The 1882 Rogers, Peet & Co. Building -- Nos. 569-575 Broadway

When William Backhouse Astor died in 1875 his more than $100 million estate was passed on to his two sons, William and John Jacob III.   They continued to run the family’s real estate empire from the 1835 Greek Revival building at 81 Prince Street, steps away from from Broadway.

But five years later, the brothers decided on a move uptown.  They commissioned Thomas Stent, the Astor family architect of choice, to design a new Astor headquarters on West 26^th Street, and an imposing commercial building to replace the old one.

On the downtown site, Stent designed a what Sanitary and Heating Age announced in 1881 would be a six-story structure with "tin roofs and iron cornices."  Stretching along Broadway from 569 to 575, the plot also engulfed the Prince Street property.  The projected cost was $350,000.  Construction began on March 28, 1881 and was completed a year later, almost to the day, on March 29. 

The Broadway neighborhood had become one of expensive hotels (the Metropolitan Hotel was directly across the street and the white marble St.Nicholas Hotel was just two blocks to the south) and refined shopping.  Stent’s handsome new building was just the ticket for a large retailer.  

Constructed of red brick with contrasting stone, it blended what has been called the Commercial Palace Style with Ruskinian touches like the splayed stone treatment above the second floor windows.   While creating a harmonious whole, each story was treated differently in its shape and size of window openings, carved ornamentation and details—such as the polished granite colonettes at the fourth and fifth floors.  A wonderful cast iron storefront with handsome Corinthian columns offered broad expanses of glass.

Six years earlier, M. N. Rogers and Charles B. Peet had joined forces to open a men’s and boys’ clothing store on Broome Street, called Rogers, Peet & Co.   At a time when ready-made clothing was considered lower class, the firm offered well-made goods at affordable, if not inexpensive, prices.  But the store’s success depended as much on marketing as it did on its apparel.  Rogers, Peet instructed its sales team on courtesy and service.  By treating its customers as though they were wealthy patrons of a more exclusive store, the company guaranteed return business.

By the time 575 Broadway was ready for occupancy, Rogers, Peet & Co. was ready to move uptown.  On March 1, 1882, a folksy advertisement in the New-York Tribune mentioned “Does everybody know that we have moved since last Fall to a much larger store!  We refrain from saying how large the new store is—come and see for yourself.  You will find an ample stock of men’s and boys’ clothing, men’s and boys’ furnishing goods, boy’s hats and caps, and withal, the same obliging disposition toward visitors that characterized the old store—glad to have you drop in.”

Charles Austin Bates wrote a rather self-indulgent periodical entitled Charles Austin Bates Criticisms.  Regarding Rogers, Peet, however, he had only praise.  Of a particular sales clerk he said “He always remembers my name.  He generally remembers the size I wear of different things.  He always suggests that I have the bundle sent up, no matter how small it is.  When I want a particular tie fished out of the front window he always gets it as if he had rather sell from the window than from the counter.”

Bates insisted “If I were running a store I believe I would send my clerks around to buy things of this salesman as the quickest way of teaching them to sell goods.”  He was also impressed by the Rogers, Peets’ ticket that was included in each purchase.   The check promised money back on an item that either did not wear well or was not satisfactory.   Every purchase was delivered the same day, packaged in what Bates called “a good, clean, strong-looking box.”

More important than the quality of the box, was its small label.  “The name of the firm is so small that you have to look closely to see it,” noted Bates.   The reason for the discreet label was simple:  “The package does not advertise to every passerby that you have been buying clothes of a ready-made clothing store.”

 A Rogers, Peet & Co. advertisement in the New-York Tribune in 1883 touted the store’s above-board practices.  “We have ready for your inspection a stock of Winter clothes for men and boys peerless in variety and honest in make up; every lot labeled with a truthful description of its kind and quality, and every price warranted by our legal guarantee, which insures you complete satisfaction or your money bank.  These are the unassailable ramparts behind which we invite you to deal.”

The marketing philosophy of Rogers, Peet & Co. was inspired.  Window shoppers were well-treated in the store.  The Rogers, Peet & Co. philosophy was “Sightseers are welcome.  A looker to-day may mean a buyer to-morrow.”   Salesmen were sent off to golf clubs with samples to stir the interest of men who had no intention of shopping.   And, realizing that its customers were not Vanderbilts or Belmonts, the store worded its ads in the vernacular of the more common shopper:  “Our straw hat business is described in a jiffy:  Same grade and same kinds of straw as kept by the very best hatter.  In variety, you get no advantage buying here; but you get the same hats for less money, and our assurance that if anything goes wrong during the ‘life’ of the hat—you get your money back.”

An advertisement in 1882 cautioned shoppers not to overlook the "fixings" department -- (copyright expired)

While the clothing store took up the retail space, the upper floors of 575 Broadway filled with hat dealers as the dry goods and millinery district centered itself in the neighborhood.

Frank F. Hodges & Co. and Thomas H. Wood & Co. were among the early tenants.   An article in Millinery Trade Review in August 1889 gives an idea why Victorian hats nearly wiped out entire bird species.  It noted that Thomas H. Wood was,

...showing all the rich novelties of the season in birds and fancy feather patterns, including new wing effects, single and double, full bonnet and turban trimmings, with top of front mountings, novel arrangements of birds, bird and foliage branches, and a very large assortment of medium grades of fancies, both imported and of their own make.  Their lines of ostrich goods are exceptionally large to meet the increased demand.  Black plumes and tips are prominent, while the latest ideas in novel shaded effects and novelty combinations of ostrich are also shown.

At the same time, Frank f. Hodges was showing the latest in bonnets and hats “in the fur-felts,” and L. Duhain Jr. & Co. offered “an attractive line of fancy feathers, birds and wing effects” and “an assortment of velvet flowers with black and shaded foliage.”

Other millinery concerns in the building were Hirsch & Park, makers of straw hats for ladies, misses and children; and H. O. Bernard Manufacturing Co.

H. O. Bernard offered a wide selection of straw headwear in 1895 (copyright expired)

In 1902, Rogers, Peet & Co. moved to a new store further north on Broadway, ending two decades at the Prince Street and Broadway location.  The building was sold by the estates of William Astor and John Jacob Astor on May 17, 1925.  The vast spaces once filled with men’s shirts and boys’ knickers became home to the Lightolier Company, dealers in electric light fixtures.

Through the middle of the 20^th century the Broadway neighborhood suffered neglect, but resurged when the SoHo artist district took shape and the cast iron historic district was rediscovered.   In 1996, 575 Broadway was remodeled by Arata Isozaki as the Guggenheim Soho museum.  Perfido Weiskopf Wagstaff & Goettel executed the rehabilitation of the building, not only bringing it into the 20^th century with new electrical and plumbing, but analyzing the layers of paint to discern the original 1882 colors.

Wanderers of SoHo’s art galleries, boutiques and museums were stunned when only three years later the Guggenheim SoHo closed.  On March 26, 1999, The New York Times reported that “The Solomon R. Guggenheim’s SoHo branch, whose closing in January was rumored to be permanent, will reopen—7,000 square feet smaller—on May 12.  Most of the ground floor occupied by the museum at 575 Broadway, at the corner of Prince Street, will soon become a Prada store, the Italian retailer’s third in SoHo.”

Prada commissioned Dutch architect Remment Lucal Koolhaas to renovate the space into what the AIA Guide to New York City calls “a whimsical wonderland.”  The upper floors filled with the upscale magazine publishers of Art in America, Interview and Antiques; and offices like those of Bobbi Brown Cosmetics.

In January 2006, a devastating fire raged throughout five of the six floors.  Two hundred firefighters fought the blaze for three hours before extinguishing it.  Deputy Assistant Fire Chief Ronald R. Spadafora announced that most of the interior would have to be rebuilt, “but its brick façade escaped virtually unscathed,” wrote The New York Times reporter Fernanda Santos.  Today there is no hint of the fire.  The striking brick-and-stone building is as handsome today as when Rogers, Peet & Co. sold its first shirt in 1882.

photographs taken by the author

The Astor Offices at Nos. 21 and 23 West 26th Street

No. 23 (left) and No. 21 were once mirror images.  The unapologetically modern roof addition to No. 21 was added in 1992 -- photo by Alice Lum

John Jacob Astor built his one-story office building at 81 Prince Street in 1835, well north of the commercial district.  The site he chose, just off the corner of Broadway, sat in a high-end residential neighborhood.

Astor’s building, which mimicked a Greek temple, was built to be impregnable.   Massive masonry walls were enforced with iron bars, the roof was constructed of iron as were the doors.  For added security, iron gratings covered the windows.  Decades later The New York Times would remark “nothing short of an earthquake could tear the masonry asunder.”

William Backhouse Astor continued running the Astor real estate empire from the building until his death in 1875, when the business passed to his sons William and John Jacob III.   By now the scope of the family enterprise was such that adjoining buildings were being used as offices and the original structure became a storeroom for papers and documents.

If architect Thomas Stent had no commissions other than Astor projects, he would have been a busy man.   In 1880 the brothers had him begin plans for new offices on West 26^th Street, as well as a hulking commercial building to replace the old Prince Street structure.

By February 3, 1881 the new 26th Street buildings—one for John Jacob Astor and one for his brother—were completed.  The New York Times reported “Their new office is at Nos. 21 and 23 West Twenty-sixth street.  A handsome two-story brick building has been there erected, the massive granite cornice and trimmings of which give the structure an appearance of solidity, and make it an ornament to the neighborhood.”

Although the two buildings were mirror images of one another, the Astor brothers would from now on maintain strictly separate offices and dealings.  “On two burnished plates of brass modestly appear two names—‘J. J. Astor,’ ‘William Astor,’” said The New York Times.

Stent had created charming Victorian Gothic structure of brick and granite with terra cotta ornamentation.  John Jacob Astor III ensconced himself in No. 21, bringing his father’s old mahogany desk from Prince Street.  “It is one of the most conspicuous pieces of furniture in the office in spite of the smartness of its modern associates,” said The New York Times.

Decorative terra cotta plates contrast with the stone base -- photo by Alice Lum

The “smartness” of the interiors included up-to-the-minute trends in late Victorian décor.   The Aesthetic Movement had reached New York from England—a trend that stressed simple forms and uncluttered surfaces, and also borrowed from Asian designs.   Stained glass panels and decorative tile floors were among the latest in interior design.

John Jacob Astor III died in 1890, leaving an estate valued at approximately $200 million, to his 42-year old son William Waldorf Astor.   For nearly two years the two Astor real estate concerns were somewhat confusingly run by William B. Astor and his nephew William Waldorf Astor.

Intricate brickwork, carved details and terra cotta accents created a visual feast -- photo by Alice Lum

In April 1892 William Backhouse Astor died of lung congestion in Paris.  His funeral at Trinity Chapel on West 25^th Street was sparsely attended.  “The church was not crowded,” noted The Times.  “There was not the expected outpouring of society, and many of those most closely associated with the Astor family in social life here and abroad were conspicuous by their absence.  There was also a noticeable absence of mourning raiment among those who occupied the privileged pews.”

William B. Astor’s business passed, now, to his son John Jacob Astor IV.   The cousins endured one another, their relationship strained by William Waldorf Astor's feud with his controlling aunt Caroline Webster Schermerhorn Astor, John’s mother.   The families lived in brownstone mansions side-by-side but in 1893 the battling had become more than William could bear.  He razed his father’s house and began his last major real estate project before leaving the country to live in England for good.  He built the hulking Waldorf Hotel on the site as the final blow to his aunt.

William W. Astor continued to run his real estate business long distance through local officers at 21 West 26^th Street, while John Jacob operated from No. 23.    In 1905 The New York Times noted that John Jacob Astor could be found at the office “at least three days” at week.  Here was located an immense cabinet holding a series of maps of the city.

“By means of these maps…the trend of urban progress is studied, and the future possibilities of various districts are forecast and existing conditions diagnosed,” said the newspaper.   By predicting the development of the city Astor was able to build hotels, tenements and commercial buildings where they would be most needed, before other developers recognized the potential.

The differentiation between William Astor’s and John Astor’s real estate businesses was clearly marked.  The New York Times was taken to task when it said on November 3, 1911 that the Uncle Sam Lodging House on the Bowery--reported as a firetrap--was a holding of the John Jacob Astor estate.   The following day the newspaper quickly corrected itself.  “It is not part of the John Jacob Astor estate, which is administered from the office at 21 West Twenty-sixth Street,” it said, but “part of the holdings of the William Astor estate, which is administered from the office at 23 West Twenty-sixth Street.”

A year later John Jacob Astor IV would be lost at sea on the H.M.S. Titanic.

John Astor’s son, Vincent, commissioned the architectural firm Peabody, Wilson & Brown to give No. 23 a neo-Federal facelift in 1922.   Only two years later he sold the building for $30,000 to Frederick Vanderbilt Field, a Communist who wrote for the Daily Worker published by Political Affairs Publishers, Inc..  In an ironic twist, the building that had served as operations central for one of the nation’s most capitalistic enterprises now became headquarters for a collection of Communist organizations.

Vincent Astor's re-do of No. 23 resulted in a prim, neo-Federal facade starkly contrasting with its busy Victorian neighbor -- photo by Alice Lum

Political journalist Frank C. Waldrop wrote a column for the The New York Daily News, on July 17, 1944 with the headline “Why Are They Shy?”   He focused his attention on the various committees headquartered at No. 23 West 26^th, saying “Some of them aren’t pinks, they are blushing Reds.  But all of them are very, very shy of identification of their true colors. Wherever possible, they speak of themselves as ‘democrats,’ using the small ‘d.’”

Waldrop pointed his finger at Charlie Chaplin, Bela Lugosi, Paul Robeson and Orson Wells as being affiliated with groups in the building.  As a matter of fact, the Hungarian-American Council for Democracy used Lugosi’s name on their letterhead and Robeson had close ties with Benjamin J. Davis, Jr., a leading black communist.   He was also the chairman of the Council on African Affairs which maintained its permanent headquarters and research library in the building.

The 1922 facade included details like Flemish bond brick, paneled shutters with wrought iron shutter dogs, and six-over-six paned windows -- photo by Alice Lum

Before long 23 West 26^th Street became the headquarters of the American Communist Party.  The notoriety of the building and its organizations resulted in a series of fire bombs, at least one of which caused a fire in the offices.

While No. 23 was causing a political uproar, No. 21 underwent a stark change of ownership itself in 1952.  That year John Jacob Astor, in London, sold the building to the Volitant Publishing Company which printed “cheesecake” magazines.  The firm published Laff, Sir and Hit magazines and owner Armand Lopez told Popular Photgraphy magazine that he sold over 700,000 issues per month.

Meanwhile, next door, The Daily Worker caught the attention of Communist headhunter Senator Joe McCarthy who called for the revocation of 2^nd class privileges for the publication.   Then in May 1957 Frederick V. Field sold No. 23 to the 23 West Twenty-sixth Street Corporation for $60,000, who immediately leased it to Charles Dirba.

“Mr. Dirba would not disclose yesterday whether he had subleased the house to the Communist party,” reported The Times on May 3.  “That’s a business secret,” he told the reporter.  Secret or not, the newspaper made its own assumptions and reported “The Communist party of the United States is carrying on its campaign against the capitalistic system from the former offices of Vincent Astor.”

The writer added, “Workmen are decorating in a decidedly unproletarian manner the new national and state headquarters in a lovely old three-story Georgian house at 23 West Twenty-sixth Street.”

Stained glass panels in No. 21 are reminiscent of the work of Aesthetic designer William Morris -- http://writershouse.com/content/history.asp

Through it all No. 21 retained its Victorian Gothic charm—inside and out.  In 1979 it was purchased by Writers House, a literary agency.  John Jacob Astor’s office became the conference room and the massive vaults where deeds and cash were stored now safeguard the archived books of the firm’s authors.

As the agency expanded, so did the building.  In 1992 an additional floor was added by architect David Mandl on the roof.  The addition was described unapologetically to The New York Times by owner Albert Zuckerman as “frankly modern.”

Wooden banisters adorn a cast iron staircase in No. 21 -- http://writershouse.com/content/history.asp

Still growing, more space was necessary by 2001 and Writers House purchased No. 23 for use by its foreign rights department and offices.  The two buildings were back together again.

Casual passersby would never know that the two buildings were built simultaneously or that they were once identical.  But each retains its architectural charm, outshone only by the incredible histories that took place inside.