The 1888 Edinboro - 203 West 103rd Street

 

Like the green patina'ed bands at the cornice and window pediment on 103rd, the black bays on Amsterdam Avenue were once clad in copper.  photo by Anthony Bellov

In August 1887, Edward L. Angell filed plans for a "six-story brick apartment house" at the northwest corner of 103rd Street and Tenth Avenue (renamed Amsterdam Avenue in 1890) for developer Charles A. Fuller.  Angell projected the construction costs at $65,000, or about $2.27 million in 2026.  

The neighborhood Fuller chose was known as Manhattan Valley.  On December 20, 1890, the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide noted, "The first builder to erect a six-story flat in the neighborhood was Chas. A. Fuller."  Fuller dubbed his building the Edinboro.

Angell designed the structure in a blend of Queen Anne and Renaissance Revival styles.  His tripartite design was a study of mixed-media.  Faced in variegated beige brick, the Edinboro was trimmed in brownstone, sandstone, copper and terra cotta.  

On the avenue side were storefronts.  The residential entrance  at 203 West 103rd Street was uncompromisingly Renaissance Revival in style.  Sitting above a wide flight of steps, it was flanked by paneled pilasters capped with rows of anthemions.  They supported a heavy entablature elaborately carved with Renaissance inspired decorations.

The stonework has been painted and the entrance modernized with unsympathetic doors more expected in a public school building.  photograph by Anthony Bellov

The 103rd Street elevation included a panel carved with a zig-zagging ribbon and surmounted by an arched, swag-filled pediment.  At the fifth floor were quilt-like panels of Queen Anne-style terra cotta tiles, and at the sixth a shield on a leafy background announced the construction date.  A large, ogee gable that rose from the sixth floor and interrupted the cornice was outlined with copper.

The Amsterdam Avenue side was distinguished by copper-clad bays.  Those on the third floor were fronted with blind balustrades and capped with Renaissance-style triangular pediments.  Angell designed the cornice as more of a parapet composed of a regimented table of brick-stepped corbels.

The ribbon design smacked of the letter M.  photograph by Anthony Bellov

Potential residents could choose from apartments of five, seven or eight rooms with a bath.  (There was a total of 26 apartments in the building.)  Tenants could patronize the restaurant in the building and rents were offered "with or without meals."  An advertisement boasted, "hot water, gas ranges, steam heat" and "uniformed service."  (The uniformed staff would have included the elevator operator and hall boys, available for doing errands like carrying packages, delivering mail and such.)  Rents ranged from $600 to $900 per year--about $2,000 to $3,000 a month today.

Among the residents in the 1890s were civil engineer Edward P. North, who was appointed Water Purveyor for the Department of Public Works in 1895; real estate broker John W. Stevens, who purchased his first Upper West Side property in 1854; and banker and stockbroker John W. Gilbough.

John W. Gilbough, King's Views of the New York Stock Exchange, 1898 (copyright expired)

Richard Spillane and his family lived in the Edinboro as early as 1903.  An editor, he and his wife had at least one daughter.  They worshiped at St. Agnes's Chapel on West 91st Street.  Robert J. Hudson was on the staff there.  The 53-year-old was described by The Evening World as "an evangelist and Bible class leader."  

In the spring of 1903, Spillane's daughter came home from Riverside Park with a horrific tale.  Robert Hudson routinely "gathered the little children around him and read them stories from the Bible," said The Evening World.  "He would then take liberties with the tots."  

Enraged, Spillane had Hudson arrested in April on charges of "accosting girls in Riverside Park and showing them indecent sketches."  Spillane also told other parents of the crimes.  On April 3, Hudson appeared in Magistrate Crane's private quarters.  Testifying against him were Richard Spillane and two other fathers, Dr. J. H. Prentice and R. C. Stannard.  Stannard had already made up his mind about Hudson's guilt, saying that if he "ever dared to show his face in the neighborhood again he would riddle him with bullets."

Hudson insisted he, "never did anything wrong in my life."  He told the magistrate, "I play ball with the boys and pat the girls on their heads."  When Magistrate Crane asked why he had been forced to leave Spencer, Massachusetts, Hudson explained that "Some malicious persons there said I was stealing hay."

Robert J. Hudson was tried in the Court of Special Sessions on April 14.  Richard Spillane was there to testify, as were four little girls ranging from eight to 12 years old.  Spillane said in part:

His character is bad for he told me himself he was driven from Spencer, Massachusetts.  He is the enemy of every child that frequents the Drive.  He told me he wouldn't blame me if I killed him.  The women wanted to hang him to a tree.

In his defense, Hudson insisted, "the most he was guilty of was a little indiscretion."  He pointed out, "All men are subject to indiscretions."  Justice Mayer did not agree.  He sentenced Hudson to eight months in the penitentiary.

Living in the Edinboro at the time of the scurrilous trial was professional whistler Alice J. Shaw, who, with three of her daughters, shared an apartment with her aunt, Harriet Goodhue.  Born Alice J. Horton in 1853, she divorced her husband, William Holland Shaw in 1888.  (Somewhat scandalously, on May 15, 1888 The New York Sun reported, "A report is in circulation that Mrs. Alice Shaw, the whistler, is to be married to the Hon. William F. Cody, better known as Buffalo Bill...Buffalo Bill, it may be added, is married.  Mrs. Shaw is, too, but is suing for a divorce.")

Alice was a celebrity.  Following her divorce she honed her talent of whistling.  By the time she and her daughters moved into the Edinboro, she had traveled the world, had performed for the Prince of Wales, and The Times-Union described her as being "well known throughout the country."

Alice J. Shaw, The Amusement Bulletin, October 19, 1889 (copyright expired)

Alice was sued by photographer Theodore C. Marceau for $143.09 in publicity photographs.  In  court on February 8, 1903, she was asked, "What are you?"  She answered, "I am an artist--a musical artist.  I am a professional whistler."

In the spring of 1907, another entertainer, actor Willard Hutchinson, moved into the Edinboro with his wife.  While the 29-year-old thespian was appearing in Toledo, Ohio in May that year, his valise was stolen.  Among the items inside were his new lease and business card.  The next week, sans valise, Hutchinson returned to New York.  In the meantime, the thief in Ohio was using his identity to pass bad checks.  On May 11, Hutchinson was arrested and jailed in The Tombs after Toledo police had sent a telegram with his information and a photograph.

In court the next morning, Hutchinson complained, "It's pretty hard luck for a fellow to be arrested and jailed because a crook swipes his suit case."  His "hard luck" worsened when he was told he would be held until the arrival of a Toledo detective "to see if he is the man wanted," reported the New York Herald on May 12.  Five days later, The New York Times reported that he had been dismissed, saying that the "picture and description of Hutchinson were not those of the man who had committed the fraud."

The Edinboro continued to attract upper-middle-class tenants, like civil engineer John Christian Ostrup and his wife, the former Mary Forbes Whyte, who were here as early as 1910.  Born in Denmark in 1864, he was educated at the Royal Cadet School in Copenhagen, received his Civil Engineering degree at the Polytechnic School in Copenhagen, and did post-graduate work at Chicago Engineering School.  In 1907 he was hired as Professor of Structural Engineering at the Stevens Institute of Technology in Hoboken.  He was, as well, a consulting engineer with offices at 17 Battery Place.

British Engineers and Allied Professions in the Twentieth Century 1910 (copyright expired)

Henry "Harry" Anderson was born in 1869.  He married Grace Irene Ryder in the Church of the Transfiguration on April 8, 1907.  An avid yachtsman, he became a member of the New York Athletic Club's yacht division in 1902 and later a member of the Larchmont Yacht Club.  

As a representative of the importing and exporting firm Roderick & Rumsey, Anderson traveled abroad regularly.  He was in London in March 1912 on business and booked passage home on the new luxury liner RMS Titanic.  Interestingly, while Grace did not accompany him on the trip, their dog did.  Somewhat surprisingly, Anderson was rescued by the RMS Carpathia following the Titanic's sinking.  (Unfortunately, his dog was not so lucky.)

Once aboard the Carpathia, Anderson attempted to telegram Grace, saying, "Safe aboard Carpathia.  Do not worry."  The wireless operator, however, was faced with a mountain of messages  and Andersons's was one of those that was not transmitted.  

Grace Anderson died at the age of 38 on June 9, 1915.  Harry Anderson was still living in the Edinboro as late as 1919.

In 1940 the copper bays on the Amsterdam Avenue side and the distinctive ogee gable on the side street were intact.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services

Stockbroker John L. Burness lived here in the early Depression years.  The bachelor maintained a country home in Sea Cliff, Long Island.  On Friday, June 21, 1935, he left 203 West 103rd Street to spend the weekend at the home of William Brown at Atlantic Beach, Long Island.  The men played golf at the Lido Country Club that afternoon.

The next morning, Brown went to his office in Rockville Centre.  Burness got up and, for some reason, went into the garage.  There, according to police, he got into an argument with a maid, 20-year-old Dorothea Kassady.  Later that morning, Burness's body was discovered in the garage.  "It was said death was due to carbon monoxide fumes," reported The New York Times.

But an autopsy revealed a blunt-force injury on the back of Burness's skull.  An investigation discovered that Dorothea Kassady quarreled with the 30-year-old "over money she said he owed her."  She hit him over the head with a hammer, then turned on the ignition of the Brown's automobile and closed the garage doors to stage his murder as carbon monoxide poisoning.

photo by Anthony Bellov

In 1948, 203 West 103rd Street was renovated.  There were now 42 apartments in the building--about twice as many as there were originally.  The tenants were still middle-class.  Among the residents in 1949 was Rafael Rio, a representative of the Puerto Rican Government.  Born in 1888, he relocated to New York City as a young man.  He held memberships to the Whitehall Club, the New York Athletic Club, the Pan-American Society and the Maritime Exchange.

Panels of terra cotta, Queen Anne-style tiles decorate the fifth floor.  photograph by Anthony Bellov

In 1957, jazz saxophonist John William "Trane" Coltrane  and his wife, Naima, moved into an apartment here.  Naima (born Juanita Grubbs) was a Muslim convert and had a daughter, Antonia (later renamed Syeeda).  Coltrane later adopted her.

John William Coltrane, from the collection of the Library of Congress

Coltrane had been a part of Miles Davis's successful group, the First Great Quinet.  According to Ben Ratliff of The New York Times later, the group dissolved partly because of Coltrane's heroin addiction.  By the time he moved his family into 203 West 103rd Street, he had beaten his addiction.  In his Saxophone Colossus: The Life and Music of Sonny Rollins, Aiden Levy writes:

Coltrane invited [Freddie] Hubbard to practice with him at the apartment he shared with his wife, Naima, and his stepdaughter, Syeeda, at 203 West 103rd Street.  Coltrane was developing the "Coltrane changes" that culminated in "Giants Steps."

Hubbard later recalled, "I'd take the subway to Trane's house every day he was in town.  I had a headache when I left there because he was practicing so much."

The Coltranes left 203 West 103rd Street in 1959.  He is remembered today as one of the most influential figures in 20th century jazz music.

The top of the gable has been chopped off.  Happily, its copper outline survives.  photograph by Anthony Bellov

By the late 1970s, the striking ogee gable was decapitated.  Then, in 2017, plans were filed for "facade repair."  It was likely at this time that Edward L. Angell's distinctive copper bays were removed.  The changes greatly diluted what had been a highly unusual and attractive design.

many thanks to Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

The Haworth - 239 West 103rd Street

 

photograph by Anthony Bellov

Clarence Fagan True opened his architectural practice in 1889.  He would design at least 270 rowhomes on the Upper West Side before the turn of the century, earning him the moniker "the Face of the Upper West Side." In 1898, developer Lawrence Buckley gave True a rare commission--that of designing an apartment building on 103rd Street between Broadway and West End Avenue, rather than a row of townhomes.

Completed in 1899 at a cost of $60,000 (about $2.4 million in 2026), the six-story-and-basement Haworth was faced in beige Roman brick and trimmed in limestone.  Above a short stoop, the arched entrance sat within an impressive portico with Scamozzi columns, a wide entablature decorated with Renaissance designs and a carved ornament.  

photograph by Anthony Bellov

True outlined the lower and midsection with stone quoins and placed the windows within Gibbs surrounds.  The elegant stone-faced top floor sat below an overhanging roof.  Its round-arched openings were separated by paired, engaged Scammozi columns.

An advertisement on March 11, 1899 warned potential renters, "six Apartments only remaining unleased."  It described the apartments as being "fully decorated, tiled bathroom, &c., &c."  The advertisement boasted an electric elevator, electric lights, and steam heat.  It said that the Haworth offered "full attendance," meaning that the building's staff included uniformed "hall boys" would be on call to carry packages, deliver mail, and such; and an elevator operator.  Rent for the seven-room apartments was $70, or $2,800 per month today.

The tenants maintained small domestic staffs, and in 1899 help-wanted ads appeared in newspapers seeking maids, cooks and laundresses.  

Among the initial residents was William McKinley Forbes.  Born in Scotland in 1814, he arrived in America in the 1830s.  He operated a dry goods business in Brooklyn before retiring around 1879.  Sadly, the 85-year-old widower would not enjoy his new apartment for long.  On May 3, 1899, just weeks after moving in, he died here.

Another distinguished tenant at the time was Samuel Reeve.  He descended from eight generations of American Reeves, the first of whom settled in Long Island.  Born in 1807, Samuel Reeve came to New York City at the age of 15.  The New-York Tribune remarked that he "cast his first vote for John Quincy Adams for President."  Like William Forbes, he was retired and a widower.  (His late wife was Ann Amelia Caroline Remsen.)  For years he had operated a merchant tailoring establishment in the St. Nicholas Hotel.  He died in his apartment on December 22, 1903 at the age of 96 and his funeral was held in the parlor the next day.

Actor Charles Abbott (whose stage name was Charles Abbott Mace) and his wife, Margaret Julia Mitchell, known to audiences as Maggie Mitchell, were also initial residents.  Maggie first appeared on stage at the Chambers Street Theatre in the role of  Julia in The Soldier's Daughter in 1851.  She was an intimate friend of actor John Wilkes Booth.  Ironically, one of her fans was President Abraham Lincoln, who attended her performances at Ford's Theatre.  At one point, Mary Todd Lincoln and the President invited her to tea at the White House.

This portrait of Maggie Mitchell was taken in 1899, the year she moved into the Haworth.  Players of the Present, 1899 (copyright expired)

Maggie and Charles were married in 1889, while co-starring in Boston.  The San Antonio Light would remark about Maggie's personal wealth later, saying, "The stage brought not only fame, but fortune to Maggie Mitchell.  She owned apartment buildings on Manhattan Island and had a [summer] home in the theatrical colony at Long Branch."

Among the hall boys who worked in the Haworth in 1901 was Clinton Ward, who was a favorite of Maggie Mitchell.  On March 12, The Morning Telegraph reported that Ward went "to the St. Andrew Apartments, 102 West End avenue, to call on his friend, Robert Daniel, a hall boy there."  Daniel was out to lunch, and Clinton Ward, "it is alleged, borrowed his overcoat, which was hanging in the hall."  Robert Daniel notified the police and Clinton Ward was arrested for theft.  The Morning Telegraph titled its article, "Maggie Mitchell Weeps / Aged Actress Learns Her Pet Hallboy, Clinton Word [sic], Is Under Arrest."

The family of Daniel Thompson Pierce Jr. lived here as early as 1904.  Born in Washington, D. C. in 1875, Pierce earned his law degree in 1894 but turned to journalism.  The next year he became editor of Public Opinion and contributed articles on political and social subjects to various newspapers and magazines.  Pierce married Hadassah Hamilton Hellen, known as Dessie, in 1896.  They had a daughter, Hellen Hadassah, born in 1897.  A son, Daniel Pierce III, would be born here in 1907.

Another resident with an impressive pedigree was Smith Thompson.  A lawyer and agent for the Mutual Life Insurance Company, he was born in 1857.  His maternal great-grandfather was Daniel D. Tompkins, a United States Supreme Court Justice, Vice President of the United States under James Monroe, and Governor of New York.  Thompson's paternal grandfather, also named Smith Thompson, was James Monroe's Secretary of the Navy from 1819 to 1823, and, like his father-in-law, was a United States Supreme Court Justice.

The Haworth continued to attract respected figures, like Harvey Mark Thomas, founder of the Thomas Publishing Company and editor of Industry Equipment News; Deputy Assistant District Attorney Edwin Benedict McGuire, here as early as 1926; and retired attorney William Lewis Barnes.

Barnes was born in 1842 and was a widower.  In the spring of 1926, he went to a mountain resort at Wernersville, Pennsylvania.  The 84-year-old became ill in the early part of May.  About two weeks later, on May 25, other visitors got a gruesome shock.  The New York Times reported, "His body was found hanging by other guests, apparently only a few hours after death."

At the fifth floor were Gibbs surrounds, which drew from 18th century English prototypes.  They coexisted with Renaissance inspired detailing at the sixth.  photograph by Anthony Bellov

Even during the Depression years, residents of 239 West 103rd Street were affluent, like the Francis S. McDonnell family, who owned at least one automobile and a 35-foot motor cruiser, the Alice Bee.  

Son John McDonnell was driving through Dobbs Ferry on May 27, 1929, when he ran out of gas.  He and his passenger broke two locks and disconnected the gas line on the village's steam roller and started siphoning gas.  And then Patrolman Edward Doyle showed up.  The Yonkers New York Statesman said that "the desire to get just a few cents worth to carry his car to New York cost John McDonnell...$25 in a fine."  McDonnell left his car as security until he could acquire the money.

On August 21, 1934, Francis S. McDonnell took a party of eight men up the Hudson River on the Alice Bee.  They sailed past Yonkers and were on the way back when Thomas Keane "lost his balance and fell overboard," as reported by The New York Times.  George McDonnell and another passenger, George Amey, dived in after him.  The article said, "They got him back aboard the boat unconscious."  Unfortunately, the 35-year-old married father of two died on the dock.

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

Significant change came to 239 West 103rd Street in 1940 when it was converted to a single-room-occupancy hotel.  Where once well-heeled residents enjoyed seven-room suites, there were now 13 furnished rooms per floor.

Living here early in 1944 was Irving N. Kaufman.  Not wanting to pay for his long-distance telephone calls, the 25-year-old identified himself to the operator as E. J. Conroy, "head of the FBI here."  He insisted "that he was entitled to make a long-distance call without payment," reported The New York Times on February 21.  She turned the call over to her supervisor.  Kaufman threatened to have him arrested for a "violation of the Federal communications ruling," if his call was not put through charge-free.  Kaufman never made his telephone call.  Instead, he was arrested on charges of impersonating an FBI agent.

photograph by Anthony Bellov

In January 1960, Minnie Smith, the owner of 239 West 103rd Street, incurred "heavy fines" by the State Rent Administration, which described her as a "neglectful landlord."  Two months later, on March 25, The New York Times reported that numerous violations had resulted in "lengthy litigation" and the eviction of all tenants.  The City Housing Authority seized the building with plans "to repair the rooming house and reconvert the interiors to apartments for families."  Work was completed in 1963 as part of the Douglass Houses project.  There are now four apartments per floor in the building.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

A Severe Transformation - 1 West 103rd Street

 

photograph by Anthony Bellov

In 1892, developer J. C. Barth completed an ambitious project -- the erection of nine "five-story brick and stone flats" on Central Park West.  Designed by Edward Wenz in the Romanesque Revival style, the buildings stretched from 103rd to 104th Street.  Seven of them faced the avenue and two opened onto the side streets.  Wenz faced the buildings in yellow Roman brick atop a striated brownstone base.  Each of the entrances sat below layered arches upheld by clustered columns.  Here, the architect used historic license by adding Renaissance inspired decorations.

Brutalized today, the former entrance originally had a glass transom.  The intricate carvings on either side once continued into the now blank upper panels.  photograph by Anthony Bellov

The southern building, 1 West 103rd Street, attracted a variety of tenants, including several theatrical figures.  Among the first was actor and manager Harry Hine, who, with his wife, were original tenants.

Two years prior to moving into 1 West 103rd Street, Hine received a windfall.  On June 6, 1890, The Times-Democrat said he "left Hallen & Hall's 'Later On' in St. Paul as soon as he heard of his good fortune and came straight to New York."  That "good fortune" was his inheriting $50,000 from Horace S. Lanfair.  The amount would translate to about $1.8 million in 2026.

The Indianapolis News called Hine, "one of the best known of the younger generation of American theatrical managers."  He would not enjoy newly found wealth, however, for long.  At the time of his inheritance, he was already showing symptoms of consumption, known today as tuberculosis.  He became ill in the fall of 1892 and died in his apartment on February 12, 1893. 

Alfred W. Barthelmess married actress Caroline Harris on September 2, 1893.  The newlyweds moved into 1 West 103rd Street where their only son, Richard Semler Barthelmess, was born on May 9, 1895.  Alfred died at the age of 34 on May 5, 1896.  Caroline not only continued her stage career, she tutored her son in the dramatic arts.  

Actress Caroline Harris and her actor son, Richard Barthelmess.  (original source unknown)

Both would go into silent films, and Richard would become a well-known silent film actor, starring opposite Lillian Gish in D. W. Griffith's Broken Blossoms and Way Down East.  He would go on to co-found the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, and be nominated twice for the Academy Award for Best Actor.

Celebrated actress Alice Fischer and her Shakespearean actor husband William Harcourt King lived here as early as 1902.  Alice was born in January 1869 and debuted on the stage in 1887.  The following year she first appeared on Broadway in the role of Minna in Little Lord Fauntleroy.

Born in 1866, King was known to audiences as William Harcourt.  He and Alice were married on May 7, 1893.

Alice Fischer suffered a frighting incident on the night of October 16, 1902.  After her performance that night, she was heading home in a carriage on Fifth Avenue when, at around midnight, a man in evening dress walked directly in front of the vehicle and was nearly run down.  The man "grabbed the bridle and began to abuse" the cabman, reported The New York Times.  When the driver "whipped up his horse to go on," the angry pedestrian pried a brick from the pavement and hurled it at the cab, breaking the side window and striking Alice's face.  He then dashed into the University Club.

The New York Times reported that Alice "drove up to the West Forty-seventh Street Station...bleeding from a severe cut on her cheek."  After reporting the incident and giving police a description of the attacker, said the article, "Miss Fischer drove away, saying she was going to a doctor to have her wound dressed."

Alice Fischer, from the collection of the Library of Congress.

Alice's personal maid was Sally Pate, and their relationship had an unexpected start.  On March 29, 1899, Sally arrived from Atlanta, Georgia to audition for Williams & Walker, a minstrel company "that made a specialty of good singing and dancing," according to the New York Herald.  But her train was delayed by three hours and when she arrived at the theater, the role had already been cast.

The dejected would-be entertainer "looked about for some other theatrical engagement," said the newspaper.  Finding a position for a female Black entertainer was difficult, at the time.  Alice Fischer, who heard of her plight, realized that as much as did Sally.  The next day Sally was working for Alice Fischer as her "lady in waiting," as worded by the New York Herald. 

Now, eight years later on April 16, 1907, Sally was still living  and working for Alice and William.  That night she was married in the drawing room here to William Henry Bunn.    

The entrance to 1 West 103rd Street is at the left, on the side street.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

The next morning, Alice left for Chicago on tour and, apparently, William accompanied her.  Bunn worked at the ice cream counter of a West 103rd Street pharmacy and the newlyweds had no money for a honeymoon.  The New York Herald said that Alice had given them the use of "the entire flat while the actress is in Windtown."

An interesting tenant here as early as 1905 was Ottoman Zar-Adusht Ha'nish, described by the New York Herald as "the Public Instructor of Mazdaznan Philosophy in America."  Ha'nish was not only its instructor, but he was the founder of the neo-Zoroastrian religious movement.  Among its tenets were a vegetarian diet, "intestinal hygiene," and fasting.  

One of his students, Mrs. Brownie Rathbone Weaverson, took the practice too far, according to police, who arrested her on March 18, 1905 "for practising [sic] medicine and attempting to cure a gangrene leg."  In reporting the incident, the New York Herald called Ha'nish, "the head of Mrs. Weaverson's cult."

Terra cotta panels depict fearsome chimeras.  photograph by Anthony Bellov.

An advertisement in The New York Times in 1907 offered a seven-room corner apartment with bath at $75, or about $2,700 per month today.  The ad mentioned that the apartment had a "fine view."

The building was updated in July 1919.  The owner, H. S. Proctor, hired architects DeRosa & Pereira to do "improvements" that cost him the equivalent of more than $1.8 million today.  Presumably, the renovations included electricity and improved plumbing.

Tenants continued to be professional and upper-middle-class.  Among them in the 1920s was journalist Edward E. Marriott.  Born in England in 1862, he came to America as a boy.  In the 1890s, he was hired as a reporter for The New York World.  In 1918, he joined the editorial staff of the New York American.

On January 6, 1944, The New York Times reported that the nine buildings, including 1 West 103rd Street, had been purchased by Herbert H. Bachrach and Ira Rosenstock.  The article said they were "modernized into 110 apartments of small units."

The 1971 project resulted in staggering contrast in material and architectural styles. photograph by Anthony Bellov

That renovation could not compare with the changes that were completed in 1971.  Almost all of the 1892 facade was stripped away.  (By conserving sections of the exterior, the developers did not have to conform to "new building" conditions.)  The original entrances on 103rd and 104th Street were preserved--more or less--and bricked up.  Although described as a remodeling because of the various surviving elements on the side street elevations, the  term "facadism" would be more accurately applied to the project, but even then only by the most generous definition.

many thanks to historian Anthony Bellov for suggesting this post

The George Gershwin House - 316 West 103rd Street

 

photograph by Alice Lum

Born New York City in 1857, Mark Ash graduated from Columbia University Law School and co-founded Alexander & Ash in 1878.  He and his wife, Rose, had three children, Edward, Alma and Jennie.

In 1898, Ash hired architect Henri Fouchaux to design a four-story and basement house at 316 West 103rd Street.  A marriage of Beaux Arts and Renaissance Revival styles, the 25-foot wide residence was faced in limestone and parged brick.  The rusticated parlor level sat above a dog-legged stoop protected by French-inspired iron railings.  The transoms of the arched parlor openings wore handsome metal screens of wreaths and stylized vines.  The spandrels of underside of the two-story, faceted oriel directly above was intricately carved with sprays of full blown roses.  The fourth floor sat back from the blustraded cornice, nearly unseen from the street.

photograph by Alice Lum

The Ash family was highly involved in Jewish causes.  Ash was a member of the Judaeans and a supporter of the Jewish Protectory and Aid Society, and Rose was a member of the National Council of Jewish Women.  

Construction was completed in 1899 and a search for domestic help began.  On November 9, a succinct advertisement in the New York Journal and Advertiser read, "Nurse--Competent.  Call between 10 and 2, 316 West 103d st.," and six days later an advertisement sought, "Young man to care for furnace; sleep home."

Also living in the house was William Ash, Mark's unmarried brother.  William was born in 1871 and graduated from New York University and the New York Law School.  He, too, was a member of Alexander & Ash.  The brothers co-authored technical books like the 1899 The Building Code of the City of New York; and Ash's Annotated Greater New York Charter, published in 1906 and updated in 1912 and 1913.

Edward Ash graduated from the Ethical Culture School in 1909 and received his law degree from Fordham University in 1913.  Not surprisingly, he joined Alexander & Ash.  

In the meantime, his father had delved into real estate development, as well.  In 1910, for instance, he and Sonn Brothers erected The Riviera, at 790 Riverside Drive, described by the Real Estate Record & Guide as, "one of the largest and most magnificently constructed and equipped apartment houses in the city."

Alma Ash graduated from Barnard College.  The parlor was the scene of her wedding to landscape artist Alonzo Klaw on November 12, 1912.  The New York Times reported, "It was a quiet home wedding, only the relatives and a few intimate friends being present."

William Ash died of Bright's Disease on January 14, 1915.  The attorney was 43 years old.

The following year, Edward enlisted in the U.S. Army.  He trained at Plattsburg, New York.  It is unclear whether he actively served in the war, but he was back at 316 West 103rd Street on July 12, 1917 when he married Jeannette Albert in the bride's Brooklyn home.

On July 28, 1923, the Record & Guide reported that Mark Ash had sold the house to Mary E. Lane.  Two years later, on September 11, 1925, The New York Evening Post reported that Mary Lane sold the house, "to George Gershwin, the music composer."  Gershwin was just 28 years old.

Now home to the entire Gershwin family, it was creatively compartmentalized to accommodate the living arrangements of the all-adult members.  George's parents, Rose and Morris Gershwin (born in Russia as Roza Bruskina and Moishe Gershwin) took the parlor floor; George's siblings, Arthur and Frances, were on the third; brother Ira moved into the fourth floor (and a year later his bride, Leonore would be there); and George took the top floor.

George Gershwin had recently returned from Paris.  He was just seeing the glint of success in the music world, yet fame and real fortune were still a few years away.  

Part of the English basement was turned into a table tennis room and two grand pianos were lugged into the house for George.  Howard Pollack, in his George Gershwin: His Life and Work, writes, 

Observers painted a picturesque portrait of this residence, with Morris riding the elevator, Rose cooking borscht in the kitchen, Frances on her way to dance lessons, and George making occasional retreats to the nearby Whitehall Hotel to get some work done—a scene that might have sprung from the pages of the play You Can’t Take it with You (1936) by two friends of the Gershwins, George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart.  Years later, Frances remembered with some amazement how she would sometimes return home and find groups of people independently socializing on each floor of the house.

George used the top floor as living quarters, office and studio.  Shortly after moving in, he landed a $35-a-week job as a rehearsal pianist for the Bolton-Wodehouse-Kern musical Miss 1917.  Bored with playing the same tunes over and over, he gradually slipped in his own subtle versions.  The creative variations caught the attention of management and he was soon elevated to accompanist for the Century Sunday Concerts—a popular show featuring the likes of Fanny Brice, Bert Williams, Ann Pennington and Eddie Cantor.

This portrait of George Gershwin was made in 1937. from the collection of the Library of Congress

George and his brother Ira would not be staying in the 103^rd Street house with their family for long.  In 1927, flushed with success and with their plays Strike up the Band and Funny Face opening on Broadway, the brothers moved to adjoining penthouses at 33 Riverside Drive.

On November 3, 1930, The New York Sun reported on the marriage of Frances Gershwin, who was now 22 years old, to Leopold Godowsky, Jr., "son of the pianist and composer."  The wedding was held in Ira Gershwin's Riverside Drive penthouse.

The following year, on September 19, 1931, The New York Times reported, "George Gershwin, the composer, sold his brownstone [sic] residence at 316 West 103d after an ownership of many years."  Only two months later, the buyer, Mary S. Drain resold it to Isidor and Rose Becker "for alteration into small suites," as reported by The Times on December 24.  "This is a four-story house containing sixteen rooms, four baths and an electric elevator," said the article.

The Beckers leased rooms to a variety of tenants including conductor Jasha Horenstein, who entertained visitors like Artur Rubenstein here.  It was a frightening time for German Americans and, especially, German Jews.  Across the street from 316 West 103rd Street, at the corner of Riverside Drive, was the Masters Apartments where Congressman Sol Bloom lived.  The Jewish chairman of the House Committee on Foreign Relations opposed isolationism and on Sunday afternoons for two years—between 1939 and 1941—the sidewalk outside saw pro-Nazi demonstrators.

No. 316 West 103^rd was not immune to political intrigue.  One resident, a waiter at the Astor Hotel, was blatant about his pro-Nazi sympathies.  One day in 1940, five FBI agents came to the house and arrested him as a member of an espionage ring centered at the Astor Hotel.  He was soon deported.

The unusual stoop can be seen in this 1941 photograph.   The original fourth floor can been glimpsed behind the balustrade above the cornice.  via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

In 1947, the house was converted to apartments, two per floor.  The stoop was shaved off and the entrance moved to the former English basement.  The original railings were reinstalled as the areaway fencing.   

A fascinating tenant in 1952 was Gordon Langley Hall.  Born in England in 1922, Hall was society editor of the Port Chester Daily Item.  On March 15 that year, The New York Age reported, "A reception honoring the baritone [John Fleming] followed his recital and was given at the home of Gordon Langley Hall, 316 West 103rd Street."  Hall would later live as a female, changing her name to Dawn Langley Pepita Hall.  She claimed to have been born with an unusual medical condition that swelled her genitals and caused the misidentification of her sex.  And, indeed, she married John-Paul Simmons in 1969 and had a daughter.

photograph by Alice Lum

In 1998, the top floor was raised and given a grossly architecturally incompatible facade.  Despite that and the unfortunate loss of the stoop, Henri Fouchaux's handsome and unusual design stands out along the block.

The 1894 The Northrup - 74-76 West 103rd Street

 

image via LandmarkWest!

In 1894, developer Charles Buek commissioned George Keister to design two similar apartment buildings on the western blockfront of Manhattan Avenue between 102^nd and 103^rd Streets.  Like its near twin, the northern building was faced in beige brick above an undressed brownstone base.  The rusticated first floor was clad in variegated Roman brick and the entrance was protected by a handsome stone portico.  Keister added touches of Queen Anne to his otherwise Romanesque Revival-style design.  Completed within the year, the Northport cost Buek $52,000 to construct, or about $1.9 million in 2025.
 
The six- and seven-room apartments were described in an advertisement as being “very choice.”  Tenants enjoyed “perfect appointments and hall service,” said an ad, and “extra store rooms.”  (Hall service meant that uniformed “hall boys” were on hand to help with packages, mail, and other errands.) The $50 rent would translate to about $1,890 per month today.
 
The residents were comfortably middle- and upper-middle class.  One, however, found himself in trouble shortly after moving in.  William P. Robinson worked as a collector for Tillotson & Sons, book sellers.  (The term meant that he would collect outstanding amounts from retail customers.)  The 49-year-old was arrested on May 22, 1895.  The Yonkers, New York Statesman explained, “He is charged with having embezzled $10,000” and said, “The defalcation extends over a year.”  The police nabbed him just as he was preparing to leave for Chicago.
 
The Rev. James D. Steele lived here as early as 1900 through 1906.  A Presbyterian minister, while living here he was secretary of the Joint Committee on a Uniform Version of the Metrical Psalms.  The erudite clergyman also held a Ph.D. and made extra money teaching on the side.  In January 1900, he advertised, “Rev. J. D. Steele, PH. D., private tutor at pupils’ homes or at 74 West 103d St.”
 
Although Prohibition had ended in 1933, on March 28, 1938, the Yonkers, New York Statesman reported that resident Aldo Cipallini had been arrested “on a charge of possession of an illegal still.”  The 20-year-old was caught in a raid of a house in Tuckahoe, New York in which a 2,000-gallon still was found in operation.  Cipallini “insisted he was only a watchman.”  He was fined $200.
 

image via the NYC Dept of Records & Information Services.

By 1950, novelist Gordon Friesen and his wife Agnes Sis Cunningham lived here.  The couple had founded Broadside, a political song magazine and during the 1940s were members of the Almanac Singers, a folk singing group based in Greenwich Village.  Friesen’s novel Flamethrowers recalled his childhood in a Russian Mennonite family in Oklahoma.
 
The McCarthy Era was difficult for Gordon and Sis Cunningham.  They were blacklisted and while living here subsisted on welfare.  In the "Afterward" to the couple’s joint autobiography Red Dust and Broadsides, Ronald D. Cohen noted, “The FBI visited Gordon in 1954, who was then living at 74 West 103^rd Street, but he ‘stated he had nothing to say to the interviewing agents.’  Nonetheless, the local agent recommended to J. Edgar Hoover that a Security Index Card be prepared for Gordon, in addition to the ongoing file.”
 
In 1950, emerging artist Andy Warhol moved into a two-bedroom basement apartment with 17 “artists, writers, dancers,” according to Anthony Grudin in his Like a Little Dog.  Warhol’s biographer, Victor Bockris, writes, “It was a transition period, introducing him into the bohemian world of dance and theatre people.  He felt more affinity with them than with intellectuals…and for the first time Andy began, tentatively, exploring the homosexual underground.”  Bockris quotes a visitor who said, “All I remember is Andy sitting there drawing, surrounded by this complete chaos and people doing things that would seem to be disruptive of any concentration.  The food was mixed in with the clothes.”
 
Shortly afterward, the Northrup and its fraternal twin to the south were incorporated into the Douglass Houses.  They were not demolished because, according to a 1959 report by the New York State Division of Housing and Urban Renewal, “They were the best constructed of the older buildings and required the least in major structural repairs.”
 
Living here in 1989 was 29-year-old Marcus Bezear.  That spring he raped two women in the Penta Hotel.  A similar looking man was mistakenly arrested for the crime, but when Bezear raped another woman in the same hotel in August, he confessed to all three crimes.  He was  arrested on October 15 and charged with robbery and sexual abuse and held on $100,000 bail.
 
Once home to affluent, white-collar residents, the Northrup had sorely declined in 2014.  On October 5, television station PIX II reported, “When it rains, it really pours inside an Upper West Side apartment building.  The building, 74-76 West 103^rd Street, is nicknamed the ‘forgotten house,’ part of the Frederick Douglass Houses, operated by the New York City Housing Authority.”
 
Since Hurricane Sandy, the tenants told the reporter, streams of water poured into their apartments every time it rained.  Connie Taylor had lived in the building for half a century.  The reporter said, “The 61-year-old suffers from arthritis and scoliosis and has trouble walking, let along rearranging the buckets to catch all the rain water dripping through her leaky ceilings.”
 
Despite the drastic changes inside, the exterior of the Northrup is relatively unchanged since its completion in 1894.