The Victor Erbacher House - No. 330 West 86th Street

In 1890 prolific developer William E. D. Stokes teamed with builders Squier & Whipple to construct a row of upscale homes on the north side of 86th Street, between Riverside Drive and West End Avenue, and two others on the south side at Nos. 330 and 332.  Each would be 22-foot wide and rise four stories above a high English basement.

As construction neared completion, a near disaster was averted after fire broke out in No. 330 at around 2:00 on the morning of December 10, 1889.  In reporting that no significant damage incurred, The Sun got the contractor's name woefully wrong, calling it "Squire & Wempler's building."

Two months later Stokes sold No. 330, described by The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide as a "four-story high stoop and Tiffany brick and brown stone residence."  The $46,500 Victor Erbacher paid would be equal to about $1.25 million today.

Born in Vienna, Erbacher was the senior member of the "dress goods" firm of Erbacher & Byram.  He and his wife, the former Lavinia Alexander, who went by her middle name Anna, moved into a visually pleasing, if architecturally confusing, new home.  Upper West Side domestic architecture in the 1890s routinely mixed and matched historic styles and the Erbacher house was by no means an exception.

The entrance above the basement of rough-cut brownstone blocks echoed the Greek Revival doorways of the 1850s.  The brownstone-clad parlor level, decorated with neo-Classical motifs above the doorway and window, gave way to three stories of light-colored brick.  Here Renaissance-inspired panels separated the floors.  The marriage of styles culminated in a Flemish Renaissance Revival gable with an elaborate terra cotta tympanum and spiky finials which fronted a pyramidal attic roof.

The Erbachers had an infant son, Herbert, born just months before they moved in.  Highly visible in society, their movements carefully documented by the press.  The year following their purchase of the house, for instance, The New York Times mentioned that they were passengers on the steamship La Champagne headed for Cherbourg.  Other passengers, the article noted, were Countess A. de Diesbach, and Count and Countess Roffignac.

When Anna assisted Mrs. John Anderson in receiving guests at the debutante ball for her daughter Lucille on January 2, 1895, a society reporter told readers "Mrs. Erbacher wore lavender faille trimmed with point applique lace, corn-colored velvet, and sable.  She wore diamonds and pearls."

Close inspection reveals carved cherubs in the panels behind the drainage pipes--one playing the pipes, the other dancing.

Anna opened the 86th Street house on February 3, 1896 to aid the Riverside Day Nursery.  The two-day "sale of fancy articles" went on despite unfortunate weather; The Times noting "Several beautifully decorated tables stood in the large parlors, and were covered with hundreds of fancy articles, including embroideries and ornamented cakes."

At the close of the sale The Journal announced it was a financial success.  The newspaper listed the efforts of each volunteer, saying in part that "The cake table was in charge of Louise Stanford and Madeline Whele...Miss Juliet Clouse had charge of the flower booth...[and] Miss Elsa Whele had charge of the ring cake, and Master Dorrie McIndoe held sway over the mysterious grab bag."

On July 13, 1903, shortly after the Erbachers completed their handsome summer home in Monmouth Hills, New Jersey, Victor suffered a fatal heart attack.  Interestingly, Anna chose not to hold his funeral in the 86th Street house, as might have been expected; but at the Collegiate Reformed Church on 77th Street and West End Avenue.

The exact amount of his estate is unclear; however young Herbert inherited what one newspaper reported was "upward of a million dollars."

Before long Anna moved to the hulking apartment building at the southeast corner of Riverside Drive and 95th Street.  But tragedy followed her.

In the summer of 1907 Anna and Herbert, now 18 years old, were at the country house.  On Saturday July 27 Herbert took the wheel of their touring car to take his mother and four other female passengers, including a 12-year old girl, for a ride.  Two miles outside the exclusive estate district of Bernardsville, Herbert turned onto the private drive of former senator Samuel S. Childs.  The Amsterdam Evening Recorder noted that the road "is unusually treacherous to automobilists on account of the many windings and high embankments, and is generally avoided by them."

At one point in the hairpin turn Herbert slammed on the brakes.  "They didn't have time to work before the car was bottom side up on the rocks fifteen feet below," wrote the newspaper.  While the women were relatively unharmed, the teen-aged driver was killed instantly.  "His skull was crushed and one arm and several ribs were broken and he was burned and scalded about the body."

In the meantime J. L. Thompson was living in the 86th Street house.  He was best known for his sporting ways and owned valuable thoroughbred race horses.  In 1908 he was a competitor in the Spalding annual Lawn Tennis Competition.

Prior to World War I, however, H. J. Finley had purchased both of the 1891 residences and operated them as rooming houses.  In April 1918 he sold both.  Florence Cohen purchased No. 330 and immediately hired architect Samuel Cohen to draw up plans to convert it to bachelor apartments.  His plans, filed in May, estimated the costs at $6,500.

The renovations resulted in the removal of the brownstone stoop and the entrance being dropped to street level.  A large window was cut into the former basement wall.  There were now two apartments per floor.

While Florence had anticipated a bachelor apartment, she accepted female tenants as well.  One of them was Virginia Venovens who arrived from Russia in 1919.  Like many innocent newcomers, Virginia met a man who would be her undoing.  He told her that he lived on Fifth Avenue and was worth $25 million.  And that he was in love with her.

Virginia fell in love as well.  But toward the end of 1921 "his affection for her cooled."  Jilted, the now 21-year old was devastated.  On the night of February 4, 1922 a maid saw her stagger into the hallway from her room and heard her say "I want to die."

The hopeless immigrant had swallowed iodine in her room.  The maid ran onto the street and called out for Patrolman McDonald, who summoned a doctor.

"After being treated she refused to go to the hospital, and declared she had no friends and would make another attempt to drink the poison," reported The New York Herald.  She was taken away to a private hospital.

The name of another tenant, 50-year old John Ford, ended up in the newspapers when he was arrested and accused of stealing 500 shares of capital stock.  The amount of his bail, $5,000 (more than $67,000 today), suggests the gravity of the crime.

The $20 deposit demanded by the owners for an apartment in 1930 was a significant amount in the Depression years.  John G. Medlock earned $30 a week as a bookkeeper; but by sharing an apartment with another couple, he thought his family could afford the rent here.

Medlock had married his wife when she was just 13 years old.  They had a six-year old son, Neil.   On Wednesday, July 8, 1930 while her husband was at work, Mrs. Medlock delivered the $20 deposit to the building superintendent, James Findlay.  "On Friday, however, her husband lost his position, and they found themselves in a desperate situation," reported The New York Times.

The 21-year old woman rushed back to No. 330 West 86th Street and requested her deposit back.  Findlay told her that deposits were non-refundable.  After pleaded her case in the West Side Court on July 7, she collapsed and had to be assisted out of the courtroom.  Findlay testified he was sorry but was simply obeying the rules.

Residents came and went throughout the decades, like Rose Raymond who taught piano here in the 1950s.  In the meantime the private homes of the block were demolished and replaced with modern apartment buildings until No. 330 was tightly viced between two of them.  Its mere 20-foot width would seem to make it unusable to developers.

In 1999 the city had taken possession of what journalist Alex Mindlin called "a decrepit, century-old brownstone at 330 West 86th Street, flanked by 15-story towers."  Under a state law meant to encourage the rehabilitation of "slum or blighted" buildings, the city sold the house to a group of tenants for $340,000.  The conditions of the bargain price were that they would renovate the building.

Instead, two years later, they jumped at the $2.25 million offered by Darkhorse Development which announced plans for a 17-story glass-and-brick residential building.  While the sellers were not put off by the concept, the neighbors were.  A law suit was initiated that dragged on for eleven years.

One of the development firm's owners, Robert Ricciardelli, told Mindlin, "We're not doing anything crazy.  We have plans to basically fill in the skyline on that lot."

The proposed replacement would "fill in the skyline."  renderings by Barry Rice Architects

Finally, in April 2010 the courts ruled in favor of Darkhorse Development, as long as the replacement building would have no more than four apartment units.  Ricciardelli spoke out again, saying the city had been "stubborn and illogical" and estimating his legal costs at about half a million dollars.

Nevertheless he was optimistic about the future, despite the restriction on the number of units.  "It sounds like something very interesting, like a townhouse in the sky," he said.

Darkhorse Development obviously rethought the townhouse in the sky idea, however.   In 2013 it put the building on the market on an "as is, where-is basis" saying the property "is ideal for an owner occupant, conversion to a single family, or as a luxury rental."

The 1891 contrast of materials and colors has been obscured by a slathering of cream-colored paint, with the the terra cotta and stone of the gable picked out in chocolate brown, giving it a sort of neo-Tudor effect.  The delightful and disrespected holdout begs for a sympathetic touch.

photographs by the author

The New York Institute of Music -- No. 560 West End Avenue

The turret window panes would have originally been curved to conform to the rounded shape.

William Earl Dodge Stokes was as colorful as he was wealthy.  For decades the multimillionaire would shake society with his marriages, divorces, law suits, an apparent illegitimate child and his being shot by a rebuffed actress.  But he is also best remembered for his tireless development of the Upper West Side.  Stokes envisioned Broadway (known as The Boulevard at the time) as rivaling the fashionable Champs Elysees in Paris and his residential structures in the neighborhood followed suit.

In 1889 Stokes’s architect of choice was Joseph H. Taft; and he was being kept busy.  That year, in March, Taft worked on designs for 20 upscale houses on the west side of West End Avenue, between 86^th and 88^th Street; and within a few months he designed five more on the opposite of the Avenue, Nos. 560 through 568, between 87^th and 88^th Street.

That last project, completed in 1890, was anchored by No. 560 on the northeast corner of West End Avenue and 87^th Street.   The brick and stone mansion rose four stories above a high basement and was decorated with deeply-carved panels, elaborate Flemish Renaissance dormers which nestled into the steep tiled roof and engaged towers which terminated in bell-shaped caps.  While the entrance was centered on the 100-foot long 87^th Street side; the residence took the more impressive West End Avenue address.

Despite the narrow West End Avenue width, Taft managed to squeeze in a second tower.

On August 18, 1892 Peter Gilsey, Jr. quietly married Caroline Dreyer in City Hall.  It was followed by a one-line announcement published by Gilsey’s wealthy and high profile family.  The Evening World, in response, wrote “The above was the dry announcement published this morning of a most romantic marriage.”

The newspaper recounted that six months earlier the 27-year old Gilsey had stopped into Hamper’s candy store at No. 9 Wooster Street.  “Caroline Dreyer dealt out the saccharine wares of the establishment.  Just turned nineteen, with snow-white complexion, chestnut hair and large brown eyes, tall, graceful, well-developed, moderately educated—such was Caroline Dreyer and Peter Gilsey, jr., fell in love with her.”

The socially-mismatched couple eventually won over the support of Peter’s uncle, John Gilsey; the first step in the family’s acceptance.  By 1901 Peter Gilsey was listing his home address as No. 560 West End Avenue.  The couple would stay in the mansion until 1905.

The array of sumptuous carvings culminated in the gable panel.

That year Bessie Clay took over the house as home to her West End Conservatory of Music.   The New-York Tribune reported “The first regular recital of Miss Clay’s conservatory will, it is announced, be given on Wednesday, November 23.”

Well-known and respected in the music world, Bessie Clay’s facility offered musical instruction by some of the nation’s preeminent instructors.  Students from out of town boarded in the house as well, the New-York Tribune noting on September 24, 1905 “The Institute also offers special home care and social privileges to resident students.”   By the time of its opening, the school’s name was changed to the New York Institute of Music. 

The Sun, October 22, 1905 (copyright expired)

The Musical Courier described it in 1907 saying it “is one of the most attractive schools of music in Greater New York, and in the country at large, for that matter.  Beautifully situated in the Riverside section, surrounded by churches and handsome residences, it appeals at once to persons of refined and artistic tastes.  As to the methods of Miss Clay and the faculty, including some of the world’s noted pedagogues, it is enough to say, that nothing is left undone to make students realize that thoroughness is the foundation of their musical equipment.”

Among the esteemed faculty was violin instructor Victor Kuzdo, who had trained internationally-known concert violinists like Efrem Zimbalist. Bessie Clay’s relationship with the violinist changed from professional to romantic and in 1910 she transferred title to the mansion to Kuzdo.

New-York Tribune, October 15, 1916 (copyright expired)

One of the students living here in 1911 was 19-year old Ada Forman.  She arrived from South Pasadena in September.  The Evening World said “She is said to be the daughter of a wealthy California man who died recently.”

In addition to her musical studies, Ada enrolled in the New York Normal School of Physical Education on West 59^th Street.  She was there on November 8.  While she was sitting on a fourth floor window sill, “chatting and laughing” with an instructor, Miss Carter, tragedy struck.  According to the teacher, “she suddenly toppled backward, clutched at the window frame, shrieked wildly and…disappeared through the opening.”

The Evening World reported “She turned completely over in the air and crashed through a skylight over the swimming pool in the basement.  The girl was found lying half in the water, on the edge of the pool.”  Doctors held out little hope of her survival.

Within two weeks, however, Bessie was restoring a sense of normalcy among the girls.  On November 26 The New York Times noted “Miss Bessie B. Clay of 560 West End Avenue gave a dance on Friday evening for a number of Southern girls who are spending the Winter with her.”

In the meantime, Victor Kuzdo was running the Institute.  Bessie’s name appeared second in importance in the advertisements; and Victor had other plans in mind.  A few days after the dance he purchased the four-story mansion at No. 145 Riverside Drive between 86^th and 87^th Streets, just a block away from the school.   The New York Times reported “Mr. Kuzdo conducts the New York Institute of Music, now at 560 West End Avenue, but it will soon be removed to the Riverside Drive house.”

It seems that Victor smelled profit in the West End Avenue mansion when the Wittnauer Realty Company began buying up the other residences on the block to build a 12-story apartment house.  But greed got in the way of his plans.  The New York Times explained that the “builders tried to buy the dwelling…to incorporate in the site, but they figured that the price was prohibitive.”  Kuzdo’s plans to move the school to Riverside Drive fell through.

The progression of Victor’s and Bessie’s relationship was complete by 1916.  Musical America mentioned on May 13 “Mrs. Victor Kuzdo, nee Bessie Clay, was hostess at a studio musicale at the New York Institute of Music, 560 West End Avenue on Friday Evening, May 5.

Victor Kuzdo sold No. 560 West End Avenue to Helen B. Warrington that year.  He had priced it at $75,000—in the neighborhood of $1.7 million in 2016.  In return he negotiated a four-year lease on the property for the school. 

At the termination of the lease, the New York Institute of Music vacated its home of nearly two decades.  The mansion was converted to 12 “high class” apartments.  An advertisement on September 19, 1920 offered “non-housekeeping 2 and 3 rooms, bath and foyer…brand new.”  Rents were placed at between $1,800 and $2,300 per year.  The description of “non-housekeeping” notified potential tenants that there were no kitchens.  It was a condition that prompted the owner to offer them as “bachelor apartments” by 1922.

New-York Tribune, December 10, 1922 (copyright expired)

Despite the building’s repeatedly being sold and resold—in 1922, 1929, 1939, 1945 and 1946, for instance, little was changed to the exterior other than the stoop being removed and the entrance lowered to street level.  The last remnant of W. E. D. Stokes’s grand block of homes happily survives because Victor Kuzdo's attempt to squeeze a developer backfired.

The stoop was removed during the 1919 renovation to apartments.

 photographs by the author