The Lost U. S. Grant House - 3 East 66th Street

When this photo was taken, only No. 3 survived of the original row.  It had lost its rooftop balustrade by now.  original source unknown

In 1881 developer C. W. Luyster completed a row of seven "magnificent brown stone residences," as described by the Real Estate Record & Guide, on the north side of 66th Street, between Fifth and Madison Avenues.  Designed by James E. Ware, each was an ample 34-feet wide and rose four stories above an English basement.  The architect dipped into several styles to produce the row--wide Italianate stoops led to the entrance porticoes and delicately-carved neo-Classical panels decorated the space between the second and third floor openings.  The angular personalities of the homes drew from Renaissance Revival and neo-Grec.  Ware alternated the full-height commodious bays from left to right down the row, creating a rhythmic undulation.

Luyster placed a $120,000 price tag on each of the houses, nearly $3 million today.  The last to be sold was No. 3, the nearest to Fifth Avenue and Central Park.  On August 6, 1881 the Record & Guide reported "Ex-President U. S. Grant has clearly made up his mind to become a resident of New York.  Within the last few days he has purchased a residence in the finest quarter of the city.  It is situated [at] No. 3 East Sixty-sixth street."  In a separate article the journal noted "General Grant carefully examined the property before purchasing."

Luyster was generous to the former President and Civil War hero.  The Record & Guide noted "The price paid (90,000) was considered very low."  In fact, the mansion cost Grant nothing.  He paid for it from the $250,000 "which has been raised by the admirers of General Grant to make him comfortable during the rest of his life," explained the publication.

There would be no professional involved in the decorating.  D. Appleton & Co.'s Artistic Houses called it "spacious and well-appointed" and said it "is furnished in a style that speaks of comfort rather than of ostentation.  There has been no lavish outlay of money to produce mere effects."  In what seemed almost an apology for that, the writer said "General Grant seems to have said to himself...Many of my friends, to be sure, would put themselves in the midst of a much more costly and luxurious environment.  This is not my taste."

The Aesthetic Movement, with its importance on things Asian, was in full evidence in Julia Grant's decorating.  The book noted that the curtains in the parlor windows "are beautiful specimens of Japanese embroidery...and Mrs. Grant purchased in India the fine rug that adorns the floor."  An embroidered screen was a present from the citizens of Tokyo.  Two intricately carved teakwood cabinets, also from Japan, held the Grants' collection of porcelains collected during their travels through Asia.  Other gifts displayed in the parlor were a pair of carved elephant tusks from the Maharajah of Jehore and a silver cabinet in the form of a temple from the Maharajah of Decca.  Of that unique piece Artistic Houses said "Perhaps nothing like it has ever been displayed in a private house in this country."

The Grant parlor was filled with Asian artifacts.  To the left is a mother-of-pearl inlaid upright piano, the latest in fashion.  To the right can be seen Read's painting of Sheridan.  Artistic Houses, 1886 (copyright expired)

Two of the oil paintings in the parlor were of other Union generals.  Grant's favorite was Sheridan Twenty Miles Away, by Thomas Buchanan Read.  He liked it so much that he refused to give it to General Philip Sheridan, a good friend, when he asked for it.  The other was a full-length portrait of General Winfield Scott by George Fuller.  Also in the parlor was a family portrait by William Cogswell, painted around 1871 when the children were still young.  Also on the first floor were the drawing room and dining room.

The dining room was "simply and quite charmingly furnished in white-oak, with the general's monogram stamped on the backs of the chairs." 

Directly above the parlor was Grant's bedroom, connected to the library which overlooked 66th Street.  The library, of course, held Grant's substantial number of books, but valuable gifts presented to him over the years as well.  Of the large antique oak cabinet in the room Artistic Houses said "No piece of furniture in the United States of America contains a display of curiosities at once so flattering to the owner and so rich in historic interest."

There were more than a half-dozen gold-headed canes, one of which had been owned by the Marquis de Lafayette and had been presented by ladies of Baltimore.  There was also the handle of the cane Grant broke during the struggle "with a lunatic" in Washington.  Artistic Houses said "The general's use of that instrument as a weapon was exceedingly dexterous, and resulted in the speedy discomfiture of his assailant."

The City of London had given Grant a gold box decorated with a figure of Liberty, the United States coat-of-arms and the figure of Britannia.  One on side was the Capitol Building and on the other St. Jame's Palace.  A box from Dublin was fashioned from wood reputedly from a tree planted by Shakespeare; a silver casket was the gift of Edinburgh, and a silver repousse, gilded, was from the city of Glasgow.

There were also swords carried in battle during the Civil War and lavishly-decorated and jeweled presentation swords; and on one table stood a miniature gold reproduction of the table on which General Lee signed the articles of capitulation.

The library's fireplace, overmantel and bookcases were in the Eastlake style.  A dainty china spittoon sits next to the brass fender.  Artistic Houses, 1886 (copyright expired)

Having been a war hero and a United States President, Ulysses S. Grant now embarked on a new career.  He partnered with Ferdinand Ward to form the investment firm Grant & Ward.  In the meantime Julia slipped into the Manhattan social swirl.

On January 31, 1883 The New York Times reported that she had given "an afternoon tea" the day before.  While that may sound like an intimate gathering of half-a-dozen close women friends, there were, in fact, more than 30 guests.  Among those arriving at No. 3 East 66th Street that afternoon were Caroline Schermerhorn Astor and her daughter, Carrie; John Jacob Astor and his wife; Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt; Mrs. Paran Stevens; the William K. Vanderbilts; and Ward McAllister and his daughter.

But disaster was just around the corner.  Unknown to Grant, Ferdinand Ward was operating a pyramid scheme, earning him the modern sobriquet the "Bernie Madoff of the Gilded Age."  And as with all such cases, the house of cards came tumbling down.  On May 6, 1884 Grant left East 66th Street thinking himself a millionaire.  The New York Times remarked "When he arrived at his place of business in Wall Street, he found he was ruined.  As he entered the office he was met by his son, Ulysses Jr., who said: 'You had better go home, father, the bank has failed.'  A few minutes later the elder Grant got into his carriage and was driven home.  He never returned to Wall Street."

He and Julia counted their cash and discovered they had about $80.  The Grant sons, who also lived in the house, had already ordered a supply of cigars to last several months.  Those were immediately returned.  To make the situation worse, Grant had recently been diagnosed with throat cancer.

Newspapers were filled with the story of the firm's collapse and of the financial ruin of the former president.  Charles Wood, an upstate brush manufacturer read the accounts with concern.  And on May 10 sent a gift of $500 and a letter offering to loan him another $1,000.  Two days later Grant replied;

Dear Sir:  Your more than kind letter on Saturday, inclosing check for $500, and proposing to send the like amount on my note, payable in one year, without interest, is received.  The money at this time would be of exceeding use to me, having not enough to pay one months servant hire, or room, if I were to leave my house, and nothing coming in till the 1st of August.  I therefore accept the check just received, and this is my acknowledgment of a debt of one year from this date, on the terms of your letter.

The Grants' dire financial circumstances were again reflected in a letter to Wood after the $1,000 loan arrived.  Grant said in part:

You have conferred an obligation more than I can ever repay.  The money, of course, I do not doubt I can return.  But, being caught without $100 in my pocket, and nothing coming in until August, it became a serious question what to do.  You, in the generosity of your heart, have relieved that anxiety.

Julia owned property in Washington, including a house that sold for $6,500, giving them money to live on.  Samuel Clemens, a good friend, urged Grant to write his memoirs, which added to their income.

But the stress and humiliation of the situation took their toll on the proud statesman and military leader.  By the spring of 1885 Grant's doctor was practically living in the house and he routinely sent "bulletins" to the press on his patient's condition.  Crowds formed outside No. 3, staring up at the second floor in hopes of a glimpse of the president.

A feeble Grant was helped into his carriage outside the 66th Street house in one of his last public outings. Harper's Weekly April 11, 1885 (copyright expired) 

On March 19, 1885 The Sun reported "It is several days since Gen. Grant has been down stairs.  He is confined to his library and bedroom except when he walks for exercise in the hall."  The throat cancer was interfering with his ability to speak and swallow.

Crowds assembled below Grant's windows.  The other houses in the row can be seen in this view.  Harper's Weekly April 11, 1885 (copyright expired) 

On July 24, 1885 The Sun reported "With one last weary opening and closing of the eyes and a little gasp so faint that it was but a gentle sigh, Gen. Grant expired this morning as peacefully and painlessly as a tired child might fall asleep.  Death could hardly come to any man freer from terror than it came to him."

Twelve years later, on February 12, 1893, The New York Times mentioned "Mrs. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant is an active lady of about seventy years.  At present Mrs. Grant is in California visiting her son, but the greater part of the Winter was spent in town at the house 3 East Sixty-sixth Street, which was presented to Gen. Grant."  In fact, she would not return to 66th Street.

Two weeks later The Record & Guide announced she had sold the house to her neighbor, Henry O. Havemeyer, for $130,000 (about $3.65 million today).

The Henry O. Havemeyer house sat at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 66th Street.  The Grant house was directly behind. photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Havemeyer's interest in the house was most likely merely to ensure his new neighbors would be acceptable to him.  He quickly sold it to Phillips Phoenix and his wife, Eleanor.  Phoenix owned much real estate, including their country home in Tuxedo, New York.  In 1879 he had erected the Madison Square Theatre on West 24th Street.  His 31-foot ice yacht "to be used this Winter on Tuxedo Lake," as reported in The Times, had caused much comment in December 1886.

Eleonor Phoenix died in the mansion on March 4, 1902.  Phillips remarried within the next few years.  Despite his somewhat flamboyant past, the middle-aged millionaire and his new wife, the former Lillie G. Lewis, lived rather quietly in the stately, if architecturally outdated home.

Phillips died at No. 3 on April 11, 1921.  He left approximately half of his $2.7 million estate to Lillie, including the house.  Her inheritance would be more in the neighborhood of $18 million today.  By the time of Lillie's death in the house on October 13, 1924 No. 3 was the last of the 1881 row left standing.

Four months after her death, in February 1925, the house was thrown open for a public auction of "paintings and sculpture, together with the French furniture and household embellishments" from Lillie's estate.  The several-day sale brought in $33,252.50, or nearly half a million today.

What followed was a dizzying change of ownership and repeated promises to build an apartment building on the site.  The house was sold in 1926 to "be demolished and replaced by a twelve-story apartment house," according to The Times on October 5.  Instead the house sat empty for two years, sold in foreclosure in June 1928.

In 1926 the stoop had been removed and a For Sale sign hangs across a parlor window.  from the collection of the New York Public Library 

It was purchased by former Ambassador James W. Gerard, who resold it in February 1929.  Then, on August 5, 1930 it was sold to builder Michael E. Paterno who promised he "would soon demolish the house and improve the site with an apartment house to accommodate five families."

That did not happen and the former Grant mansion sat neglected, now with its stoop removed, for another three years when Paterno lost it in foreclosure on January 20, 1933.  Four months later a "For Sale" sign hung on the facade.  On April 4, 1933 The New York Times write "The old home is in a condition strongly suggesting 'haunted.'"  Vandals had gained access through the rear windows and defaced the interiors of the historic home.

When the Trans-Boro Realty Corporation purchased it in August that year, saying it planned "to improve the site," New Yorkers may have been skeptical.  But a month later architects Boak & Paris filed plans for a nine-story apartment house to cost $100,000.  Before long the historic home was a mere memory.

Boak & Paris's Art Moderne building survives.

many thanks to reader Peter Alsen for requesting this post

The Samuel Shaw Mansion -- 280 West End Avenue

In 1887, developer William J. Merritt began an ambitious project on the developing Upper West Side just east of Riverside Drive.  He planned 18 high-end houses lining both sides of West 73^rd Street between West End Avenue and Broadway.  Merritt’s completed residences were intended for well-to-do merchant class families—except for the mammoth mansion anchoring the northeast corner of West End Avenue and 73^rd Street.

Designed by Charles T. Mott, the house took two years to build.  The somewhat somber looking Romanesque Revival style mansion featured rounded, tower-like oriels at the corners which were connected by a long iron balcony at the third floor (no doubt a great temptation for Victorian children).  A matching, smaller balcony sprouted one floor above.  Merritt placed the three upper stories of brown brick on a sandstone base.  While the centered entrance was at 277 West 73^rd Street, most future owners would prefer to use the more impressive address of 280 West End Avenue.

Merritt could not have hoped for a more prestigious buyer of the newly completed mansion.  In 1889, the Harvard College Class of 1874 Fifth Report of the Class Secretary reported that Ulysses Simpson Grant and his family was “latterly” living at 277 West Seventy-Third Street.  Despite the General’s short-lived residency (the family had moved on within the year), the house would bear his name for decades.

Following Grant in the house was the electrical pioneer and inventor, Frank J. Sprague.  Among his important advancements was the invention of the trolley system.  He held the positions of Vice-President with the Sprague Electric Railway and Motor Company, and consulting engineer of the Edison General Electric Company. 

Following a meeting of the Electrical Club on February 26, 1891, during which he spoke, The Evening World wrote “Mr. Sprague is an alert-looking man, with a clear gray eye, and knows as much about electricity as any one hereabouts.  Electricity is a mine not yet half explored, and, if I mistake not, Mr. Sprague is a miner who will bring from it great things.”

Gruesome boars watch over the entrance.  Two bottle-glass windows survive above.

Sprague’s wife, Mary, had strong opinions about electricity as well—as least concerning the poles which supported electric wires.  The title to the mansion was in Mary’s name and she had no intention of having a falling telephone pole damage her property.

During a major winter storm in January 1891, most of the poles of the Metropolitan Telephone and Telegraph Company on 73^rd Street between The Boulevard (later renamed Broadway) and West End Avenue crashed to the ground.  The poles were 70 feet high and 20 inches in diameter with 17 cross arms, which each carried ten wires.  When the heavy poles fell, one damaged the residence of D. S. Lamont and another crashed onto the stoop of W. L. Trenholm.

The Sun reported on January 28, “The poles which remain are being propped up and the company proposes to use them again.  Mrs. Sprague objects, contending that the wires should be put under ground.”  Mary sued the telephone company and won an injunction restraining the firm from erecting or maintaining poles or wires on the block.

Frank chimed in on the problem of telephone poles in the high-class neighborhood.  The Sun said he felt, “These are a serious obstruction to light and air, and one of them stands in front of his wife’s house on the corner of West End avenue and Seventy-third street.  He is afraid it will fall, as it was cracked and warped by the recent store, which leveled to the ground all of the poles on the street from the Boulevard to West End avenue.”

The house became home to Eli Perkins, a former Southerner who ranted in The Tariff Review in 1894, “Dog-on your Yankee patriotism!  We have Southern patriotism and brains, and now enough of you Yankees have voted with us to put us in power.  We are the nation, too, and you Yankees are out.”

By the turn of the century Perkins was gone and the socially-visible James G. Marshall and his wife had moved in.  The Scottish-born merchant and broker was a member of McIntyre & Wardwell.  A few years after Marshall’s purchase of the house, the firm would become McIntyre & Marshall.  The wealthy couple owned a country estate in New Jersey and was noted for their many thoroughbred racing and show horses.

While the Marshalls enjoyed a clear view of the New Jersey palisades from their western windows when they purchased the house, that would be short-lived.  In 1901, millionaire Charles M. Schwab purchased the entire block from Riverside Drive to West End Avenue, from 73^rd to 74^th Streets.  The Marshalls’ view would become one of a rising block-encompassing chateau.

In the meantime, the couple carried on with the activities expected of Manhattan’s wealthiest citizens.  Tally-ho parties, or coaching parties, were a favorite pastime of the upper-class and on May 13, 1903 James G. Marshall took the reins of a four-in-hand coach.  In the coach were his wife, Mrs. Helen Wood of Pittsburgh, Mrs. Theodore Hostetter, real estate dealer R. Lawrence Smith and two grooms.

The party was headed to Van Cortlandt Park and things were going merrily until the coach reached the top of the hill at 181^st Street and Amsterdam Avenue around 3:30.  A street car came rapidly over the hill and smashed into the rear of the coach.  Mrs. Wood was thrown from the coach and severely injured.  One of the grooms, John Witherton, was tossed out in front of the street car.  Caught by a fender, he was dragged about 60 feet and was also seriously hurt.

Marshall told police that he was driving the coach at about no more than six miles an hour and that the trolley was speeding along at as much as 12 miles per hour.  “The motorman, as I see it, must have willfully disobeyed orders,” he said.

Mrs. Wood had been at the top of the coach, directly behind Marshall.  As she was thrown to the ground, she briefly caught hold of a railing, which helped to break her fall.  Nevertheless, she struck the wheel and her face hit the ground first. 

The groom suffered worse injuries.  The New York Times said, “Witherton was pushed along roughly by the fender, being mashed all the time against the cobblestones.  At last he was thrown off the track unconscious.”

In the meantime, the female passengers of the trolley car “became frightened and many of the women screamed.”  The havoc was increased by the terrified horses which threatened to bolt away.  Police controlled the frightened animals and the injured were removed to the hospital.

Marshall decided not to press charges against the motorman.  He took the coach back to the stables, then took Mrs. Witherton to the hospital to see her husband.  “Mr. Marshall gave orders that the groom should be taken to his home, at 280 West End Avenue,” said the newspaper.

While the Marshalls were summering at Buzzard’s Bay, Massachusetts in 1905, the mansion was burglarized.  The New York Times ran a headline on September 2, 1905 “Thief in Old Grant House.”

The mansions of New York were fertile ground for burglars in the summer.  Many were totally closed and those that we not had only one or two servants as caretakers.  Twenty-seven-year-old Emil Edwards was a struggling sculptor and, armed with a glass cutter, candle and revolver, he headed for 280 West End Avenue on the night of September 1.

Entering through a third story window, he helped himself to a gold bracelet, two gold chains and two gold fobs, three pairs of opera glasses, a gold-and-silver vase, and other expensive items.  He almost got away with his hefty haul.

As he sneaked out of the house, he saw Policeman Leehane standing at the corner of West End Avenue and 73^rd Street.  He ducked into the mansion’s sidewalk moat.  A man approached the officer saying, “Did you hear something drop?”

“Yes, it sounded like a bolt,” replied the officer.

He investigated and, looking down over the five foot wall, saw Edwards crouching in the shadows.  He ordered the burglar to “come out of there” and received the response, “Guess I might as well, you’ve got the drop on me.”

At the 63^rd Street Station House, Edwards admitted his guilt, saying, “I was down and out.  I’ve been hungry for three days.”

By April 29, 1909, when Marshall sold the mansion, Charles Schwab had stolen the limelight from Ulysses S. Grant.  In reporting the sale, the New-York Tribune’s headline read, “Deal Near C. M. Schwab’s Home” and noted that the $100,000 property “faces the home of Charles M. Schwab.” 

Marshall had sold the house to Samuel T. Shaw, the proprietor of the Grand Union Hotel.  He was nationally-noted for his art collecting and the walls of the Grand Union were hung with American art.  Among the artists he patronized were William M. Chase, Childe Hassam, Theodore Robinson, Charles W. Eaton and Emil Carlsen.  By World War I, his would reportedly be the largest collection of American art in the nation.

Shaw’s deep involvement in the art world was reflected in his memberships in the Society of American Artists, the National Academy of Design, the National Art and the Salmagundi Clubs.  A year after moving into the 73^rd Street house, Shaw purchased another mansion at No. 41 West 74^th Street.  This would become the clubhouse of the Fakirs’ Club which he founded.  “The object of the club, which has been in existence for two years, is to encourage the embryo artist after he leaves school and before he enters the commercial world,” said the New-York Tribune on December 23, 1910, the day after the clubhouse’s house-warming.

While Shaw collected art and ran his hotel, his wife, the former Joan Baird, entertained in the house.  Receptions and afternoon teas were regularly reported in society pages until 1914 when Joan unexpectedly died.

Two years later, on October 4, 1916, The New York Times wrote, “The many friends of Samuel T. Shaw, the patron of art and former hotel proprietor…will be interested to learn that he is to remarry.”  Now retired, he had proposed to the Italian-born widow Madame Amalia Dalumi Luzzatto.

“It will mark the culmination of a romance which began when Mr. Shaw took up the study of foreign languages, not so very long ago, principally of Italian.  Mme. Luzzatto, who gives private instruction in that language, was his teacher.”

As automobiles replaced horses on the streets of New York, the under-regulated and under-trained motorists caused havoc on the crowded streets.  On August 18, 1919 alone, police reported that no fewer than 50 pedestrians had been struck and one killed by automobiles.  Among the injured was 25-year old Frank Festero, one of the Shaw’s household staff, who was “run down at Broadway and Seventy-second Street,” according to The New York Times.

In May 1920, Amalia Shaw embarked on a project to redecorate the Victorian interiors.  She commissioned architect Fred R. Hirsh to renovate the mansion.  The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported on May 29 that the alterations would include “remove staircases, stairs, partitions, new cellar, stairs, addition, entrance hall, coal room, servants’ room, toilet rooms, reinforce ceiling.”  The ambitious project was estimated to cost the Shaws $20,000—about a quarter of a million dollars today.

The Grand Union Hotel had been closed in 1914 and in 1926 the American Art Galleries auctioned off the bulk of Samuel T. Shaw’s collection.  Some of the best examples of American art in the country, however, remained on the walls of 280 West End Avenue.

When Amalia Dalumi Shaw died in the house on April 1, 1940, Palmina Sestero and Amalia Sestero were living here as well.  The two women received generous bequeaths, leading to the assumption that they were relatives.  The Sesteros were still sharing the house in 1944 when The New York Times reported that “Mr. and Mrs. A. Ernest Sestero announce the engagement of their daughter Amalla Faustina to Allan John Melvin.”

Early in 1945 Samuel Shaw became ill.  On February 10, the 84-year old art collector died in the house on West 73^rd Street.  The estate soon sold the mansion to Henry Goelet, who quickly resold it on January 6, 1946.  It was sold again in October to the 280 West End Avenue Corporation.  That sale brought the mansion's long life as a private home to an end.

Within the year, it had been converted to two spacious apartments per floor.  While most mid-century conversions were unsympathetic to the interiors, this one was not brutal.  Much of the architectural detailing was preserved.

Leaded and stained glass, Corinthian pilasters and an Italian Renaissance fountain survive -- http://www.corcoran.com/nyc/Listings/Display/973168

The exterior of the mansion remains remarkably intact.  The light moat where a burglar once tried to hide from a policeman has been filled in and its five-foot wall lost, and other expected changes like replacement windows have been made.  Yet the Shaw mansion is a vivid reminder of a time when the imposing homes of wealthy New Yorkers lined the avenues of the Upper West Side.

non-credited photographs by the author