-shaped floorplan on October 8, 1896 (copyright expired)

Robertson attempted to reduce the visual height of the Park Row Building by dividing it vertically into three sections, and horizontally into six.  He drew the eye to the central section by lavishing it with ornamentation.  Balconies, cornices, columns and sculptures broke up the vast surfaces.  The copper-crowned cupolas of the corner towers created the final touch and would be seen by ships entering the harbor and as far away as New Jersey.  Somewhat strangely, Robertson focused attention only to the Park Row façade, leaving the other elevations essentially blank.

More was made in the press about the engineering of the building than its design (perhaps luckily for Robertson—the New-York Tribune would call the structure “hideous but daring”).  Especially noteworthy was the foundation necessary to uphold the 6,316,000-ton structure.  “Many acres of good timber had to be cut to furnish the thousands of great pine piles, many of them forth feet long, that were driven into the sand of the site to support the monster,” reported the New-York Tribune.  

The skyscraper seems to have been mostly conceived by politician William Mills Ivins, who purchased the site.  He then transferred title to a syndicate, the Park Row Construction Company.  Years after its completion New Yorkers would often call it the Ivins Syndicate Building.  But William Ivins’s association with the project would be short-lived.  Millionaire August Belmont held the majority interest in the Park Row Construction Company and he suggested that Ivins retire early on.  It was the first of many incidents of drama that would surround the Park Row Building.

Construction began on October 20, 1896 and would continue for three years—partly because of labor problems and strikes that sporadically stopped progress.  

The Park Row Building diminished its neighboring structures.  To the left is a portion of the Post Office -- photograph Library of Congress

By March 24, 1898, the Park Row Building was topped off and that day an American flag was unfurled from its highest point.  “Several hundred persons watched with eager interest while a professional steeple climber made his perilous ascent to the towering height,” reported The New York Times.  “He climbed the pole with the flag on his shoulders, and, after making it fast, proceeded to paint the staff.  The watching crowd cheered lustily as the National colors unfolded, and continued to gaze at the daring painter as long as he remained in sight.”

As the building neared completion leases were signed.  On Christmas Eve 1898 the Astor House Pharmacy rented one of the ground floor stores.  Somewhat surprisingly, while Park Row was the center of the newspaper industry, many of the new tenants would be from unrelated areas.  On January 20, 1899 the City leased four entire floors to house the Department of Bridges, the Department of Street Cleaning, the Water Department, the Bureau of Encumbrances, the executive officers of the public baths, the Bureau of Public Buildings and Offices, the Commissioners of Public works, and the Bureau of Sewers.

The 391-foot tall Park Row Building opened its doors on July 20, 1899.  The New-York Tribune wrote, “A skyscraper of this magnitude will have its own electric light plant; a gas plant; waterworks system; artesian wells; fire department, with hose lines and chemical extinguishers; its own police department too, with detectives watching for petty thieves, pickpockets, beggars and peddlers.”  The newspaper noted that its height is “about seventy feet less than the Great Pyramid of Cheops.”

The skyscraper had cost $2.4 million to construct and was now the tallest building in the world.  Scientific American boasted, “This modern building…will accommodate the floating population of a fair-sized country town…There are in the whole building 950 separate offices.”  The magazine estimated the number of persons in the building at any period of the day at 8,000.  “If we assume that on an average five persons would call at each office during the day, for each person employed, we get a total of about 25,000 souls making use of the building at the course of every working day of the year.”

This shot clearly shows the absence of ornamentation in the rear and side elevations -- photograph Library of Congress

It would not be long before the building’s long history of drama began.  The syndicate signed a one-year contract with the Ice Trust to deliver 1,000 pounds of ice daily.  The Trust enjoyed what The Evening World called “powerful connections with Tammany Hall” and assumed it automatically had a long-term deal.

When the contract expired on June 1, 1900, the syndicate put out bids to other ice suppliers.  The Evening World explained that the Ice Trust believed that through its ties to Tammany Hall “it could get the ice privilege without a contract [and] refused to bid.”

But the proprietor of the restaurant in the building, which had its own ice plant, won the contract.  The only tenants he could not supply were the city agencies.  The Ice Trust had a binding contract with Tammany Hall to supply ice to all city departments.  Therefore, starting on June 1, 1900, the Trust dumped 500 pounds of ice on the sidewalk every day.  “In the meantime the city employees have been drinking warm water, and are very indignant,” said The World on June 8, 1900.

Among its hundreds of respectable tenants, the Park Row Building seemed to attract bunko agents and shady characters.  On November 20, 1901 detectives raided Room 711 where brokers Grey & Co. ran a “bucket-shop” scam.  Two years later a massive swindling operation was conducted here by James B. Kellogg, described by The Evening World on March 6, 1903 as “the suave, get-rich-quick concern promoter.”  Kellogg used aliases to rent multiple offices in the building.  These included E. E. Rice & Co. in room 2033, “Colonel Wilcox, in room 2023, and “Charles Pearson & Co., room 2033.  He ran seven other companies from offices here before being arrested.

Then on May 21, 1904, readers of the New-York Tribune were shocked to read of an illegal gambling operation in the building.  “Another surprising raid was in the Park Row or Syndicate Building…which Douglas Robinson, brother-in-law of President Theodore Roosevelt, is the manager.  Twenty prisoners were captured and thirty-three telephones and three telegraph instruments ripped away from their fastenings and carried off by the police.”

Artist J. Massey Rhind executed the sculptural details  Scientific American, December 24, 1898 (copyright expired)

At the time of the raid, the Associated Press had its offices here as did the Legal Department of the New York City Railway Company.  The executive offices of the Interborough Street Railway Company (of which August Belmont was president), and the Metropolitan Street Railway offices were also in the building.

In 1907, politician Percy Nagle’s offices were in the building.  Campaigning was an especially contentious that year and one day in September Nagle was approached in a restaurant by a concerned friend.  He warned Nagle that another politician, Joseph L. Burke, “says he is going to kill you.  You want to look out for him.”  Nagle brushed off the warning.

On the afternoon of September 27, Nagle and some friends were standing in the corridor of the Park Row Building when Burke appeared with a number of men.  The two men exchanged heated words, followed by Burke’s striking Nagle.  A miniature riot ensued in the hallway and one of Burke’s men suggested they “shoot the dub.”

Suddenly Nagle felt the muzzle of a revolver at his neck and heard a loud click.  The gun had jammed.  “Nagle turned white and grabbed the revolver,” reported the New-York Tribune the following day.  “A crowd soon surged around the men and hurried the combatants from the building.”

Edgar H. Holbrook, a life insurance salesman, had either very bad luck or a death wish.  On January 8, 1898 he fell from the New York Life Insurance Building.  He survived that fall.  Now, on Wednesday August 31, 1910 he visited the Park Row Building on business.  The New-York Tribune wrote “It is not known how he came to be either on the roof or the twenty-sixth floor.” 

Holbrook plunged from the 26^th floor, landing on the roof of the six-story building next door.  His body “was so badly crushed as to be unrecognizable.  The man’s terrible death caused many stenographers and other women employes [sic] in the tall building to become hysterical.”

In gruesome detail the newspaper said, “In the drop of more than 500 feet Holbrook’s body acquired a terrific momentum, and when it struck the top of the elevator shed it crashed through a heavy iron screen, a sheet of heavy glass and some half-inch planking.

“These obstacles were not sufficient to prevent Holbrook’s body from dropping on top of the elevator drum, which was in motion at the time.  The body was so mangled that it became wedged tightly in the elevator machinery and stopped it.”

When the Park Row Building had first opened, Professor Herschel C. Parker of Columbia University, an amateur mountain climber, suggested that the facade could be climbed.  He compared the building to the Matterhorn’s cliffs and ledges.  “They are as awful to scale as the outside of the Park Row Building would be.”

Nearly two decades later the professor’s prediction was put to the test.  On May 26, 1918, 41-year-old Harry H. Gardiner, who went by the professional name “the Human Fly,” started up the building.  A reporter from The Evening World described him as “an aviator by profession and that being a Human Fly is simply a side line.”  Gardiner’s climb was for the benefit of the American Red Cross.’

Harry Gardiner would be arrested for his skyscraper climbing today.  photo The Evening World, May 27, 1918 (copyright expired)

Fifty-thousand people crammed the streets around noon as Harry continued upward.  He became annoyed when firemen appeared and unfolded a large leather net.  "But people in the windows above began showering money down into the net—contributions for the Red Cross."

Gardiner was not content with reaching the roof.  He continued up the flagpole until he had touched the golden ball at its tip.  When he returned to street level two hours after he had begun, he told the crowd, “I have done my bit; now see to it that you do yours,” nudging the onlookers to contribute to the cause.

Suicides by jumping made the newspapers over the decades, but none would be so publicized—or questioned—as that of known anarchist Andrea Salsedo.  Accused of bomb making, Salsedo was arrested on March 7, 1920 and secretly held in the Department of Justice’s 14^th floor offices.  Nearly two months later he was still confined here until his body was found smashed on the sidewalk on May 3.

Officials claimed Salsedo feared retaliation by other anarchists.  The New-York Tribune explained on May 4, “It was said that Salsedo had expressed the belief shortly after his arrest and confession in March that he would be killed by persons whose names he had mentioned in his account of the bomb plots.”

His wife was not so sure.  On January 4, 1921, Maria Salsedo filed suit to recover $100,000 in damages.  She said that during his eight weeks confinement he “was beaten, threatened and abused, and that the treatment he received broke him down mentally and physically and finally drove him to kill himself.”  There were others who felt the death was not a suicide at all, but that the anarchist had been thrown to his death.

By 1929 the Park Row Building had lost its luster.  Its title of tallest building in the world was lost in 1908 and by now other skyscrapers surrounded it.  The architectural firm of Clinton & Russell was commissioned to do a facelift of the lower floors.  The ploy succeeded for decades until at the turn of the 21^st century it was once again just an outdated building that was not producing financially.

In 2000, a gut renovation was begun that converted the main building to apartments.  The commodious three-story cupolas were not included in the plan.  Until 2013.  Then they were offered as part of a single massive apartment including the 26^th and 27^th floors, a large private terrace and two balconies.  The price for the unfinished space, reported to be one of the largest penthouses ever offered in Manhattan, was a significant $20 million.

The three-story cupolas are part of the expansive penthouse, which includes an original elevator cage.  NYCurbed.com

The exterior of the Park Row Building is little changed since the 1929 remodeling.  Although no longer the stand-out it was in 1899, it is an important pioneer of the skyscraper age in New York City.

many thanks to reader P. Alsen for suggesting this post