The Palacio - 55-57 East 65th Street

20th century fire escapes obscure the detailing.

Developer Thomas McLaughlin embarked on a chancy real estate endeavor in 1892 when he hired the architectural firm of Thom & Wilson to design a flat house on the north side of East 65th Street, just west of Park Avenue.  Apartment living was still viewed with skepticism by well-to-do Upper East Side residents and The Palacio would sit markedly on a block lined with upscale private homes.

Completed within the year, the building contained thirteen sprawling suites of seven or eight rooms.  Thom & Wilson had created a seven-story blend of Romanesque and Renaissance Revival styles.  Its asymmetrical design included a two-story rusticated brownstone base where the centered entrance was flanked by tightly clustered Romanesque columns.  The window directly above it was fronted by a charming Juliette balcony.  The upper floors were clad in tan brick generously trimmed in brownstone, the carved designs of which drew inspiration from the Renaissance period.  Because the building hugged the property line, several feet forward from the facades of the high-stooped houses around it, the architects were able to gently curve the western corner to create an eye catching design element.

The delightful half-round balcony above the entrance can be seen in this 1938 photograph. The double house in the center of the frame was originally home to Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt and Franklin's mother, Sarah.  photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

An advertisement in the New-York Tribune in April 1899 touted the modern amenities of The Palacio, including "hall service; elevator; electric light."  The term "hall service" referred to the "hall boys" on staff--normally teen-aged boys who ran errands, delivered packages, took mail to and from apartments and handled other helpful tasks.  Prospective tenants would pay $1,800 per year for an eight-room apartment, or about $4,700 a month rent in today's money.

The moneyed residents appeared often in society columns.  On May 28, 1899, for instance, the New-York Tribune announced that "Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Van Lennep and family, of No. 55 East Sixty-fifth-st., have arranged to sail for Europe on the steamship Kaiser Friedrich on June 20.  They will remain abroad until September or October."

Among the most socially prominent families in The Palacio was that of Stephen Van Rensselaer whose ancestor Kiliean van Rensselaer was one of the founders and directors of the Dutch West India Company and of New Amsterdam.  The original Van Rensselaer manor engulfed all of what today are Albany and Rensselaer counties upstate.  On January 14, 1900 the New-York Daily Tribune reported that Mrs. Rensselaer had given her second reception of that winter season.

More newsworthy, however, was the socially important wedding that took place in Boston on December 12, 1900 when the Van Rensselaers' son, Charles Augustus, married Caroline Elizabeth Fitzgerald.  Newspapers noted "Mr. and Mrs. Van Rensselaer will reside at 55 East Sixty-fifth Street, New York."

The family of esteemed physician George B. McAuliffe lived here at the time.  Born in New York City on September 20, 1864, he had graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons in 1888.  He was now the Adjunct Professor of Otology at New York Polyclinic, throat surgeon at the Metropolitan Throat Hospital, oculist at Harlem Hospital, the Mothers' Home Hospital and the Red Cross Hospital, as well as other positions throughout the city.

The family suffered tragedy on March 19, 1899 when five-year old George G. McAuliffe died.  Following her period of mourning, Mrs. McAuliffe resumed her social routine.  Originally from the South, she was a member of the Daughters of the Confederacy.  A reception for "a large number of Southerners resident in New-York," as described by the New-York Tribune, on May 7, 1901 would raise eyebrows today.

For the most part the event was little different than any other afternoon social function; but at least one detail intended to provide Southern flavor could only be called racist today.  "The rooms were decorated with pink and white roses, and a negro banjoist and mandolinist played 'darky' melodies softly all through the reception."

Like all socialites, Mrs. McAuliffe was involved in charitable causes.  Her greatest focus was on the Northwestern Dispensary to which, according to The Evening Telegram on March 15, 1904, she devoted much of her time.

The building had been sold in 1903 and renamed The Sussex.   Nothing else changed for the tenants, including the rent which was exactly the same as it had been on opening day.

New-York Tribune, August 30, 1903 (copyright expired)

As it did throughout the country, World War I changed the lives of residents in The Sussex.  None were more affected than attorney and U. S. Commissioner of Patents Frederick Innes Allen and his wife, the former Cornelia Seward.   The couple had impressive family backgrounds--Cornelia's father, William H. Seward, had been Secretary of State under Abraham Lincoln, and Frederick's first American ancestor, George Allen, arrived in Massachusetts in 1636.

In 1917 all three of their sons enlisted--32-year old William Seward Allen enrolled in the U. S. Naval Reserves; Ralph S. Allen enlisted in the Army (happily, no doubt for his mother, assigned to a clerical position); and 28-year old Lloyd Seward Allen joined the Army Air Corps.

Lloyd's choice of branches was obvious.  After graduating from Yale he had gone into the construction of airplanes and "the invention of flying devices," according to the New York Herald.  After training at Dallas, Texas, he was transferred to the Wilbur Wright Aviation Field in Dayton, Ohio.  But he would never see action overseas.

New York Herald, May 2, 1918 (copyright expired)

On May 2, 1918 the New York Herald reported that Lloyd, "a cadet flyer at the Wilbur Wright Aviation Field, met instant death to-day when his machine became unmanageable while he was making a practice flight, and crashed into one of the school buildings on the ground."

R. Grover Hutchins had left his position as president of the National Bank of Commerce to head the Home and Hospital Division of the American Red Cross in Paris.  His wife's anxiety was increased when their daughter, Margaret, left her studies at Bryn Mawr College and volunteered with the Signal Corps, also in Paris.  There she did "telephone duty," according to the New York Herald.  Four months after the end of the war, on February 8, 1919, father and daughter arrived home on the same ship.  The banker had attained the rank of major.

The conflict greatly affected another resident, Josiah Kingsley Ohl, in a different way.  Ohl was editor The New York Herald, a position he assumed in 1913.  With the outbreak of war was appointed head of the Washington Bureau.  The New York Times later explained the dual responsibilities "caused him physical hardship, as well, because of the necessity for frequent trips to Washington."

The editor's work was recognized internationally.  The Times said he "came in close contact with representatives of foreign Governments, and at various times received the decorations of Commander of the Crown of Italy, Chevalier of the Order of King George III of Greece, Chevalier of the Order of Leopold of Belgium, and Chevalier of the Legion of Honor of France."

Ohl and his wife, the former Maude Annulet Andrews, had one daughter, Joan Kingsley Ohl.  On August 19, 1919 they announced her engagement to David Frank Webster.  The wedding took place on September 3 at the Church of the Heavenly Rest.

Ten months later, on June 27, 1920, Josiah Kingsley Ohl died in the 65th Street apartment after having suffered a nervous breakdown followed by a short illness and then a heart attack.  The Times reported that his heart condition "had been aggravated by strain under which he labored during the World War."  He was only 57 years old.

Maude left The Sussex soon after.  On October 18 The New York Herald announced she "has given up her home at 55 East Sixty-fifth street, and will pass the winter in Summerville, S. C.   She expects to remain there a year."

The Sussex was, by now, a cooperative building.  Although the first cooperative apartment house, The Gramercy, was opened in 1883, the concept was still relatively unusual.

New-York Tribune, June 20, 1920 (copyright expired)

The Allen family were still in residence.  Cornelia died on October 5, 1921 after a length illness.  The following year, on April 16, William Seward Allen's engagement to Dorothy Wilmot was announced.  The wedding took place that June; and Ralph was married to Elizabeth Bailey in April 1923.

Frederick Allen remained in The Sussex, now alone.  He retired in 1928, but continued his hobby of mineralogy.  The New York Times noted that "He maintained in his home, in which he had lived since 1908, a laboratory for the chemical analysis of minerals and had an extensive mineralogical collection."  Allen died of a heart attack in his apartment at the age of 79 on May 18, 1938.

In the summer of 1948 Phorwall Petersen was hired as an elevator operator.  The 51-year old was a retired merchant marine sea captain who had served in World War I.  His years of training in emergency situations came into play on January 9, 1949.

Petersen was sitting in the lobby at around 7:15 that night when he smelled smoke.  He took the elevator downstairs where he found the basement in flames.  After notifying the building superintendent, he "embarked on what the tenants he serves described as a one-man rescue mission," according to The New York Times.

He made a total of seven trips up and down in the elevator, knocking on every door and warning the residents to evacuate.  When there was no response, he used his passkey to rescue pets whose owners were not home.  After his last trip, he collapsed on the lobby floor and was taken to Roosevelt Hospital where he was treated for smoke poisoning.

Luckily, although the entire building filled with smoke, the major damage was confined to the basement level and the two doctor's offices on the ground floor.

While many late Victorian apartment buildings suffered decline by mid-century, The Sussex retained its upscale tone.  

One resident discarded an old oil painting in July 1997--one which caught the eye of a passerby.  John W. Nichols picked up the discarded portrait "sticking out of a pile of trash bags," as reported by The New York Times on July 3, despite some damage.

It turned out to be a portrait of Andrew Foster, Esq., painted in 1848 by William Jewett and Samuel Lovett Waldo.  The pair shared a studio and cooperatively worked on portraits, Waldo doing the face and hands, Jewett the clothing and backgrounds.  Examples of their works hang in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Upon investigation, Nichols discovered that Andrew Foster was the great-grandfather of Henry Francis duPont.

Most likely the transoms of the first and second floor windows once held colorful stained glass.

Other than replacement doors and the unsightly fire escape that veils much of the detailing of the facade, The Sussex is relatively unchanged after more than 125 years.

photographs by the author

Kingdon Gould's 1928 160 East 72nd Street

When George Jay Gould died on May 16, 1923, his son, Kingdon, was living with his family in a handsome home at 160 East 72nd Street.  The extended Gould family had inherited substantial personal fortunes from the estate of Kingdon's grandfather, railroad mogul Jay Gould.

Kingdon got his somewhat unusual first name from his mother, Edith M. Kingdon.  He had married Annunziata Camilla Maria Lucci on July 2, 1917 in St. Patrick's Cathedral and by now had two children, Silvia Annunziata and Edith Kingdon Gould.  A third child, Kingdon, Jr. was born in 1925.  The family maintained a sprawling country estate at Lakewood, New Jersey.

The Goulds' lifestyle was about to change.  In 1927, the same year he sold his interests in family-owned mines in the West, he demolished the East 72nd Street mansion.  Gould's intention was not to relocate; but to modernize his family's living conditions.  Lavish apartment buildings designed with moneyed residents in mind had risen throughout the upper sections of the city since the late 19th century.  By now members of society's uppermost echelons lived in modern, spacious apartments the size of private homes.

Gould hired architects Taylor & Levi to design his building.  Completed in 1928, it rose 14 stories plus a penthouse.  The architects married a jazz age take on Renaissance architecture with elements of a Mediterranean villa.  Faced in ruddy-colored brick, it was highlighted by orange-toned stone and colorful terra cotta.  Leaded windows, balconettes and arched openings at the top floor worthy of a Medici provided a sense of age.  The design culminated in an unusual scalloped roofline topped with massive urns.

Now lost, the massive stone urns along the scalloped parapet were a prominent feature when this photograph was taken in 1929.  photo by Samuel H. Gottscho from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The building offered immense cooperative apartments.  There were just two each on the first four floors.  Each of the floors from the fifth through the 10th contained just one 11-room apartment; and the 11th and 12th floors comprised a 17-room duplex apartment that included a double-height music room.   The initial prices ranged from $14,000 to $51,000--the most expensive equaling about $715,000 today.

Columns of different stone, colorful terra cotta plaques, and variegated stone provides an old-world feel.

But the most impressive apartment was reserved for the Gould family.  Engulfing the top two floors plus the penthouse, it contained 20 rooms and 8 bathrooms.  The top floor included a screened terrace to the rear, another terrace at the front, and a squash-tennis court in between.   Kingdon's widowed mother was an artist and a penthouse level studio was included for her.

As intended, the building attracted well-to-do buyers.  Before construction was completed, The New York Times noted, "Miss Carol N. Rhoades, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lyman Rhoades of 130 East Sixty-seventh Street" had purchased an apartment; and shortly afterwards Robert Le Roy traded his brownstone at 182 East 75th Street for an eighth floor co-op.

Le Roy was a partner in the legal firm of Cadwalader, Wickersham & Taft and the secretary of the Museum of the City of New York.  Both he and his wife, the former Grace A. Moore, had at one time been well-known tennis players who had won many trophies.  They had married in 1911.

At around 1:00 on the afternoon of January 16, 1932, while Robert was at work and Grace was out, the Le Roys' doorbell rang.   Mary Dolan, one of the three servants at home, opened the door to a man who blurted "Got a package for Mrs. Le Roy" and pushed past her.

Before the maid could speak, two other thugs barged in.  One brandished a pistol and forced Mary back to the servants' area.  She was soon joined by the cook, Amanda Kornder, and another maid, Anna Fagan.   While the terrified women were held at gunpoint, they could hear the other two men ransacking the apartment.

The Great Depression had little effect on most of the residents of No. 160 and Mary Le Roy had left the apartment decked out in expensive jewelry.  Nevertheless, the thieves were about to find about $10,300 worth of jewelry in her bedroom (more than $175,000 in today's dollars).   Police noted that they "overlooked, however, a considerable quantity of jewelry."  Before they left with their loot, they warned the three servants to keep quiet.

They had managed to get inside the building by sheer force.  According to the 60-year-old service elevator operator, Frederick Spielberger, later, four men had entered the service entrance and ordered, "Take us up to the eighth floor."  One of them pulled out a knife and forced Spielberger to the rear of the car while another bound his hands behind his back with picture wire.

While the criminal with the knife stood watch over Spielberger, the others went to the Le Roy apartment.  When they returned the elevator man noticed, "they had two leather jewelry boxes and a small silver one, which they tucked inside their coats."  They took the elevator to the basement where one man removed the fuses so it could not be operated.  They warned Spielberger not to move for 15 minutes then rushed up the stairs to a waiting automobile.

The heist was just the first committed by the gang in rapid-fire succession in the district.   When they robbed the home of Harry Glemby on January 21, it was the fourth within six days.  Among the other victims was William A. Rockefeller.

In the meantime, the Gould family entertained lavishly in their massive apartment.  A dinner to celebrate the engagement of Priscilla St. George to Angier Biddle Duke was given on December 26, 1936, for instance.  There were more than two dozen guests.  For more opulent affairs tents would be erected on the terraces.

The wedding of Silvia Annunziata Gould to Charles Dabney Thomson, took place in the apartment on January 14, 1938.   The ceremony was set in the library, which had been outfitted with an altar draped in old Venetian lace.  An organ had been installed solely for the occasion.  Later that year the apartment was the scene of the debutante entertainments for Edith Kingdon Gould, including a dance on November 26. 

That year, the Le Roys had a house guest, Mrs. Elsa Houtermans.  She became frantic when her son, a German citizen, was arrested in Russia.   She pleaded with Albert Einstein for his help.  He wrote to Mrs. Houtermans at the East 72nd Street address, enclosing a letter to the Russian ambassador in Washington he had written on her behalf.  "You can add some explanatory information about the career of your son and send both letters in the same envelope to the ambassador," he instructed.

In 1938 Kingdon Gould suffered a stroke from which he never totally recovered.  In the fall of 1945 he became critically ill and died in the apartment on November 7 at the age of 58.

The Le Roys, whose country estate was in Glen Head, Long Island, were still in the building at the time.  Robert Le Roy was 61 years old when he died on September 8, 1946.

The following month the Gould apartment would be the scene of another wedding.  On October 12 Edith was married to Guy Martin in the two-story music room which, according to The New York Times, "had been arranged as a small chapel for the wedding."  Members of the wedding party came from as far away as London, Chicago, California and Washington D.C.

At the time of Edith's wedding the building was populated by the families of financiers, lawyers and businessmen.  But by the 1960s at least one tenant from a far different profession--show business--had arrived.

Actress Joan Fontaine divided her time between her fifth floor apartment and her Eaton Square residence in London.  In the spring of 1966 she was in Britain, so she offered the apartment at No. 160 to Vivien Leigh and Jack Merivale who were appearing in the Broadway production of Anton Chekhov's Ivanov, directed by John Gielgud.  (Leigh and Merivale had been involved in an undisguised romantic relationship since 1958, even before her 1960 divorce from Lawrence Olivier.)   The two remained in the apartment throughout rehearsals and then for the five and a half weeks the play ran.

Artist Don Bachardy described visiting Fontaine's apartment in 1976 in his 2000 book Stars in My Eyes.  He eyed a red-varnished wooden armchair as a possible seat for the actress to pose. 

I learned from her later that the tiger's head of the seat had been designed by Salvador Dali especially for her, and that she herself had executed the needlepoint work.  I asked if it would be a comfortable chair for her.  'Yes, perfectly.'  Her tone implied: Why else would it be in my sitting room?

While upscale apartment buildings of the 1920s in other parts of the city had suffered decline by now, such was not the case along East 72nd Street.  In the 1980s, No. 160 was home to Princess Lee Radziwill, sister of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis; Count Demetrio Guerrini-Maraldi (described by The New York Times as "an accomplished sportsman...a student of history, a linguist and raconteur, a man of discipline and high standards known for his wit and humor); and James Niven, son of screen actor David Niven.  Apartments at the time were priced at about $3 million.

Some of the spaces retain their lavish original appointments.  photograph via cityrealty.com 

The floorplans of Kingdon Gould's 1928 project remains unchanged.  Residents still enjoy the sprawling spaces and in many cases the handsome original interiors.   And casual passersby could not suspect that one of America's wealthiest families lived in 20 rooms here during the Depression years.

photographs by the author

The Dore Lyon House - No 1217 Park Avenue

The spacious home is once again a private residence.

On June 29, 1889 The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that architects Flemer & Koehler had filed plans for eight stone-fronted homes on Park Avenue, wrapping around the northeast corner of 94th Street.   The project for developer Edward T. Smith would cost $112,000; or just under $375,000 per house in today's terms.

Quickly J. A. Henry Flemer and his partner, V. Hugo Koehler, would be at work filling in the remainder of the block.  Completed in 1889, the northernmost house at the southeast corner of 95th Street, appeared little different from its neighbors when viewed from Park Avenue, other than the absence of a high stone stoop.

It was on 95th Street that the desirable differences were obvious.   By placing the entrance on the side street, the architects had given the house a frontage nearly double that of the Park Avenue houses.  Northern light spilled into the many openings--their various shapes and sizes trimmed in warm terra cotta and brownstone.  The Renaissance Revival design included tongue-in-cheek details like keystones in the form of grimacing bearded faces, while incorporating formal elements like terra cotta capitals and ornate inset panels.

At the time Anna E. Parker Lyon was making a name for herself among female society.  The wife of wealthy builder Dore Lyon, she not only styled herself as a pundit on etiquette; but involved herself in so many clubs, associations and committees that she was dubbed by the press "The Queen of Clubs."

The couple had one child, Grace, and in 1893 erected what one newspaper deemed "a magnificent mansion" as their summer estate in Saratoga, New York.   When Dore Lyon died in 1898, Anna inherited what The New York Times said was "a fortune of more than a million dollars."

She and Grace moved into No. 1217 Park Avenue--although Anna often used the address of 100 East 95th Street.  The house saw the comings and goings of wealthy women as Mrs. Dore Lyon, as she was known, hosted meetings of the numerous organizations.  Such was the case in December 1902 when a meeting of the Car Passengers' Rights Association was held here.

The group was intent on reforming the conditions of street cars; Mrs. William Tibbits Salter warning "A man may hesitate and quake, and fear conflicting results, but to us they will say, 'You cannot stop a woman.'"

The women were well fired-up; but it seems they had not quite decided what they were fired-up about.  One new member was slightly confused and asked what exactly the group hoped to accomplish.  "Do you seek to provide seating capacity for all, or seating capacity and standing room for a few--few enough to be in conformity with comfort and morality?"

She drew the annoyance of the association's president, Mrs. Richard Henry Savage, who fired back "We haven't quite reached that yet.  It is our purpose first to tell the companies that they are all wrong, and afterward tell them what improvements we want."

Mrs. Dore Lyon was not merely a member of a dozen or so clubs and organizations, she held many offices.  She was president, for instance, of the Eclectic Club, described by The Evening World on December 19, 1902 as being "composed of some of New York's most fashionable matrons."

In the club's private meetings, most often held at Delmonico's, the women sloughed off what The World called "the moral corsets" of feminine society.   They discussed current social issues normally deemed improper among respectable women.  Among such topics were "Is man less faithful than woman?" and "Can a woman love more than one man?"

The following year, in July, Mrs. Dore Lyon was appointed Assistant Secretary to the New York Commission of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, and the Lady Manager of the New York State Building at the St. Louis World's Fair.

In spite what must have been a dizzying schedule of meetings and entertainments, Anna had the time to write a novel, Prudence Pratt, published in 1903.  She invested heavily in publishing, and in the Westchester Sanitarium, a facility for the insane and addicted which opened in 1902.

The Evening World published a photograph of Mrs. Dore Lyon on December 19, 1902 (copyright expired)

On January 8, 1906 40 women were recognized at the Honor Day luncheon of the National Society of the United States Daughters of 1812, held at Delmonico's.  The New York Times said that of the 40, "only one of them did not say that she was surprised when called upon to make a speech.  The exception was Mrs. Dore Lyon."

When she was called to speak, she pulled out a lengthy poem she had written for the occasion.  The Times said "By hurrying the reading of her seven verses, the poetess succeeded in finishing them in the two minutes allotted for a speech."

Her poem was intended to describe the gathering that afternoon, albeit with "some poetical license," as described by the newspaper.  It started:

Sing a song of honor days,

A function full of girls,

Four and twenty Presidents

In Paris hats and curls.

The other 39 society presidents diplomatically termed the poem "perfectly cute."

While Mrs. Dore Lyon was composing literature, leading civic causes against annoyances like street noise, and serving tea to club women, another far different type of organization was taking form.  In November 1908 Miss Marie Lydia Winkler founded The German-American Friendship Club for Young Woman.  Taking two floors in a house at No. 387 Park Avenue, it provided a place for German immigrant girls to relax and feel safe.

The concept came to Winkler when she was hired by several German societies to "investigate the white slave traffic in this country as if affects German girls," according to her.  What she found was shocking. 

Unscrupulous men preyed on the lonely girls, most of whom did not speak English, eventually forcing them into prostitution.  "I have found that hundreds of decent girls are brought to disgrace and death through sheer ignorance or the almost equal peril of loneliness...There are plenty of bad men and women on the watch for the 'green ones,' as they are called, and prepared to force, or more often, delude the poor things into horrible situations."

Winkler's Friendship Club stationed agents in Germany to counsel girls headed to America; and lookouts were posted at the piers to watch for naive new-comers.  At the clubhouse, they were taught English, helped find jobs if necessary, given temporary lodging and, most importantly, provided a safe haven to relax on their off hours.

The unlikely paths of Mrs. Dore Lyon and Marie Lydia Winkler's club for German girls would cross beginning in January 1910.

That was when the doyen of women's clubs could no longer maintain her facade.  Mrs. Dore Lyon's novel was an unmitigated failure, and her unwise investments had left her literally penniless.   When she filed for bankruptcy on January 22 she listed her liabilities at $503,246 and her assets as "2,000 copies and the copyright of her unsuccessful novel, 'Prudence Pratt,'" according to The Times.

She had already mortgaged the Park Avenue house, then quietly sold it.  Her friends were even more shocked when her attorney disclosed "Mrs. Lyon is really in desperate circumstances," and admitted that she was not even able to pay the $30 bankruptcy fees.

On January 15, 1911 Marie Lydia Winkler formerly opened the doors to the new clubhouse for the German American Friendship Club for Girls in the former Lyon house.  She proudly showed reporter Marguerite Mooers Marshall around.  "In our new house we can accommodate twenty girls," explained Winkler.  But it was available to members whether they lived there or not, from 9:30 in the morning to 9:30 at night.

The parlor had a piano where the girls sang German songs.  There was a "big living room" on the first floor with an immense map of the United States, and a sort of gymnasium on the second floor.  When a new member arrived, Winkler first taught her basic English skills--words like "post office," "subway," and "bank."  When her English was fairly good, the girl would be taken onto the streets to learn how to navigate the subways and elevated trains.  Winkler said she would "make her try reading the words and phrases she has studied here.  If one trip is not sufficient, I take her until she knows."

In April the girls held a fair to raise funds.  On the last night Baroness Elsa Laura von Molzogen sang and a group from the play The Spring Maid entertained.  Similar fund raising events continued, such as the entertainment in Arion Hall, home of the German singing society, on April 11, 1912.  The New-York Tribune reported "It will consist of living pictures posed by club members and representing a young German woman's life beginning in her home in the Fatherland and ending in the Friendship Club."

On May 25, 1913 Kaiser Wilhelm's daughter, Princess Victoria Luise, was married.  To mark the happy occasion, an engagement ceremony was held, almost simultaneously, at the Friendship Club.  The Sun said "the home for lonely German girls" was "gayly decorated" for the event.  In the rear yard photographs of the princess were surrounded by young girls in white dresses who held a white veil with a crown and myrtle on a type of maypole.

Inside, after Miss Winkler gave a history of the princess's life; the "betrothed couple" was formally presented to the club.   Then came a supper, followed by a "torch dance."  The Sun reported "All lights were put out in the four story house except for candles in every window.  Then there were games played as is done in Germany during such ceremonies."

Happy events like this one would soon come to an end both on Park Avenue and in Germany.   When war broke out in Europe, some German-born New Yorkers left to fight for their homeland.  The German ocean liner the Vaterland was docked in New York harbor in August 1914, when a reception was held at No. 1217 Park Avenue for four of its officers and 23 German-Americans waiting to leave for the war.

"Germans from the East Side dropped into the rooms at intervals during the evening and sang national songs and talked over the war," reported The Sun on August 24.  "The girls were sent away from the home to make room for the men." 

The following month the German-American Friendship Club held a three-day "Fair for the Fatherland" to raise money for war relief.

Interestingly, the ever-resourceful Mrs. Dore Lyon had reappeared that year.  On April 2, 1914 The New York Times reported "Under the name of Mme. Dore, Mrs. Dore Lyon, a former wealthy woman who was one of the founders of the Federation of Women's Clubs, is appearing at the Palace Theatre this week at the head of a vaudeville company which is presenting 'Great Moments from Grand Operas.'"

While the United States remained neutral in the war, New York's sentiment toward its German population remained, for the most part, friendly.  On August 1, 1915 a benefit for the German-American Friendship Club was held at the Terrace Garden.  The steamship Vaterland was back in New York and its captain, Commodore Hans Ruser, was the principal speaker.  Somewhat surprisingly, he avoided the topic of war, speaking instead on "A Trip to the North Cape."

Sometime following America's involvement in World War I the German-American Friendship Club was no more.  In November 1920 Dr. Henry H. M. Lyle purchased the house.  A few months later he applied for a building permit to add a garage at the eastern end of the building, where the entrance to the rear garden was.

Lyle was surgeon at St. Luke's Hospital and surgical director of the Stuyvesant Square Hospital.  His wife was the former Jessie Abbott, one of what The New York Times called "the well known Abbott sisters."  Both Jessie and Bessie were operatic singers.  While Bessie (she dropped one "b" from the spelling of her last name when a Paris program misspelled it early in her career) had gone on to fame; Jessie gave up the stage when she married Henry Lyle.

The Lyle's summer estate was in Pointe-au-Pic, Quebec.  The couple's upscale lifestyle was supported by Dr. Lyle's prominence in the medical community, his extensive technical writings, and his client list that included millionaires like J. P. Morgan.  The Park Avenue house was filled with important artwork, ranging from the 15th century panel "Saint Catherine of Siena Receiving the Stigmata" by Giovanni di Paolo, to Edward Hopper's "My Roof."


The Lyles remained in the house for over two decades, selling it in July 1946 to Dr. Charles Peck.  In reporting the sale The New York Times mentioned the house contained "fifteen rooms and three baths."  Peck converted the ground level to a doctor's office, while breaking the upper floors into two duplex residences.

The 54 year old Peck was perhaps more involved in real estate than medicine.  He had entered the realty business in 1923 and was president of the Elba Management Corporation.  He and his wife, Fannie, had two grown children, Benjamin and Eleanor.  The Pecks' summer home was in Peekskill, New York.

In the mid-1950s Peck's health began to fail and he died "after a long illness," according to The Times, on August 22, 1957.  Fannie lived on in the house for another decade.  She sold it to investor Gerald J. Katz in April 1967.

In 1989 the upper floors were reconfigured into a single home; and in 2008 the doctor's office was eliminated, creating one lavish private residence once again.  During that renovation an extensive facade restoration was undertaken, giving No. 1217 Park Avenue the chic character it displayed when the colorful Mrs. Dore Lyon held sway here.

photographs by the author

The 1909 D. H. Morris House -- No. 19 East 70th Street

photo by Alice Lum

Young Alice Vanderbilt Shepard could claim one of the most enviable pedigrees of New York Society.  Her mother, Margaret Louisa Vanderbilt was the daughter of William Henry Vanderbilt and the brother of Cornelius Vanderbilt II.  Her father, ultra-conservative millionaire attorney Elliot Fitch Shepard, founded the New York State Bar Association and owned and edited the New York newspaper Mail and Express.

The girl had a sweet disposition and angelic face—yet she sometimes exhibited a spirit unbecoming to a well-bred society girl; especially a Vanderbilt.  While climbing a tree--the type of tom-boyish act strictly prohibited by her stern father--Alice fell and fractured her thoracic spine.  Reportedly Elliot F. Shepard refused to summon a doctor in order to punish the girl for her disobedience.

She would spend the rest of her life slightly deformed by scoliosis.  Her “delicate constitution” was forever after a consideration; she wore a brace for several hours a day; and spent hours reclining on a sofa.  As she entered her teen years, Alice’s beauty increased.   Having met the girl, Oscar Wilde supposedly asserted there were but three destinations worthy of a traveler’s attention in the United States:  Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, and Alice Shepard.

Sargent painted Margaret Shepard in 1888 -- San Antonio Museum of Art

 Near-life sized portraits of wealthy socialites were obligatory in the Victorian drawing rooms of Fifth Avenue.  In 1888 Shepard commissioned the famed John Singer Sargent to paint Margaret.  As the sittings progressed, Sargent was taken with the ethereal beauty of 14-year old Alice who sometimes appeared in the room.  He was met with resistance when he requested permission to paint her; and Margaret agreed only when she was assured that the sittings would be short and not taxing on Alice’s fragile condition.

Sargent's portrait of 14-year old Alice was completed the same year -- photo Amon Carter Museum, Fort Worth Texas

The resulting portrait, also completed in 1888, is one of Sargent’s masterworks.

Society saw little of Alice after her debut.  The New York Times would latter mention that she had “not appeared much in society” and instead “devoted her attention, rather, to charitable and religious matters.”  That would change in the summer of 1894.

A year earlier, on March 24, 1893, Elliott F. Shepard was being prepared for a gall bladder operation.  As the doctors administered ether, the patient reacted badly.  “At the first inhalations dangerous symptoms were produced and the inhalations were immediately discontinued,” reported the Rock Island Daily Argus the following day.

Margaret and the two youngest Shepard girls had been nudged off to the summer estate at Scarboro-on-the-Hudson during the procedure.  They were now urgently called back home to the mansion at No. 2 West 52^nd Street.  Elliot Shepard died around 4:20 p.m., well before they made it home.

Now, in 1894, Margaret and the stunningly beautiful 20-year old Alice were aboard the Majestic, heading to Europe.   Also aboard was Dave Morris (The Times would clarify for readers later, “he was christened Dave, not David”); a 23-year old medical student who ran a horse racing stable with his brother.   Morris was struck by Alice and readily brushed off her slight disability.

Morris was, however, not a fitting suitor for a Vanderbilt girl.   Bumping into one another aboard ship was not a proper social introduction; and the bulk of his not-insignificant fortune came from gambling.   The Times said “Mrs. Shepard did not view [the relationship] kindly.  She thought that her daughter should not marry Mr. Morris because he owned raced horses, and because his father had owned them.”

Nevertheless, despite the unconcealed and vocal disapproval of Margaret Louise Vanderbilt Shepard, the romance flowered.  On June 21, 1895 The New York Times printed the socially-shocking story of the Morris-Shepard wedding.  The headline read “Mrs. Shepard Not There.  She Opposed the Marriage of Her Daughter to a Horse Man.  None of the Vanderbilts Present.”

Headstrong Alice had, for all intents and purposes, eloped.  Her marriage was not in one of the fashionable society churches; but in The Church of the Transfiguration—known popularly as the Little Church Around the Corner where marriages of theater types often were conducted.

The article said “Mrs. Shepard knew that the wedding was to take place, but she refused to give her consent to it or to be present.

“No member of Miss Shepard’s family was a witness of the ceremony.  The Vanderbilts were all absent, although they knew of the engagement of the young people and the time of the wedding.”  Only six guests were present; one of which, a witness, was Rosina Kelly, the maid to Dave Hennen Morris’s sister.

The rift between mother and daughter would soon heal and by 1909 there was no discord among the family.  That year Dave, by now a distinguished attorney, purchased the lot at No. 19 East 70^th Street; part of the newly-available land where the former Lenox Library had stood facing Fifth Avenue.   Dave and Alice once again tossed off social expectations.  Rather than hiring one of the prominent mansion architects, they went to the lesser-known Thornton Chard.

A captivating juliette balcony graces the understated facade -- photo by Alice Lum

Chard produced an elegant Italian Renaissance-style palazzo that was as charming as it was impressive.  A roomy 30-feet wide, it was distinguished by the deep, arcaded loggia at street level.  Above each arch was a sets of French doors, opening onto a wide stone balcony directly above.   Above the quietly simple façade a projecting roof cornice rested on foliate brackets.

Inside were 30 rooms, eight baths and two elevators.  Like the façade, the interior décor was understated and relatively simple.   The Times called it a “unique” residence.

The Morris dining room in 1915 was understated -- Architectural Record, January 1915 (copyright expired)

The Morrises’ disregard of the expectations of society would continue throughout their lives.  The couple would have five children—Dave, Lawrence, Noel, Emily and Alice—and would entrench themselves in pioneering works.   Alice had been for years interested in the concept of a neutral auxiliary language that could ease communication among diverse cultural groups.  In 1924 she and Dave would found the International Auxiliary Language Association.

Unlike the Victorian mansions in which she grew up, Alice Morris' reception room was cozy and welcoming -- Architectural Record, January 1915 (copyright expired)

But in the meantime, there were other less lofty issues to address.  In the spring of 1913 the high-toned neighbors on East 70^th Street were suspicious of a group of “boys who find a fascination at night in loitering near the Frick home, now under construction,” said The New York Times.  Suspicions grew to anger when severe vandalism to the mansions erupted.

One of neighbors, William Truslow Hyde, awoke to find disturbing damage.   On May 7 The Times said “Mr. Hyde’s steps were enriched by railings of finely wrought bronze until these were ripped away the other night and pieces of stone coping with them.  The thief can realize little compared with the damage done by his work.  Other houses have been similarly treated.”  Among the houses “wronged” was the Morris mansion.

The house would be the scene of the debutante dances and dinners for the Morris daughters through the years; however entertainments would more often involve the International Auxiliary Language Associate, and the World Service Council of the Young Women’s Christian Association, of which Alice was Vice President.

The Morris’s youngest son Noel was a quiet, studious boy who immersed himself in books on philosophy.   At 24 years old, he had graduated from Antioch College in Ohio and was studying at the Russell Sage School of Social Research in 1928.  He enjoyed a private apartment in the mansion which he filled with his philosophy books.

On the night of October 31 that year, he left the house, had dinner alone at the exclusive Union Club, then attended the Metropolitan Opera’s performance of “Tannhauser.”  The melancholy mood of the opera apparently affected the young man deeply.

He returned home, went to bed, but arose sometime deep in the night.  Noel Morris inserted a sheet of paper into his typewriter and wrote a note which he slipped into the last page of his diary.  Dated Oct. 31 it read “Tannhauser wasn’t brave enough to stick it out, but I have the courage to do it.  This is the closing entry.”

Noel locked the door to his suite, then locked the bathroom door behind him.  Standing before the mirror he put a gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Two weeks later the troubled youth’s will was read.  He bequeathed his estate of $10,000 to his parents.

The following year happier press would come to the mansion on East 70^th Street when daughter Emily’s engagement to Hamilton Hadley was announced.  The restored social standing of Alice and Dave Morris was reflected in the society page.  While earlier the couple had been left off the lists of “prominent” guests to weddings and dinners; now The New York Times noted that Emily’s engagement “is of wide interesting owing to the prominence of both families.”

Dave was good friends with a local politician—Franklin Delano Roosevelt--and in 1931 was one of a small group who managed the campaign leading to his nomination for President.   The friendship resulted in Morris’s being named Ambassador to Belgium in May 1933.  A proficient violinist, Dave H. Morris stepped off the airplane in Belgium carrying his violin case—something that did not go unnoticed by the local press.

A Belgium newspaper wrote “We like diplomats who are artists, for we feel that artists will understand us better and act accordingly.”  Indeed Morris “understood” the Belgians and his four-year term was highly regarded.

After he stepped down from the post in 1937, he continued his interest in the country.  He was a director of the Belgium-American Educational Foundation, president of the Belgium War Relief Society and head of the Belgium American Associates.  It was a connection that would bring royalty to No. 19 East 70^th Street in 1940.

The Nazis had overrun Luxembourg and its royal family arrived in New York on October 4 after being separated for months.  The following day the Grand Duchess Charlotte held a news conference from the parlor of the Morris mansion.  In part she told reporters “Under these circumstances, you will understand that although it is for me a great joy to see, after a long separation, my husband and my children, there is no happiness in my heart, nor will there be any wherever I may be, until my beloved people are free again.”

On May 4, 1944, at the age of 72, Dave Hennen Morris died in the house on East 70^th Street after a long illness.  The man whom Margaret Vanderbilt Shepard had felt unsuited to marry her daughter had risen to political heights, held directorates in several corporations, and was a leader in educational organizations.  He had been president of the New York Medical College and Hospital for Women; Chairman of the executive committee of the New York Orthopedic Dispensary and Hospital; Vice President of New York Post-Graduate Medical School and Hospital; Director of the American Bureau for Medical Aid to China; and a host of other positions and titles.

Four years later Alice Shepard Morris sold the mansion she and her husband had built four decades earlier.  The house was converted to offices in 1952 and one of them was leased by attorney Louis D. Frohlich.

Among Frohlich’s clients was underworld boss Thomas Luchese, known as Three Finger Brown.  On November 28 of that year Luchese sat in his lawyer’s office where he surrendered to F.B.I. agents.  In reporting the incident, The Times was not overly-sympathetic with the mobster.  “After the agents left, Mr. Frohlich issued over Luchese’s signature a lengthy legalistically worded statement that seemed quite out of character for the underworld boss who seldom tries more than one syllable at a time.”

The Morris music room in 1915 (top) and today. -- vintage photograph Architectural Record, January 1915 (copyright expired) contemporary view http://ny.curbed.com/archives/2013/08/23/old_upper_east_side_gallery_sells_to_major_london_developer.php#more

In 1973 the mansion was converted to a “commercial gallery,” and for decades would be the home of the well-known Knoedler Art Gallery.    Then, in 2013, developer Christian Candy purchased the home for $35 million, with plans to reconvert it to a single family home.

photo by Alice Lum