The Lost Grace Institute - 149-155 West 60th Street

A worker uses a hand mower on the surprisingly lush grass over the rocky outcropping.  The stone columns of the portico have been replaced and the Moore lampposts removed.  from the collection of the New-York Historical Society

By the early years following the Civil War James Moore had established his sizable estate on the mostly undeveloped Upper West Side.  Directories originally listed his address as simply "--- West 60th Street."  The property, which, ran through to 61st Street, between Ninth and Tenth Avenues (later Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues respectively) would have had gardens, stables, and orchards.

The Moore house was three stories tall, including the high mansard roof, above a shallow fieldstone English basement.  It sat on a high stone outcropping and, despite its rural setting, was the latest in architectural fashion and elegance.

Moore had arrived in New York from Ireland in the 1820's.  He became prominent in the National Guard, and as captain of the Montgomery Horse Troops had helped squelch the deadly Astor Place Riots in 1849.  That Moore had chosen this area for his home is not surprising.   He was among the first to recognize the potential of what was termed the West End and, as The Evening Post later said, "was known as a heavy speculator in west side real estate."  His focus was not purely on the Upper West side.  On October 27, 1883, for instance, The American Architect and Building News reported that he was erecting two four-story brick apartment buildings at No.s 595 and 597 West 26th Street.

The porch originally was graced by stone pillars.  photo by Josephine Kaas from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The Moore family were Catholics and worshiped at the Church of St. Paul the Apostle, just a block away to the south.   James, as well, sat on the Board of Managers of the Association for Befriending Children and Young Girls, backed by the House of The Holy Family.

By the time Moore died on September 25, 1888 his residence had received an address, No. 153 West 60th Street.  His funeral was held at the Church of St. Paul the Apostle three days later.  The World noted later that he left "a large fortune to his eight sons and daughters."

Five years later, on November 25, 1893, The World ran a front-page story entitled "Her Shrine Superb," and described the new altar of St. Catherine in the Church of St. Paul the Apostle.  It had been donated by Julia A. Moore, who still lived in the 60th Street house, in memory of her father.   The World described the altar as "one of the most magnificent in all New York."

Within two years the Moore family looked to sell off the estate.  On February 2, 1895 the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that "eight choice building lots on West 60th and 61st streets" would be sold at auction.  "They form part of the estate of the late James Moore," it added.  But on the day of the auction, when the highest bid was $9,750 each for the plots (just over $300,000 today), the real estate-savvy Moore family withdrew the offering.  

It was around that time that former Mayor William Russell Grace, his wife, the former Lillius Gilchrest, and their son Joseph P. Grace, began devising a plan for a tuition-free school for immigrant women.  Irish immigrants themselves, the Graces understood the hardships facing newcomers.  And they were no doubt fully aware of the reform movement, which stressed education for the poor, rather than charity.

Grace later explained that the idea came directly from a strike at the Ingersoll-Sergeant Drill company, which he partially owned.  With the men out of work, their families had no income at all.  He said the situation taught him "that what the workman needed most was a wife who could make a home."

On March 25, 1897 The New York Times reported that the Graces "have jointly set aside $250,000 for the founding of a manual training school for young women and girls."  Grace told reporters "It is the desire of my wife, my son, and myself to erect a building in some central locality of the city which will be appropriate for the education of young women and girls in the various technical occupations suitable for women."

The curriculum, he said, "will include the practical study of cooking and other housework, dressmaking, stenography, and such an amount of business methods as will fit them for the duties of clerks and secretaries.  In fact, every branch of practical education which can make a woman useful to her family and to the community and give her a means of earning an independent livelihood, if circumstances compel her to support herself, will be taught."

The advantages of a tuition-free education to the community were two-fold.  Not only would the women learn occupations, but as Grace pointed out, with the women earning a respectable living "there will be less vice to reform."

Three months later, on May 28, 1897, The New York Times reported "Grace Institute, the industrial school for young women, projected and heavily endowed only recently by former Mayor William R. Grace, is to have a permanent home.  Yesterday the old Moore mansion, at 153 West Sixtieth Street, was purchased from the heirs of the late Thomas [sic] Moore, and the spacious rooms of the old structure will be completely refitted and adapted to the needs of the new institution."  The Institute had paid $32,000 for the property, nearly $1 million in today's dollars.

The article said "The old Moore mansion has long been a landmark.  Surrounded on every side by flats, its old stone walls and mansard roof, touched by the tree tops, are sure to attract the attention of a passer by."  

By September the alterations were nearly completed.  They included brick additions on either side.  Grace had arranged with the Roman Catholic order of the Sisters of Charity to run the school.  Among them would be Sister Marie Dolores, whom The Times was quick to remind its readers "was known to the world before she took the religious vows as Miss Euphemia Van Rensselaer of the distinguished New York family of that name."

A boy in knickers and a newsboy hat rushes past in 1929.  The gas lamps on their stone posts, relics of the Moore residency, still survived at the time.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The school opened on February 8, 1898.  The New York Herald gave detailed information on the various departments.  The laundry was located in one of the extensions.  It contained eight large porcelain tubs and "along the other walls the pupils will find a gas range for heating irons, a gas drying oven of the latest pattern, and boilers of approved design."  There were also "six heavy ironing tables."  The girls were taught every "branch of laundry work."

The kitchen was directly above the laundry room, "fitted up to make glad the heart of the housewife, and calculated to render good cooking attractive to women."  The writer equated the space to a laboratory rather than kitchen, and stressed that the pupils would learn the nutritive values of different foods along with how to prepare them.

New York Herald, January 30, 1898 (copyright expired)

The dressmaking class was in the main house where there were 20 desks, six sewing machines and a cutting table.  Classes were held in simple introductory sewing and in advanced dressmaking.  The second floor held the typewriting and stenography classrooms and the English classrooms.  Speaking and writing English was crucial for newly-arrived citizens and they were instructed in spelling, punctuation, and grammar.

A practical means of finding permanent work for the students was by showing what they could do.   On May 4, 1899 the New York Journal and Adviser announced "The trustees of Grace Institute have issued invitations for a reception and exhibition of the work of the institute."  

The annual exhibition was special in 1903 when it was held in honor of William R. Grace's 71st birthday.   The Times reported that "hundreds" were there that day, including many graduates.  the membership of the non-sectarian school had grown from 300 to 800 by now.  Grace spoke to reporters about his goal for the institute.  "I want to do something for people that shall do them good and help them.  I don't get very much satisfaction out of life nowadays, except as I can be of some service to people, and if this institute and its work accomplish anything in that line I am satisfied."

Three decades later Joseph P. Grace was still actively involved in the Grace Institute.  On June 16, 1932 he presided at the graduation exercises during which 350 young women received diplomas--200 in the business course and 150 in the "domestic, sewing and mothers' club courses."

photo by Josephine Kaas, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In 1948 the school offered cooking courses for middle-class women as well.  On January 13 The New York Times said "A cooking school that charges about 25 cents for each lesson may sound like something out of a history book, but although this is the fee at the Grace Institute, 149 West Sixtieth Street, the course is up-to-the-minute."   The classes taught housewives not only about nutrition, but about cost savings.  At the previous day's session, said the article "the young housewife-students learned how to prepare a meat-stretching beef loaf.  The week before the class made money-saving fish balls."

In the mid-1950's Robert Moses proposed the idea for the Lincoln Square Renewal Project as a means to replace low-level housing with a performing arts complex.  Fordham University was invited to be a part of the project--the proposed location directly on the site of the Grace Institute.  On May 24, 1960 The Times reported that the institute had purchased the blockfront on Second Avenue between 64th and 65th Street with "plans to erect a school building on the site."  The Grace Institute moved to its new home in 1963.

Today the precise site of the Moore mansion is occupied by Fordham's McMahon Hall.

The West 60th Street "Interior Baths" -- No. 232 West 60th Street

As the 19^th century drew to a close and the city’s poor crowded into cramped tenements, the problem of bathing was increasingly serious.  In the Lower East Side in 1896 there was one bathtub for every 79 families.

Half a century earlier the public had demanded action by the city.  By the time of the Civil War middle- and upper-class families in New York had begun bathing regularly, as the Europeans did.  But the lower classes had no means to bathe.  By 1858 the Committee for Free Public Baths had been formed, but nothing would be done about the situation for decades.

Even after the New York Senate passed a law on April 21, 1895 requiring that all first and second class cities create free public bathing facilities, Manhattan's citizens would continue using the "floating baths" at the river banks.  The city's first "interior bath" did not open until 1901; governmental red tape miring the process.  

New Yorkers at a typical floating bath.  Domestic Engineer, October 19, 1912 (copyright expired)

Following the opening of the Rivington Street baths on the Lower East Side that year, the project gained momentum.  On November 24, 1903 plans were filed for two new interior baths at Nos. 538 and 430 East 11th Street, and Nos. 232 and 234 West 60th Street.  Both would cost the city $115,000 to build--more than $3 million in 2017 dollars. 

While the Upper West Side above the 60s was still a relatively new district with, mostly, fine homes and modern amenities; the neighborhood chosen for the baths was decidedly gritty.  Known as San Juan Hill (the origin of the nickname is unclear), it was a dangerous and crime-ridden area  mostly populated by poverty-stricken blacks.

Architects Werner & Windolph designed the structure, which reminded the visitor of the ancient Roman history of public baths.  Essentially Beaux Arts, the facade was splashed with ancient Roman elements.  Classical entrances--one for men and the other for women--were capped by triangular pediments.  The large arched openings exhibited Roman-style cross-hatching, and ancient boats overflowing with gruesome sea beasts carved from limestone protruded at the top of the rusticated brick piers.

Men entered on the left, women on the right.  Domestic Engineer, October 19, 1912 (copyright expired)

Perhaps surprisingly, given the seamy neighborhood, extra expense went into the elaborate brickwork--Flemish bond on the first floor, herringbone panels below the openings, and intricate diapering that resulted in a diamond pattern effect.

When the building was later extended through the block to West 59th Street, Werner & Windolf gave that elevation a starkly-different neo-Tudor facade that smacked of a firehouse.

The West 60th Street Interior Baths was remarkably different than its predecessors--it contained a plunge, or what today would be called a swimming pool.  Earlier, bathtubs and plunges had been prohibited for health purposes.

The pool here measured 66 feet by 25 feet with a sloping bottom that ran from three feet deep to seven.  Even more remarkable, according to Domestic Engineering, it was heated to a temperature of between 70 and 75 degrees.  It was open to men and women on alternating nights.

Although the atmosphere of the "plunge" was rather utilitarian, it was nonetheless an innovation.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

The Christian Advocate, in remarking on the trend of public baths on July 25, 1912 reported "This bath is noted for its great swimming pool, the tank of which holds 85,000 gallons of water, every drop of which is filtered, and no bather is permitted to enter the plunge without first taking a precautionary shower.  Thus there is small danger of contamination, and it is as clean as any private bath tub."  The water was completely changed three times a day.

The West 60th Street Interior Baths became, because of the pool, not merely a place for bathing, but for fun and athletics.  "The pool is largely patronized by the boys from neighboring schools," said The Christian Advocate, "who enter into all manner of water contests, and perform some truly remarkable 'stunts,' as, seated upon imaginary horses, which are in reality barrels having wooden heads attached, and gaily decked out in colored calico trappings, they dash back and forth in the water, using long poles to steady themselves, evading attacks and thrust, and boy who remains longest upon his mount of course winning the contest."

Patrons entered directly into waiting rooms where they sat on long benches awaiting their turn.  Also on the first floor were "bath cabinets," or showers.  Tiny dressing rooms contained hooks for clothing and a small marble seat.  Originally, soap and towels were provided "at a minimal charge;" but when  housewives made a habit of pinning the towels inside their skirts and spiriting them home, the practice was halted.

The Sun reported on the success of the interior baths project on July 15, 1906.  Its description of the West 60th Street facility can only be described today as shockingly racist.   "Best of all the present interior bathhouses is that at West Sixtieth street between Amsterdam and Eleventh avenues.  It is the newest of the half dozen in operation, and when it was opened the public bath officials thought it would prove a resort for the colored population that congregates thereabouts.

"Instead of that, it is rare to see one person of color there.  The bath is patronized principally by Hebrews and Italians, with the former in the lead.  Bath records show the Hebrew to be the best patron of the New York public baths, with the Italian a fairly good second."

Operating the baths was not inexpensive.  The City paid a total of $21,825 in salaries and wages for the 60th Street staff in 1910--more than half a million dollars in 2017.  But the outlay paid for more than public cleanliness and boys having a good time.  For years the pool would be the venue for public school swimming meets and for money-producing exhibitions.

One of those exhibitions caused extreme disappointment.  On April 29, 1907 Annette Kellermann, the world championship Australian swimmer, was to appear here.  But she was a no-show.

The New York Times reported "A large number of spectators, among whom were many women, had assembled and they waited patiently until nearly 11 o'clock, when the announcement that Miss Kellerman had apparently changed her plans ended their weary waiting around the tank."

To mollify the crowd, an impromptu 60-yard swimming race had been put on, and Paul Roetger, former fancy diving champion of Germany showed off his talents.  In an unexpected breach of Edwardian deportment, the restless crowd "amused itself by jeering the swimmers."

Annette Kellermann made up for the offense by appearing a month later.  Making a point that she "will give exhibitions in only four or five American cities," she appeared on May 4.  The Times announced the day before that a "special programme has been arranged for the evening."

Annette Kellerman attempted to swim the English Channel in 1905, two years before appearing here.  from the collection of the State Library of New South Wales.

In 1912 at least 1,400 bathers, "mostly young boys," according to The Sun, went to the pool daily.  The open dressing rooms with the exposed hooks for clothing proved easy pickings for thieves.  On July 16 the newspaper noted that thefts "have become so common that the attendants make no attempt to keep count of them."

A. B. Carman, a teacher in the Y.M.C.A. on West 125th Street returned to his compartment to find that not only had his $95 been taken, so had his trousers.  The Sun complained "If there is no money they take a garment or a pair of shoes."

The City was aware of the problem and that same month the Record and Guide announced that bids were being taken for "construction and erection of new doors to all shower rooms, tub rooms and dressing compartments."

The baths continued to host swimming contests for years.  On January 25, 1920, for instance, The Sun reported "The 100 yard metropolitan swimming championship for women, scheduled to be held in the Interior Bath at Sixtieth street" would launch the 1920 season "in water sports for mermaids."

Another champion to visit was Hungarian-born American swimmer Johnny Weissmuller.  In announcing the Municipal Athletic Activities' swimming meet scheduled for March 31, 1922, The New York Herald promised "One of the features of the occasion will be the appearance of John Weissmuller, the season's swimming marvel and world's title holder."

Despite his astonishing career as a championship swimmer, Weissmuller would be remembered as Tarzan. from the collection of the Library of Congress.

Although he was one of the world's fastest swimmers in the 1920s, earning five Olympic gold medals; he would be better remembered for his screen role as Tarzan, starting in 1932.

Another Olympic champion who had no doubt used the pool was Gertrude Ederle.  Born nearby, her father ran a butcher shop on Amsterdam Avenue, according to her biography America's Girl.  Following her successful swim across the English Channel in 1926 (a feat which eluded Annette Kellermann 11 years earlier), the girl from a humble Upper West Side home was given a ticker tape parade on Broadway.

Gertrude Ederle, the "Queen of the Waves," received a parade down the Canyon of Heroes on August 27, 1926.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

By the time of the Great Depression the West 60th Street Interior Bath had suffered from constant use.  The Works Progress Administration closed the building in June 1938 for renovations.  The project not only provided necessary updating and repair, but gave jobs to unemployed workers.  It was most likely at this time that the Men's entrance was removed; its scar seamlessly hidden.

The renovated pool was used for a combined effort by the Department of Parks, the United Merchant Seamen's Service, and the Seamen's Church Institute in 1943.  The New York Times reported on February 20, "A learn-to-swim campaign for merchant seamen will be started tomorrow," and noted "The three agencies urged every seaman to learn this live-saving art, and pointed out there would be no charge for admission...or for instruction."

In 2013 the West 60th Street bath building opened after extensive renovations as the Gertrude Ederle Recreation Center, including an addition to the east designed by Belmont Freeman.  The last relic of early 20th century architecture on the block, the original facade survives handsomely intact.

photographs by the author