The Richard Grant White House - 118 East 10th Street

 

In 1861, Richard Grant White moved his family into the newly built house at 186 Tenth Street (renumbered 118 East 10th Street in 1867).  It sat upon a triangular parcel of land purchased by Matthias Banta from the Stuyvesant family in 1854.  Banta's architect (most historians attribute the homes to James Renwick, Jr.) had to deal with the irregular plots, resulting in the five-story-and-basement houses ranging from 16- to 32-feet-wide and from 16- to 48-feet deep.  The Anglo-Italianate-style homes were completed in 1861, the year the Whites purchased their new residence.

Like its neighbors, the rusticated brownstone basement and first floor of the White house sat below four stories of red brick trimmed in sandstone.  The tall, fully-arched windows of the second floor were connected by a stone bandcourse.  Each of the architrave frames of the upper openings were treated slightly differently.

Born in 1822, Richard Grant White was a globally recognized Shakespearean scholar.  He traced his American ancestry to John White, a founder of Cambridge, Massachusetts and of Hartford, Connecticut.  Although he studied medicine and law (he was admitted to the bar in 1845), by the time he purchased the Tenth Street house, he was the musical critic for The Courier and Enquirer, and had already published his 1854 Shakespeare's Scholar and the 1859 Essay on the Authorship of the Three Parts of Henry VI.  He would be described by the 1901 New York University; Its History, Influence, Equipment and Characteristics as, "one of the foremost literary and musical critics of his date."

Richard Grant White, from the 1901 New York University; Its History, Influence, Equipment and Characteristics (copyright expired)

Grant was married to Alexina Black Mease on October 16, 1850.  The couple had two sons, Richard Mansfield, born in 1851 and named after Grant's father; and Stanford, born in 1853.

The parlor of the East 10th Street house was most likely the scene of lively artistic discussions.  Among Richard G. White's acquaintances were Louis Comfort Tiffany, Frederick Law Olmsted, and John LaFarge.  It may have been those gatherings that sparked young Stanford White's interest in architecture.

The outbreak of the Civil War affected Richard White's career, at least temporarily.  In 1861 he was appointed Chief of the United States Revenue-Marine (later the U.S. Coast Guard).  He would serve in that post until 1878.

In the meantime, Stanford White pursued a career in architecture.  With no formal training, he became an apprentice in the office of Henry Hobson Richardson in 1871 at the age of 18.  While his professional life progressed (he would become Richardson's principal assistant), the young man's personal lifestyle was a concern to his parents.  Mary Cummings, in her Saving Sin City, says Stanford White and his friends "preferred the company of models and chorus girls to that of dowagers and debutantes."  She writes:

He was living with his family at 118 East 10th Street but seldom came home.  One night he was hurrying off in swallowtail and knee breeches to a society event, the next he was headed for the libidinous downtown wilds, leaving his father to lament that he was absent at breakfast, rarely present at dinner, and then after dinner "he don't stop at home more than ten to fifteen minutes but is off to the Benedick."

Stanford White, photograph by George Cox, ca 1892 (copyright expired)

Stanford White left East 10th Street in 1878 for a year-and-a-half tour of Europe.  When he returned in 1879, he joined Charles Follen McKim and William Rutherford Mead to form McKim, Mead and White.  His parents had sold 118 East 10th Street to Charles Nicholson the previous year.  They moved to 330 East 17th Street where Richard Grant White died on April 5, 1885.  In reporting on his death, The New York Times called him a "variously accomplished man."

The house was owned by two more owners in quick succession.  After William L. Stow purchased it for $14,000 in October 1884 (about $462,000 in 2026), the dwelling was operated as a boarding house. 

Among the residents in 1886 was singer Louise Pauline, described by The Sun as the "prima donna of the Carlton Opera Company."  In May that year, the company took the production of The Bohemian Girl to Philadelphia.  The New York Times reported that on May 29, "just before the curtain rose on the first act," Louise fainted.  She was taken to her dressing room where her costume was removed by two other singers.  Louise would later say, "They took $1,500 which was concealed in my bodice, and gave it to the stage manager, Mr. [Charles] Fais, for safe keeping."  (It was an astounding amount of cash to be hidden in one's underclothes--equal to about $51,000 today.)

Upon returning to 118 East 10th Street, Louise Pauline asked Fais for her money.  "He gave it all back except $90," she told the courts.  He could not explain the shortfall, "and offered to return to Philadelphia and investigate," reported The New York Times.  After waiting a week, Louise had Charles Fais arrested.  The Times said, "When taken into custody, however, he offered to make good the loss."

The boarders continued to be respectable, for the most part.  In 1890 they included Mary E. Brady, a teacher in the primary department of Grammar School No. 30.  Edward Bagwell and Frank Tuttle also lived here at the time.   

On July 8, 1890, The Evening World reported on the stifling heat wave, predicting, "Old Sol is rendering himself liable for malicious mischief to-day."  The previous day, the "malicious mischief" of the dangerous heat resulted in 39-year-old Edward Bagwell's collapsing on a Christopher Street streetcar.  He was taken to St. Vincent's Hospital for treatment.

Later that year, on the night of September 3, Frank Tuttle was walking along the corner of Bond Street and the Bowery when he "lurched against" Jack Ashton and "made an impolite remark."  The World reported, "Mr. Ashton returned a merry response and Mr. Tuttle, unfortunately, took that as an evidence of weakness, so he rushed rudely forward and attempted to toss Mr. Ashton into the air."  Tuttle had chosen the wrong man to attack.  The article said, 

But Mr. Ashton is as quick with his fists as he is at repartee, and he dealt Mr. Tuttle that which is known at Bond street and the Bowery as a "biff on the kisser."  Mr. Tuttle made a second attempt, and, this time, instead of being the thrower, he became the throwee.

A passing policeman arrested both men.  At the station house, neither wanted to make a complaint.  The World ended its article saying, "In a few moments that entente cordiale which should always exist between gentlemen was re-established, and the snowy dove of peace cooed and spread her pin-feathers over the happy little group."

Annie Nicholson operated the boarding house at the time.  She proved to be more than a match for 25-year-old Joseph Braham on the night of February 6, 1893.  Described by The Evening World as a "sneak thief," he attempted to leave the house that night with a $60 overcoat.  Annie Nicholson thought not.  She overpowered the young man and held him until a policeman arrived and arrested him.

Boarding here that year was actress Ella Dunbar who was playing the leading female role in A Winning Hand.  The company went on the road on October 16, 1893, but the reviews were devastating.  Just over a week later, she was back.  With no receipts, the cast did not get paid and Ella had to leave her jewelry with the hotel as a guarantee for her room fare.  Additionally, she had to put up the check for her trunk with the railroad for her passage.

At the turn of the century, the neighborhood had declined.  The condition was reflected in the change in boarders.  Margaret Delahunty worked at the Hot Air Club at 7 East 22nd Street within the notorious Tenderloin district.  On November 6, 1904, undercover officers entered the nightclub.  The Sun reported that 27-year-old Margaret Delahunty and 21-year-old Mable Miller, "stepped out on an improvised stage and began to sing and dance.  The crowd voted the performance slow."

One of the women replied, "Think so? Well, there!" and kicked off her slipper.  "In the course of the next five minutes the performers removed one garment after another."  Responding to a call from the officers, "a squad of Tenderloin sleuths rushed in and arrested everybody."  

George Berger and his family occupied rooms here in 1911.  A clerk, according to him, he was having problems supporting his family.  On the afternoon of June 21, he sneaked into the apartment of W. J. R. Johnston, a magazine writer, at 215 West 108th Street.  Mrs. Johnston returned home to find him there.

"I guess I got into the wrong apartment," he said.

"I am sure you did," she answered.  

The woman confronting him was no retiring housewife.  "Take off that coat and let me see what property of mine you've got in your pockets," she demanded.  The Sun reported, "She called for help and the neighbors began to arrive.  They found the man backed up against the wall with Mrs. Johnston guarding him."

Police officer Murrell arrived with his gun drawn.  Mrs. Johnston realized that she was dealing with a meek, inexperienced burglar.  "You can put that gun back in your pocket," she said, "He's perfectly harmless."

More experienced in burglary was Harry Stein, a 26-year-old roomer who listed his profession as a salesman.  On August 16, 1916, he was arrested during a burglary in the Bronx with two accomplices.  The New-York Tribune reported that Stein tried to escape, but "a shot into the air stopped" him.

When Stein got out of jail, he returned to 118 East 10th Street and to his life of crime.  On October 1, 1916, he appeared in court to plead guilty of another burglary.  The Evening World said he and his accomplice had "long police records."

By the end of World War I, the rooming house was operated by a Mrs. Lewis.  A woman who gave her name as Helen Curtis took a room in 1920.  According to Mrs. Lewis, she left at the beginning of summer "to take a position as checker in a tea room."

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

On September 23, old Helen Bolger was admitted to the Manhattan Eye, Ear and Throat Hospital.  She gave her address as 118 East 10th Street.  During a throat operation that night, she died.  The 24-year-old was the wife of a merchant mariner, Thomas Bolger, who had just returned from sea.  In a bizarre turn of events, Helen Bolger and Helen Curtis were the same woman and why she was living in Mrs. Lewis's rooming house under an assumed name is a mystery.

On June 9, 1958, The New York Times reported that 118 East 10th Street had been purchased by S. P. Sloane and Lloyd Hauser.  "They plan to modernize the building into ten apartments," said the article.  Instead, the renovations resulted in just four apartments--a duplex in the basement and first floor, one apartment each on the second and third, and a duplex in the fourth and fifth floor.

Among the residents in the early 1970s were Huibert Zuur and Edward J. Austin.  The young men had worked together for Halston for some years.  In 1973, they launched their own women's clothing line: Austin-Zuur.  On September 9, 1974, Enid Now reported in The New York Times, "The partners show their collection in their glass, brick and wicker duplex apartment at 118 East 10th Street."

From the exterior, the house where one of the world's greatest Shakespearean scholars and one of America's greatest architects lived for decades is little changed since 1861.

photographs by the author

The 1893 Max Feist House - 245 West 139th Street

 

photo by Mark Satlof

In 1890, developer David H. King, Jr. embarked on an expansive and ambitious project.  It was described by the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide on August 16 as, "one of the most important building operations ever undertaken in this city."  The article explained that King intended to cover the entire block between Seventh and Eighth Avenues (today Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. Boulevard and Frederick Douglass Boulevard, respectively) and 138th and 139th Streets, as well as the south side of  138th Street between the same avenues with "buildings of a first-class character."

King expanded the project in 1891 by adding the northern blockfront of 139th Street.  "The new portion, engulfing the northern blockfront of 139th Street, would follow the same plan as the others and be designed by McKim, Mead & White," said the Record & Guide on January 27.  Stanford White was put in charge of the design.  His Renaissance Revival rowhouses were faced in orange Roman brick above rusticated brownstone bases.  Completed in 1893, they rose four stories above shallow basements.

Among them was 245 West 139th Street.  Its entrance above a short stoop was protected by a glass-and-iron marquee.  A dramatic Venetian-style balcony dominated the second floor.  Its molded brick frame upheld a terra cotta lintel, directly below an ornate terra cotta rosette.  

No. 245 became home to the Feist family.  Max Feist was the principal in the millinery supplies business named for himself.  He also invested in Harlem real estate.  Feist and his wife had one son.  S. Feist entered the Stevens Institute of Technology in 1913, but interrupted his studies a year before graduating to attend the Butt Military Training Camp in Burlington, Vermont.

Following World War I, Henry Allen Wallace, a widower, moved into 245 West 139th Street.  Born in Columbia, South Carolina, he was educated in Canada and at Howard University.  As a young man, he passed a civil service test and was hired as a clerk in the War Department, first in Washington and later in the New York City office.  He held that position for over 30 years.

More importantly, Wallace focused on what today is called Black History.  The New York Age said of him, "Mr. Wallace was a contributor to many Negro historical works, being an authority on Negro Ante-Bellum history; especially during the Reconstruction period in South Carolina."

An early activist for racial equality, Wallace was, as well, a stickler on historic accuracy.  He read an article in the January 1920 issue of The Journal of Negro History, for example, that outlined a meeting of the Secretary for South Carolina with two Black men "concerning the formation of the political organization for the newly enfranchised Negro."  Wallace shot back with a four-page letter to its editor, Dr. Carter G. Woodson, pointing out numerous inaccuracies.  In it, he said, "History, unless it is based on facts, incontrovertible facts, is worthless."

245 West 139th Street is second from left.  photo by Mark Satlof

Living at the address at the time was Mrs. M. E. Richardson, who was either a boarder or Wallace's housekeeper.  Her grandfather, Shandy Jones, had been a member of the Alabama Legislature during Reconstruction.

In 1922 Wallace visited Toronto, Canada (where he had spent his school years) for four weeks.  He wrote an article for The New York Age outlining racial conditions there.  In it he said in part:

Toronto has made wonderful strides and from a population of 50,000 in 1870 is now 529,000.  It would not be true to say there is no prejudice there.  The large influx of Americans has caused considerable prejudice, though one will be told, as in most of our northern cities, that there is none...When I hear a person say there is no prejudice at a certain place I know then there are not many colored persons at that place.

In failing health, Henry A. Wallace sold 245 West 139th Street in June 1922 to Harry and Sarah Wills.  Wallace moved to his sister's home in Chester, Pennsylvania where he died on February 12, 1923.

The title to 245 West 139th Street was in Sarah's name, so when the couple erected a garage in the back lot in 1922, she was listed as the owner of record.  

In reporting that Wills had purchased the property, the Record & Guide called him, "the colored aspirant for the Heavyweight Championship of the World."  He was known in boxing circles as the Black Panther.  That year, on March 12, New York Herald sportswriter W. O. McGeehan interviewed Harry Wills.  The boxer opened up about his personal life, saying for instance, "What do I read?  I read the papers and I like to read about history.  But the best book I ever had is a book written by Paul Lawrence Dunbar.  He was a colored man, too, you know."

Harry Wills, from the collection of the New York Public Library

Harry Wills would hold the World Colored Heavyweight Championship three times.  But because of the "color line" held by the Boxing Commission, he never had a shot at his most coveted prize: the title of Heavyweight Champion of the World.  In his interview with McGeehan, he mentioned that fighting Jack Dempsey would be a distinction, but added frankly that the purse for that fight would be welcomed, as well. "It isn't very easy for colored fighters to get any kind of money."

In 1930, Dr. H. Binga Dismond and his wife, the former Geraldyn Hodges, moved into 245 West 139th Street.  He was a graduate of the University of Illinois, where, according to The New York Age, "he equalled [sic] the world's record for the 440-yard dash."  He had been practicing medicine since 1924, prompting the newspaper to call him in 1934, the "well known Harlem medico and sportsman."  He moved his medical practice into the house, as well.

photo by Mark Satlof

Geraldyn Hodges Dismond (known as Gerri) was a fascinating woman, especially considering the period and her race.  Ebony magazine would call her "one of the 'new Negroes' of the early 20th Century," and "one of the best known black women in America."  She and Dismond had met during World War I when she was a major in the American Red Cross and he was a soldier.

Her far-reaching resume included journalist, newscaster, publicist, author, community leader and editor.  Her residency at 245 West 139th Street would be relatively short, however.  Geraldyn received a Mexican divorce in 1933, although reportedly the couple remained friendly over the succeeding years.

The reason for the divorce soon became clear.  On March 24, 1934, The New York Age reported that Dr. H. Binga Dismond had married Harriet Richardson.  "The bride's address was given as 245 West 139th street, which is the same as the doctor's," said the article.

Three months after his marriage, Dismond resigned from the American Medical Association.  The New York Age reported the move was "a protest against a new type of discrimination."  The AMA annually published a membership directory, and the article explained, "In previous years all members were listed without any special reference to their racial origin."  But when Dismond received his proof-sheets for approval, he saw "col." next to each Black physician's name.

The Dismonds had two "lodgers" that year, musicians Cyrus St. Clair and Fred Moore.  In 1940 there were three lodgers living at the address, Benjamin Franklin, Elizabeth Wade, and Nilo Rivera.

In 1941, Harriet Dismond was granted a divorce.  On July 18, 1942, The New York Age mentioned that Dismond "recently took unto himself a fourth wife."  (Cora Dismond was, actually, his third.)

The West 139th Street house was, at times, the scene of lavish entertaining.  On September 19, 1942, The New York Age reported on the couple's "Haitian Bar" themed party in honor of Judge and Mrs. Herman E. Moore of the Virgin Islands.  "The invitation started uptown's Fall social season with a flair," said the article, adding, "the setting was reminiscent of the good old days when Harlem was 'Harlem' and A'Lelia Walker, Carolyn Wilkins, and Turner Layton and Tandy Johnson were in their hey day."

Dismond surprised those who knew him when he published a book of poetry, We Who Would Die, in 1943.  The New York Age said it was "glowingly received by critics nation-wide."  The critic of the Hartford, Connecticut newspaper Courant said, "It is this reviewer's belief that the Negro poet, Binga Dismond, numbers among the great poets of modern times."  Twelve years later, Dismond's second volume, I've Often Wondered, was released.

The Dismonds moved to Sag Harbor in 1950.  Five years later, the upper floors of 245 West 139th Street were converted to furnished rooms.  A doctor's office still occupied the first floor.

Major change came in 1979 when Mutulu Shakur purchased the house.  He converted the doctor's office to the Harlem Institute of Acupuncture, headquarters of the Black Acupuncture Advisory Association of North America, or BAANA.  According to Rachel Pagones in her 2021 Acupuncture as Revolution--Suffering, Liberation, and Love, "The front room was used as a classroom, and in back was a conference area.  At street level was a clinic, with a front desk and waiting room--sometimes doubling as a classroom--to the fore and a treatment room behind."  

Mutulu Shakur, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation

On October 20, 1981, a Brink's armored car was robbed in Rockland County by several Black Liberation Army members and four former members of the Weather Underground.  In the process, a guard was murdered.  When their getaway car was stopped by two police officers, the robbers shot them dead, too.  Mutulu Shakur disappeared from West 139th Street.  

In Shakur's absence, the F.B.I. wiretapped the 245 West 139th Street telephones.  The New York Times reported, "they repeatedly heard orders placed for cocaine by a variety of people."  On March 7, 1983, nearly two years after the heist and murders, The New York Times reported, "at 245 West 139th Street, Mr. Shakur ran a clinic that, according to the F.B.I., was really the planning center for armed robberies.  From that address, F.B.I. officials say, the robbers left for Rockland County on Oct. 20, 1981."

On August 9, 1982, The New York Times reported, "The groups identified by the F.B.I. as communicating through the acupuncture center included the Black Liberation Army, the Republic of New Afrika, the May 19 Communist Organization, the Black Panther Party, the Weather Underground Organization and the Prairie Fire Organizing Committee."  Mutulu Shakur was finally arrested on February 12, 1986 in California.  He was sentenced to 60 years, but was released on December 16, 2022 because of his failing health.  He died on July 7, 2023.

photo by Mark Satlof

In the meantime, 245 West 139th Street was returned to a single family home in 1999.  

many thanks to Mark Satlof for suggesting this post

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The Peter Cooper Monument - Cooper Square

 

By the middle of the 19th century, Peter Cooper was one of the most successful and wealthiest men in the country.  Yet he suffered a nagging self-consciousness over his lack of education.  To provide the means by which other lower-class children could receive an education, he conceived of a free teaching institution based on the concept of a polytechnic school in Paris.  Education should be, he said "as free as water and air." He set about planning a school for the "boys and girls of this city, who had no better opportunity than I."

The cornerstone for Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art was laid in 1854.  The total cost of purchasing the site and erecting the structure would cost Cooper, according to The New York Times, “$700,000 in gold.”  Cooper included a free library in his building so that the general public, not only the students, could have access to information and learning.  In a letter to his Trustees, he wrote “I desire to make this institution contribute in every way to aid the efforts of youth to acquire useful knowledge, and to find and fill that place in the community, where their capacity and talents can be usefully employed, with the greatest possible advantage to themselves and the community in which they live.”

Almost immediately following Cooper's death in April 1883, talk circulated about a fitting memorial.  But achieving it would be a long and sometimes rocky road.  In 1887 $30,000 had been donated by the public for the work--just under $850,000 in today's money.  The Sun explained, "Little tin boxes were distributed all over the city," for the purpose.  A committee of 12 artists and art critics, headed by millionaire Orlando B. Potter, approved the designs of sculptor Wilson Macdonald and awarded him the contract.

Deciding on an appropriate site was proving difficult.  On May 29, 1887 The New York Times reported that neither the area directly in front or in back of Cooper Union was deemed right.  "The triangle south of Cooper Institute was objectionable because pedestrians seldom passed on that side of either street and the elevated roads obscured the view; the area to the north of the Institute was objectionable for the latter reason."

But a larger problem soon loomed.  The New York Times reported, "dissensions occurred in the committee, and Mr. Macdonald abandoned the project." Cooper's son, Edward, and his widow Sarah, negotiated a price of $10,000 with Macdonald "for the surrender of his contract."  They personally paid him in order to keep the monument fund intact.

Edward Cooper told reporters on May 28, 1887, "One of the sculptors of whom the committee is thinking was a pupil of Cooper Institute and a devoted friend of its founder.  If he shall prove to be the man for the work there seem[s] to be an especial fitness in his selection."  That artist was Augustus Saint-Gaudens.  But he would not receive the commission until 1892.

Two years later, on January 29, 1894, The New York Times commented, "the subject of a statue to the philanthropist has been almost completely forgotten by the public" adding, "Mr. St. Gaudens has spent much study and care upon the statue, however."  In the meantime, discussions continued regarding the site, and by February 1895 "the little green triangle" behind Cooper Union, once deemed "objectionable," was approved.

Finally, 13 years after Cooper's death, the foundry was at work on the statue, and construction of the stone monument had begun.  On November 21, 1896 The Sun reported that the statue "is of heroic size, representing Mr. Cooper seated in an armchair.  Mr. St. Gaudens is of the opinion that it is one of the best things he has done.  The face particularly is very true to life, and members of the family say that it is very good."

The statue would sit in a canopy designed by Stanford White.  The Sun said, "It will be made of Italian marble, and will be in the form of steps rising to a heavy base, upon which the statue will stand."

On May 29, 1897 the monument was unveiled "with simple but impressive ceremonies," according to The New York Times.  They began in the great hall of Cooper Union with memorial addresses by several prominent citizens.  Grandstands had been erected on the triangular plot now deemed Cooper Square.  "The balconies of the great building were filled with ladies, along the elevated railroad tracks was a line of employe[e]s, while on all sides, kept back by a strong police force, was a jammed-up mass of curious humanity," said The New York Times.  The Seventh Regiment marching band paraded from its Armory down Third Avenue to the site.

New-York Tribune, May 30, 1897 (copyright expired)

Four-year-old Candace Hewitt, the great-granddaughter of Peter Cooper, "gave a tug at the rope which was to pull away the covering flags from the monument.  Her little hands were not strong enough to make much of an impression, but there were stronger hands ready to aid her, and the flags were drawn away quickly," wrote the New-York Tribune.  "When the bronze statue of Peter Cooper was revealed to gaze, the spectators cheered loudly and long."

Among those in the crowd that day was playwright and journalist Joseph I. C. Clarke.  In his 1925 autobiography My Life and Memories, he recalled that after the crowd left, "I stood admiring the truth to life of the seated figure under its stone canopy, stalwart democracy in the grasp of the staff, and benevolence, clear-sighted, luminous on face and brow."

Clarke suddenly realized that standing next to him was Augustus Saint-Gaudens, "gazing as wistfully at his statue as I had been."  The sculptor had been essentially ignored throughout the ceremonies, according to Clarke.  Saint-Gaudens commented, "The canopy, you know, is by Stanford White.  You can always rely on him to do something good."

After a pause he continued, "It's a trying moment, that first instant when you feel that now every man who passes is your critic, and you wonder if you have really done your best."

Clarke replied, "Rest, perturbed spirit.  You have docketed Peter Cooper for immortality."

Clarke remembered Saint-Gaudens's reaction. "'Flatterer!' he said, and swung down the street still smiling.  But it was not flattery."

from the collection of the Library of Congress

It was not long before vandals struck the monument of the revered philanthropist.  On June 16, 1899 The Sun reported that the statue "had been defaced, presumably by relic hunters."  The bronze letters that formed the inscription on the face of the monument were tempting and valuable targets.  "Sixteen of the letters have been pried off and parts of other decorations on the statue have also disappeared," said the article.  "It is said that a letter disappears from the statue every few weeks."

On June 24, 1901 a letter to the editor of The New York Times said sarcastically:

It would be a delight to some student of hieroglyphics to take a trip down to the Cooper Institute some day and try to decipher the inscription on the front of the Peter Cooper Statue.  Supposed to represent a dedication of the monument, it looks like anything but that with half of the letters missing.  A stranger coming to New York might wonder why the city spends its money on powder and shell for departing live 'greatnesses' instead of to repair at a slight cost a monument to one of its foremost sons.  But that is another story.

A letter to the editor of The Evening World a month later said in part, "Yet half of the letters of the grimy tablet are broken off or defaced, and to out-of-town visitors it looks as if Cooper were a forgotten has-been, instead of one of America's greatest benefactors.  For sheer shame let us brace up and do his memory the honor of at least cleaning and re-lettering his tablet."

photograph by Jim Henderson

It would not be until 1935, when Cooper Square was reconstructed, that the monument was cleaned and restored.  It was conserved again in 1987 under the Adopt-a-Monument Program.

A commemoration ceremony was held on May 29, 1997 presided over by Parks Commissioner Henry Stern and Cooper Union President John Jay Iselin.  Reminiscent of the 1897 unveiling, the United States Merchant Marine Academy Band played.  Among the speakers was Peter Cooper's great-great-grandson, Edward R. Hewitt.

 photographs by the author

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The Lost Goelet Brothers Building - 9 West 17th Street

 

from the collection of the Office of Metropolitan History

The Goelet family settled in New York in the 17^th century and soon established a family tradition of constant, quiet acquisition of Manhattan property.   There was one cardinal rule:  land was never sold.  The Goelet fortunes increased through leases rather than sales.

When eccentric bachelor Peter Goelet died in 1879, the bulk of his estate went to his two nephews, Robert and Ogden.  By now New York City was spreading northward and the value of the vast Goelet land holdings – once rural meadows and woods—was multiplying.   The fortunes of the already wealthy Robert and Ogden Goelet were nearly doubled upon the death of their father.

In 1886 the brothers purchased and demolished the house at No. 9 West 17th Street, once the home of the Isaac Buchanan family, as the site of their offices.  As they would often do, they turned to the architectural firm of McKim, Mead & White to design the building.  Stanford White took the reins of the project which was completed within the year.

White designed the three-story building in the increasingly popular Flemish Renaissance Revival style which harkened to Manhattan's Dutch roots.  The picturesque main structure was clad in red brick and trimmed in granite.  To the east a single-story extension took the form of a Flemish carriage house or stable.

The entrance and ground floor windows were recessed within arches upheld by free-standing columns.  White alternated stone and brick at this level to create a striped effect.  The second floor, above a pair of projecting bandcourses, was framed by narrow quoins.  The square headed windows wore stone and brick voussoirs.   Stepped gables, obligatory to the style, gave the third floor (which held the caretaker's apartment) special charm and the centered Dutch dormer completed the design.

The Goelets rubbed shoulders with the city's wealthiest gentlemen.  On March 8, 1891 The Sun reported "The organizers of the new up-town club, which has been dubbed the 'millionaires' club,' held their second business meeting yesterday afternoon in the office of the Goelet estate, at 9 West Seventeenth street."  Among those present were moguls like Louis L. Lorillard, Darius Ogden Mills, J. Pierpont Morgan, Cornelius Vanderbilt and William C. Whitney.  The "millionaires' club" would be officially named The Metropolitan Club.

At the time of the meeting Ogden Goelet's health was failing.  He suffered "a number of severe attacks, but has rallied from all of them," according to the New-York Tribune.  He was on the Isle of Wight in the summer of 1896 when, on July 14, the New-York Daily Tribune reported that he "is lying dangerously ill on board his yacht, the White Ladye, which is anchored in Cowes Harbor."  A reporter rushed to No. 9 West 17th Street where the situation was downplayed.  "The men in the Goelet office seemed inclined to doubt that he was suffering from a dangerous illness."

But Ogden would never sail the White Ladye (which he bought, incidentally, from actress-socialite Lily Langtry) back home.  A telegram from London on August 27, 1897 read:  "Ogden Goelet of New York died at Cowes to-day on his yacht."  The New Haven Morning Journal and Courier noted "Ogden Goelet, by reason of his wealth, his family connections and the part he took in society life, was one of the best known men in New York."

An eerily similar telegram arrived at the offices of the New-York Daily Tribune on April 28, 1899.  "The body of Robert Goelet, who died here yesterday from dropsy on board his steam yacht Nahma, will be left on the vessel and be taken to the United States."

The extensive real estate business was handled by administrators until it passed the Goelets' sons.  Robert Wilson Goelet was the son of Ogden, and Robert Walton Goelet was Robert's son.  The cousins, who were born one month apart in 1880, not only had confusingly similar names, but closely resembled one another.  To ease the confusion Robert Walton was better known as Bertie.  The two men had both graduated from Harvard in 1902 and earned their Masters Degrees in 1903.

Despite the onus of administrating the real estate empire of their fathers, the Goelet cousins were, nonetheless, wealthy young bachelors who enjoyed a good time.  At least one of them was repeatedly arrested for speeding his automobile; but the records always showed Robert W. Goelet and the address 9 West 17th Street (discretion apparently made using the business rather than residential address preferable), so it is impossible to tell which was in trouble in any instance.

The office building was the center of a disturbing incident in the early hours of July 25, 1904.  Dr. F. Leroy Satterlee lived in the residence on West 18th Street directly behind the Goelet building.  He was awakened by the screams of "Murder! Police! Help!"  He opened his window to hear more clearly, then telephoned the police.  The officers who rang the doorbell could get no one to respond although they were certain there was someone inside.

Another neighbor, Dr. Daniel M. Stimson confirmed Satterlee's story, saying the cries "were those of a woman, and that the woman was evidently in distress and probably been beaten."  The New York Times reported "Other neighbors said they heard the cries and that from all observations they could make the cries came from the Goelet estate office building."  One remembered hearing the woman scream "For God's sake don't kill me!"

Half a dozen other policemen arrived and surrounded the house.  Just as they were about to break in the front door, the caretaker, David Barnett, opened it.  He claimed he had not heard the bell.  When asked about the screams, "He would not tell and said he would not let the police in," reported The New York Times.  The police pushed him aside and went in.  They found Mrs. Barnett "crouching in a corner on the third floor."

The terrified woman said that nothing was wrong and that she had not heard the screams.  She refused to make any charges.  The Sun reported "By 2 o'clock this morning the crowd of excited persons in the street had dispersed and the heads were withdrawn from the windows."  The New York Times added, "The police said they had nothing to do but leave.  They found no evidence of any crime, and as the woman had no complaint to make against any one they left."  Sadly, the incident was typical of battered women.

The office building had a vault for the storage of valuable paperwork.  Ogden Goelet's widow used it as well to store some of her jewelry.  In preparation to go to Newport in the summer of 1904, she visited the office to retrieve some items.  Among the stocks, bonds, deeds and titles were "some of her more old-fashioned jewels, a diamond tiara and a riviere of diamonds," said The New York Press.   Two Pinkerton guards stood by as she opened the safe.  But as she "drew forth leather case after leather case," she became increasingly panicked.  A significant amount of her inventory was gone.  Among the $200,000 of missing items (nearly $6 million today) were pearl ropes, diamond bracelets and necklaces.

Detectives called it "the most remarkable robbery of the generation."  Pawn shops were surveilled and various theories followed up on, but no clues could be found.  Then, on August 10, The New York Press reported that Mrs. Ogden had announced she had found all the missing jewels "in the vault where she had left them on June 19."  The mystery now, said the newspaper, was "if she had put those treasures in the vault with her own hands, only to find them gone afterward, by what means were they returned to that self-same vault, there to greet her eyes when she opened the strongbox yesterday?"

The case was eventually dropped, however it was strongly suggested that either her son or nephew had "loaned" the jewelry to a woman, and then sneaked it back in.

In the first decades of the 20th century the Goelet offices were being overwhelmed by soaring commercial structures.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

With the United States' entry into World War I Robert Wilson Goelet enlisted.  He had achieved the rank of captain when he returned to New York on leave in January 1918.  He and a friend, Francis K. Pendelton (who happened to be a Supreme Court judge), went to the theater on the evening of January 16.  As they left, according to the New York Herald, "a large man escorting a young woman bumped into [Goelet] and almost knocked him down.  As Captain Goelet recovered his balance he asked the man if he did not think he was rather rude."

The man was William G. Flood who worked as a waiter.  He responded to Goelet's question  by striking "the army officer in the face with his fist, smashing both his teeth."  The article said "Captain Robert Goelet, one of the largest property holders in Manhattan and now attached to the War Collège in Washington, entertained a large after theatre crowd in Broadway at Forty-third street last night by thrashing a big waiter and then causing his arrest."

The Goelets operated their real estate business from the West 17th Street address into the 1920's.  It was later used by artist Harles Eaton as his studio.  Stanford White's incomparably picturesque little building survived until 1952.  For decades the site has been a vacant lot.

McKim, Mead & White's "King's Model Houses" - 203-269 West 139th Street

On August 16, 1890 The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that "One of the most important building operations ever undertaken in this city is about to be commenced in Harlem."  The article explained that developer David H. King, Jr. intended to cover the entire block between Seventh and Eighth Avenues (today Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. Boulevard and Frederick Douglass Boulevard, respectively) and 138th and 139th Streets, as well as the south side of  138th Street between the same avenues with "buildings of a first-class character."

What was most interesting about the project was that the houses (78 in total) would be built around central courtyards, accessed by two wide carriage gates in the center of the blocks.  "By this plan, instead of there being the usual four corners to the entire block, there will be six corners on each street and two corners on each avenue."  The significance of the courtyard, other than providing significant light and air to the rear of the homes, was that there was no need for service entrances at the fronts.  "The courtyards will have handsome ornamental wrought-iron gates at the street and avenue entrances, and through these access will be had by tradesmen as well as servants and residents."

Another interesting wrinkle was that King had commissioned three architects to design the project.  Bruce Price and Clarence S. Luce worked together on the full block, while James Brown Lord worked independently on the south side of 138th.  

As construction proceeded King was apparently well pleased with the project.  On January 27, 1891 the Record & Guide wrote that he "intends to build another block just north of the present block he is improving on 137th and 138th [sic] streets, 7th and 8th avenues."  The new portion, engulfing the northern blockfront of 139th Street, would follow the same plan as the others and be designed by McKim, Mead & White.

Known as the King Model Houses, the entire project was completed by the end of that year.  King's Handbook of New York City of 1892 (there is no apparent connection between the two Kings) noted "An interesting feature of dwelling architecture had reached a definite and gratifying result in the unique blocks of 'King Model Houses,' designed [sic] and constructed by the famous building, David H King, Junior."

The McKim, Mead & White 32-house row was designed, for the most part, in the Italian Renaissance style.  Rusticated brownstone bases upheld three stories of reddish-brown brick.  Each of the offset entrances above a short stoop wore an iron and glass marquee--except for the center house of the eastern group, No. 233, which acted as the focal point of that section.  Its entrance was recessed within an arcade (and its second floor window was given a round-arched pediment).  Why the same was treatment was not given to the center house of the western block is puzzling.

No. 233 stands out from the rest.  Even its facade projects slight away from its neighbors.

At the second floor a centered set of French doors opened onto an iron-railed balcony.  It was flanked by two brick-framed openings and sat below a decorative terra cotta medallion--a common element in Italian Renaissance architecture.  Above a projecting sill course the third floor openings were framed in brick and had prominent cornices.  The fourth floor windows sat on molded, bracketed sills.  Their brick enframements were broken by simple keystones.

The other exceptions to the regimented design were the corner houses, including those on either side of the gateway.  Here the round-arched pediments reappeared, giving visual anchorage to the corners.

A glance through the handsome courtyard gates gives an idea of the ample proportions within the homes.

Little has changed at the courtyard entrance since this photo was taken in 1899.  Architectural Record, June 1899 (copyright expired)

Montgomery Schuyler, the critic of Architectural Record, was pleased.  "It may be said in general that the authors of the southernmost and northernmost rows have apparently built for tenants who, Quaker like, were content to dwell in decencies forever.  Decorum they have in fact and without question attained.  These are 'second-rate, genteel houses,' in which nobody will be ashamed to be caught dwelling."  (Schuyler's use of the term "second rate" was not necessarily a derision, but implied that the houses were not mansions.)
  
David King retained ownership of the McKim, Mead & White row until 1895, when he sold it to The Equitable Life Assurance Society of the United States.  The firm continued to lease them to financially-comfortable families until 1905, when they were sold as a group to the Lexington Avenue Co.  The new owner had no intention of being a landlord and quickly sold the individual houses.

The new owners were white collar professionals.  Jules A. Coelos, president of Coelos & Fasselle, Inc. and secretary of the Thomas J. Brady Co. bought No. 219; Dr. Thomas F. Macguire and his wife Mary Irene purchased No. 235; and Professor James Furman Kemp took bought No. 221, which he had already been renting.

No. 237 retains its fanciful iron-and-glass marquee.

Born in New York City in 1859, Kemp was Columbia University's professor of geology.  Moreover, he was a nationally-recognized authority on the subject and the author of several books.  A man of several interests, he was also the manager and scientific director of the New York Botanical Gardens; and in 1902 was named chairman of the Faculty Committee on Athletics at Columbia.

James Furman Kemp, photo from the collection of the  American Institute of Mining, Metallurgical, and Petroleum Engineers.

Following a collapse in the subway construction on Park Avenue in 1902, concerned property owners and residents sought out James F. Kemp "to investigate the condition of the subway and to make a scientific survey of the formation of the rock."  And following 5.1 earthquake in Maine in 1904 that shook areas as far away as Boston, reporters rushed to get Kemp's take on a similar prospect in Manhattan.

Fully aware of the island's bedrock foundation, the geologist calmed New Yorkers.  "Owners and tenants of the big steel structures need have little fear.  If the shock that Boston felt should be transmitted here, the damage would be very slight."

No. 261 was sold in 1905 to Arthur Pillsbury Dodge and his wife, Elizabeth.  Arthur's family had first arrived in America from England in 1629.  With only a scant education, he had served as a drummer boy in the Civil War, then self-educated himself to become an attorney.  He married Elizabeth Ann Day in November 1870 and the couple had six children.  

By the time the Dodges purchased No 261 Arthur had founded and published the New England Magazine, the Bay State Monthly and Granite State Monthly, worked with George Pullman in perfecting a streetcar in Chicago, and with Cornelius Vanderbilt II and William K. Vanderbilt in producing steam streetcar engines.

Arthur Pillsbury Dodge and Elizabeth Ann Day Dodge. photo via The Bahai Encyclopedia Project 

The couple was perhaps best known, however, for their religious affiliation.  They were the first members of the Bahai faith in New York City and were, as worded by The New York Times, "active supporters of the propagation of the Bahai Revelation."

Henry D. Gobber lived at No. 259 and even though several houses separated his from James Kemp's, he still managed to irritate his neighbor.  Gobber was a mortician and he set up his practice in his house, hanging a sign outside.  Neighbors went to court on the grounds that "the street was restricted and that the undertaker could not use his house for business purposes," according to The Sun.  The judge ordered him to relocate his business, but conceded that Gobber could "hang a card in his window similar to those of physicians or dentists, showing that the house was the residence of an undertaker."

So Gobber took down his sign, placed a card in the window, and brashly continued operating his mortuary from the house.  Kemp and another neighbor were incensed.  On March 22, 1913 he and Dr. Henry Spitzer appeared in court and "proved that Gobber had been transacting an undertaking  business from his house."  Gobber was fined $34 for contempt of court.  Despite the neighborly tensions, he remained in the house until 1922.

The architects executed the complex window enframements in brick.

By the time Gobber sold No. 259 the neighborhood had changed from an all-white to a nearly all-Black population.  The New-York Tribune entitled its article reporting on the sale of Nos. 231 and 241 West 139th Street on November 8 1919, "Sales in Harlem Negro Section."  That year the former Kemp house was sold to Vertner W. Tandy and his wife, Sadie.  The Record & Guide identified Tandy on April 26 as "an architect, who will occupy the premises after extensive alterations."

Vertner W. Tandy had entered Tuskegee Institute to study architecture in 1904 and a year later transferred to Cornell University.  Upon his graduation he became the first African American registered architect in the State of New York.  He was as well the first Black architect to gain membership to the American Institute of Architects.  During World War I he achieved the rank of major and was put in command of the 15th Battalion, infantry, of the New York National Guard.  It was, of course, an all-Black unit.

No. 221 was home to both Professor James Furman Kemp and architect Vertner W. Tandy.

The year before moving into No. 221 Tandy had designed what many consider his best work, Villa Lewaro, the country home of Madam C. J Walker.  Born Sarah Breedlove in 1867 in Louisiana where her parents and older siblings had been slaves, she developed beauty and hair products for Black women.  Described by the Guinness Book of Records as being "America's first, self-made female millionaire," she created an empire.  She approached Tandy to design a palatial estate--not to boast of her achievements, but to show other struggling Blacks what was possible with hard work and determination.

Villa Lewaro in Irvington, New York.  from the collection of the Library of Congress.

On June 3, 1922 the Record & Guide reported that No. 245 West 139th Street had been sold to "Harry Wills, the colored aspirant for the Heavyweight Championship of the World."  It noted there were "facilities in the rear for a garage."

Wills, who was still working his day job as a dock worker, held an undefeated record in the boxing ring.  Earlier that year, on March 12, sports writer for The New York Herald W. O. McGeehan wrote an article on the "Black Panther."  Wills opened up about his personal life, saying for instance, "What do I read?  I read the papers and I like to read about history.  But the best book I ever had is a book written by Paul Lawrence Dunbar.  He was a colored man, too, you know."

Harry Wills - from the collection of the New York Public Library

Harry Wills would hold the World Colored Heavyweight Championship three times.  But because of the "color line" held by the Boxing Commission, he never had a shot at his most coveted prize: the title of Heavyweight Champion of the World.  In his interview with McGeehan, he mentioned that fighting Jack Dempsey would be a distinction, but added frankly that the purse for that fight would be welcomed, as well. "It isn't very easy for colored fighters to get any kind of money."

The McKim, Mead & White row has survived remarkably intact.  David H. King, Jr.'s "Model Houses," look little different from when Montgomery Schuyler said of them "The experiment is so successful that one would like to have it again and again repeated, not merely for the sake of having something entertaining to look at...but as a friend of humanity."

photographs by the author
many thanks to reader Matthew Priest for suggesting this article