Marble Remnants - 1220-1224 Lexington Avenue

The British-born millionaire Joseph Richardson was listed as both architect and builder in 1880.  That year he began construction on three Italianate rowhouses at Nos, 1220 through 1224 Lexington Avenue, between 82nd and 83rd Streets.  The cost to erect the upscale homes was projected to be $20,000 each--more than $475,000 today.

Richardson designed the group to appear as a single, elegant mansion.  The concept was not new; as a matter of fact C. A. Pepoon had erected a similar trio nearly two decades earlier, at Nos. 178-180 Fifth Avenue.  What was strikingly unusual was the material Richardson used--marble.  At the time even the mansions of Manhattan's millionaires most often wore brownstone.   And even the William K. Vanderbilt chateau rising simultaneously on Fifth Avenue broke the brownstone tradition not with marble, but limestone.

Construction on the Lexington Avenue row began in April and was completed with dizzying speed just three months later.  Each house was 16.6 feet wide, with No. 1222 projecting slightly forward.  Stone quoins outlined each building.  Every element of the design was executed in marble--the bracketed sills and lintels, with their faceted keystones; and even the crisp cornice which rose to a central gable.  Here a charming arched opening surmounted a carved plaque that announced the construction date.

The date of construction was included on a marble plaque below the attic window.

Walter Hamilton purchased No. 1220.  The New York Times described him as a "well-known assayer and mineralogist of 20 years' standing."  He operated a substantial ore refinery on 15th Street near the Hudson River which the newspaper said was "complete in every minute particular for the treatment of rebellious gold and silver ores."

Well-to-do dry goods importer Arthur T. Watson and his family moved into No. 1222; while Spencer T. Pratt purchased No. 1224.   A broker, Pratt had moved to Brooklyn by 1889.  His and the other two residences were now being operated as boarding houses.

The quick change-over from elegant private homes to boarding houses may have had to do with the house next door to the house, stretching from No, 1210 to 1218 Lexington Avenue.  In 1882 developers Patrick McQuade and Hyman Sarner laid plans for an apartment building on the northwest corner of 82nd Street and Lexington.  The problem for them was that Joseph Richardson's wife had inherited the odd sliver of land that fronted Lexington.   When the men refused to pay the eccentric millionaire his $5,000 price, he constructed and moved into what became widely known as the Spite House--only five feet deep.

The marble houses can be seen to the right of the famous Spite House New York Tribune, photo by Van der Wyde, December 17, 1922 (copyright expired)

For the most part the boarders in the three marble houses were respectable and drew no unwanted attention.  For years Bertha Stadeker, a teacher in Primary School No. 42 on East 89th Street, lived in No. 1220.  By the time of her resignation in 1894 she was its principal.

On July 22, 1889 Police Headquarters directed officers city-wide to search for Edward S. Brown.  The wealthy 53-year old had been missing from No. 1224 Lexington Avenue more than a week earlier.  Two days after his family, who lived in Philadelphia, initiated the search, The Sun published a description.  It was astoundingly detailed: "5 feet, 3-1/2 inches high, weighing 138 pounds, with dark hair and eyes, heavy brown moustache, prominent nose, high forehead, and dressed in a mixed brown suit, Derby hat, and white shirt with black spots."

A former City employee, Brown had only recently been fired.  The New York Times, on July 24, noted "His disappearance is attributed to his becoming depressed in spirits over being dismissed from his position."  The newspaper also commented on the fact that the other boarders in the house were being uncooperative, saying "the inmates of his late residence refused to give any information concerning him."

The fate of Edward S. Brown remains unclear.

The two proprietresses of No. 1222 were duped by a female con artist in 1890.  Mrs. E. G. Hudson was originally from Baltimore where she had married a Methodist Minister, David Hudson, while still in her teens.  She loved to shop and spent more than her husband's salary could pay for.  The Times wrote "The couple lived beyond their means, and in 1874 they were estranged because he objected to his wife's extravagance and suspected that she often obtained money and goods by false pretenses.  He died in 1875 of a broken heart."

The widow set off on a career of swindling and stealing and, when she became well-known in Maryland and then Massachusetts, she moved to New York.   Her many aliases included Mrs. W. H. Heiser and Mrs. Irving, and she invented a string of personal biographies and references to get her into the homes of the wealthy--where she promptly made off with expensive items and apparel.

On June 18, 1890 The Times reported "Last October she induced two ladies to let her a room at 1,222 Lexington Avenue by representing that she was the daughter of Gen. Lee, and giving as reference Bishop Huntington of Syracuse, who repudiated her in a non-committal letter when the ladies wrote to him."

When her landladies discovered her ruse, she was evicted two days after moving in.  She found a job as housekeeper to Mrs. William Oppenheim at No. 19 East 67th Street.  But on June 8 "she was discharged for stealing apparel."

It all ended tragically for Mrs. Hudson.  Called a "'confidence' woman who had many pseudonyms" by The Times, she was found dead in a furnished room at No. 132 East 18th Street on June 17.  The newspaper deemed her "career of petty swindling and stealing" as the cause of her ruin and death.

What looked initially like an accident was more likely a case of suicide.  "She seemed to have fallen over a chair while preparing a glass of lemonade; but as there was a quantity of laudanum in the room and a bottle of the drug that had recently been emptied, it will require an autopsy."

Joseph Richardson died in his Spite House in 1897.  His daughter, Dellaripha Grace, known as Della, retained possession of the three marble houses.  With an eccentric personality equal to her father's, she rarely left her home and hoarded her vast wealth.   She leased each of the boarding houses to individual proprietors year after year--offering only a one-year lease at a time--until her death in 1918.  Her cousin, Anna Richardson (daughter of Joseph's brother, Benjamin), inherited the properties.

In the meantime, they had been marketed as reputable accommodations.  In 1905, for instance, an advertisement for No. 1224 offered "Private residence, elegant large heated rooms, $3 up; respectable gentlemen."

Still owned by Anna Richardson, in 1924 the first floors of the houses were converted to stores, and the second to "offices."  A new two-story brick front extended slightly beyond the facade. 

In 1932 the store in No. 1220 was home to Daniel Reeves's grocery store.  On the night of July 27 that year, just as manger John Scarpa was preparing to close, three pistol-wielding robbers burst into the store.  They herded Scarpa and the two clerks, Michael Little and John Sullivan, into a back room, tied them up and covered their mouths with adhesive tape.  They made off with $60 from Scarpa, $5 from Little, and $164 from the cash register.

A police car pursuing the gunmen was involved in a crash at Park Avenue and 76th Street, injuring two officers, and the occupants of the other automobile, Michael Arturi and his 21-year old son Frank.  The robbers got away.

Difficult to read in this photo, the sign above the awning at left reads Daniel Reeves

In 1977 the upper floors were converted to apartments, four per floor.  Today the 1924 storefront has been removed and the brick two-story facade replaced.  The upper floors, however, still surprise with their marble cladding--as unexpected today as it was in 1880.

photographs by the author

The William K. Dick Mansion - 7 East 84th Street

A garage had been carved into the limestone base by the early 21st century photo via abovethelaw.com

In the first decade following the end of the Civil War, builder Philip Braender got into the speculative development frenzy on the Upper East Side.  By 1892 he would be responsible for more than 1,500 structures here and elsewhere in the city.

In 1884 construction began on No. 7 East 84th Street.  Designed by prolific architect John Brandt, the high-stoop, brownstone house was four stories tall above the English basement.  While its architecture was little different from scores of brownstones rising in the neighborhood, its 25-foot width and interior appointments made it an upscale residence.

Braender sold the completed house to Algernon Sydney Jarvis.  As was customary, the title was put in the name of his wife, Nathalie.  Born in 1810, at the age of 28 Jarvis had been employed by Nathaniel Pearce in his tobacco inspecting business.  Jarvis not only became partners with Pearce, he married his daughter.  The couple would have two daughters, Anna and Helen.

Before then, in 1834, the adventurous young man signed on as supercargo--the representative of a merchant ship's owner responsible for the cargo--on the brig Margaret Oakley.  During that voyage a small uncharted island was discovered off the coast of New South Wales.  It was named Jarvis Island.

By the time the family moved into the 84th Street house, Jarvis was wealthy.  He owned extensive properties, and was a director in the Manhattan Eye and Ear Infirmary, and the American Agricultural Society.

The Jarvis summer estate was in White Plains, New York.  Nathalie and Algernon were there on June 31, 1895 when Algernon died.  The New York Times reported that the cause of the 85-year old's death was "general debility, due to his advanced age."

Nathalie remained in the East 84th Street house, her comings and goings reported in the society columns.  Her substantial fortune was reflected in the sale in 1902 of an entire block of property in Jersey City.  Known as the Old Inspection baseball grounds, she sold it for $60,000--more than $1.7 million today.

In 1906, after she had lived in the house more than two decades, Nathalie recognized that her brownstone house was architecturally outdated.  Like many of her neighbors she laid plans to update.


On November 3 architect Augustus N. Allen filed plans for "extensive alterations."   The renovations would not only strip off the brownstone front and remove the stoop; but add "electric wiring" and remodeled interiors.  The changes would cost Nathalie $35,000--more than $950,000 today.

With the entrance moved to sidewalk level, the mansion was now officially five stories tall.  While neo-Georgian style homes were appearing in the neighborhood--most notably the Andrew Carnegie mansion--Duncan's red brick and limestone design drew inspiration from English Regency structures.  The entrance was centered within the rusticated stone base.  The headers of the Flemish bond brickwork of the mid section were charred to give the illusion of age.

A projecting bay at the third floor rose from stone loggia below.  The bay was decorated with delicate Adam motifs--bowls of fruit, fluted pilasters and sunburst medallions.  The cornice of the bay supported an iron-railed balcony.  The large copper-clad dormer of the fifth floor sat behind a pierced stone railing.  It was supported by an exquisitely-carved and complex cornice.

The Regency style was carried into the staircase hall. photo via corcoran.com

In February 1909 Nathalie sold the house to Gustav Abraham Wertheim and his wife, the former Lucile Stern.  The couple had been married five years earlier.   Born in Amsterdam to a wealthy banker, he and his brother, Henri, came to America and entered the financial business. 

As the moneyed family traveled extensively, they leased the house--in 1913 to Olney B. Mairs, in 1916, to W. B. Duryea, and in 1919 to J. T. Thompson, for instance.   By now the family name had changed.  In 1914 Gustav and Henri petitioned the courts to legally their surnames to include their mother's--van Heukelom.  And so when Gustav sold the house late in July 1919 his name was listed as Gustav Wertheim van Heukelom.

The mansion became the home of its most socially-visible occupants, William K. Dick and his wife the former Madeleine Talmage Force and widow of John Jacob Astor.

Madeleine Talmadge Force Astor Dick - from the collection of the Library of Congress

Madeleine was five months pregnant when she and Astor headed home from their honeymoon on the RMS Titanic.  Astor and his valet died in the sinking; Madeleine, her maid and nurse survived.

When she married her childhood friend, millionaire William K. Dick, in June 1916 she necessarily relinquished ownership of the massive Astor mansion on Fifth avenue and income from a $5 million trust fund.

While the Dick family was living here, apartment buildings had encroached from the west.  photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The couple maintained a "country place' known as Allen Winden Farm in Islip, Long Island and traveled extensively.  Madeleine's son, John Jacob Astor, would be joined by two half-brothers, William Force Dick and John Henry Dick, in the house.

The year after the Dicks moved into the 84th Street house it was the scene of an out-of-the-ordinary event: the wedding of Madeleine's sister, Katherine, to Lorillard Spencer.  When and where the ceremony would take place had been the subject of rumors for some time.  It was held in the mansion on December 9, 1922 and The New York Herald pronounced it "one of the notable weddings of the season."  The article noted that Madeleine's "little sons, John Jacob Astor and William Dick, were pages."

William K. Dick - from the collection of the Library of Congress

After 17 years of marriage Madeleine seems to have gotten a wandering eye.  On Monday, June 5, 1933 The New York Times reported "Mrs. William K. Dick, widow of the late John Jacob Astor, who was lost in the Titanic disaster, left last night for Reno."  The article added "At her home at 7 East Eighty-fourth Street Mrs. Dick's secretary declined to discuss published reports that Mrs. Dick's departure was the first step in a plan to divorce her second husband."

Madeleine obtained her divorced on July 21, 1933 and four months later, on November 27 she married the Italian-born actor and boxer Enzo Fiermonte.  Four years later they divorced.

William remained in the 84th Street house.  It was the scene of the wedding of his brother, Adolph, to Polly Campbell on March 9, 1935.  The marriage did not last.  The couple was divorced in Reno in March 1937 "on the ground of cruelty." 

Before long Dick spent less time in the mansion.  In 1941 he leased it to Sir William Wiseman of the banking firm Kuhn, Loeb & Co.  In reporting on the lease The New York Times described the house as "containing twenty-five rooms and seven baths."  Three years later it was leased to Dr. Arthur Rodzinski, conductor of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.

During World War II the New York Italian Consulate had, obviously, been closed.  On May 6, 1946 it reopened, now in the William Dick mansion.  It remained here until around 1950 when the house became the Hungarian Consulate.  The country paid $18,000 per year rent--equal to about $14,600 per month today.

In December 1951, however, the State Department ordered the closing of Hungarian consulates in response to the imprisonment of four United States pilots forced down over Hungarian territory by Soviet aircraft on November 19.   On December 28 the Hungarian Government, accused of violating the human and diplomatic rights of the American fliers, was given until midnight to close the East 84th Street facility.

The former mansion was subsequently purchased by the Asia Institute for $115,000.  Founded in 1928 to promote research and interest in Persian art and archaeology, it was here only until 1953, the same year that William Dick died.   The house was sold and altered as apartments--one each in lower two floors, and two on the upper stories.

In 2009 the Dick mansion was reconverted to a single family home.  When it was offered for sale in 2013 for $30 million, Robin Finn of The New York Times described it as "an actual mansion."  The house was resold in 2016; but disaster soon struck.

The opulence of the renovated mansion did justice to its history.  photos via corcoran.com

The new owner had filed plans to demolish the interiors and do a "full renovation" at an estimated cost of more than $3 million.  That construction was underway when at around 2:25 a.m. on March 13, 2017 fire broke out.   Three and a half hours later the inferno was under control; but the mansion had been gutted.

In April 2017 sunlight can be seen through the openings.

The dignified 1906 facade stands before a burned-out shell awaiting the next chapter to unfold.

non-credited photographs by the author

Clarence True's Quaint Nos. 316-326 West 85th Street

Clarence F. True's distinctive architectural style and his prolific work west of Central Park earned him the moniker, "the face of the Upper West Side."  His personal take on historic styles often resulted in hybrids--Elizabethan Revival mixed with Flemish Renaissance, for instance.  His designs were frequently playful and charming.

A self-promoter, True suggested that he initiated the American basement plan.  The configuration did away with high stone stoops in favor of low porches, or none at all.  Although he may not have been the first to break the decades-old English basement trend, but he was assuredly an early promoter.

His first experiment with the American basement plan came in 1892 when developer Charles G. Judson hired the 32-year-old architect to design six narrow homes on West 85th Street, between Riverside Drive and West End Avenue.

Patently True, the completed three-story dwellings were picturesque.  A blend of Italian Renaissance Revival and Romanesque, their rusticated red sandstone parlor floors were accessed by three-step porches flanked by heavy stone wing walls with muscular, nubby-topped newels.  A carved Romanesque stone course, supported by beefy brackets, introduced the orange Roman brick-faced upper floors.

Each house in the A-B-A-A-B-A row had a projecting bay at the second floor, and arched openings on the third.  Most eye-catching, perhaps, were True's deeply overhanging roofs over the second floor bays of the "A" houses.  Their S-shaped tiles, or pantiles, evoked a Mediterranean feel.

The houses were purchased by affluent, but not overly wealthy homeowners.  No. 318 became home to Sylvina Butler Heilner, widow of Marcus G. Heilner.  Marcus had died in 1892, the year the house was completed.

The couple had been married in Philadelphia in May, 1839.  Later they moved to New York where Marcus established the coal and wood firm Heilner & Son.  He was referred to by The New York Times as a "business man of prominence."  The Heilners had four sons and a daughter.

Sylvina could boast a distinguished colonial and military ancestry.  She was descended from William Brewster, known as Elder Brewster, who arrived on the Mayflower in 1620.  Her grandfather, Colonel Zebulon Butler led the American troops against the English and Indian forces in the battle of Wyoming Valley on July 3, 1779.  It was a decidedly unsuccessful conflict, ending in a massacre of the Americans with only three surviving, Col. Butler among them.  Following the massacre, another ancestor, Rev. Jacob  Johnson, "first carried the Gospel as missionary among the Indians of Wyoming Valley," according to The New York Times later.

It appears Sylvina rented a room in the house.  In 1893 a carpenter, William Dick listed his address here.   He suffered a hand wound in April which threatened his livelihood, and his subsequent law suit drew the attention of the press.

The New York Times ran a sub-headline, "Why Carpenter Dick is Suing Saloon Keeper Struever," and began the article saying "From all accounts Louis Struever has a most remarkably wicked dog."

Dick had gone into Struever's saloon at Eighth Avenue to get a glass of "mixed ale."  The newspaper explained "When Dick had disposed of this beverage and had started to go out, the bad dog kept by Struever made a spring at Dick and began chewing his right hand, with the result that the carpenter, according to his own story, has not been able to handle a jackplane since."

Dick's $5,000 complaint accused "The defendant wrongfully kept a dog, well knowing him to be of a ferocious and malacious [sic] disposition and accustomed to attack and bite mankind, and suffered him to go at large."

The saloon keeper's defense was simple.  The dog did not belong to him.  The outcome of the court case is unclear.

Sylvina Butler Heilner's health began failing in 1896 and, after a long illness, she developed pneumonia around the first week of March 1897.  She died in the house on Saturday, March 27 and her private funeral services were held there two days later.  Her daughter, Laura, sold it to E. H. Laing in May 1900.

Three months later the row would gain another resident with an impressive military pedigree.  Lucy Adelina Sackett Hall lived at 326 West 85th Street with her 43-year-old daughter, Elisa.  Lucy's husband, John Baley Hall, an "importer of novelties in French goods," had died in November 1886.

Now, catching society off guard, Elisa was married to Colonel William Whittlesey Badger in the 85th Street house on June 3, 1897.  The Sun reported "The marriage was a surprise to the friends of the bride and bridegroom, as no engagement had been announced prior to the wedding."  The middle-aged bride and her husband remained in the 85th Street house with Lucy.  

Badger, who was 62 at the time, was a grandson of prominent Revolutionary War General Joseph Badger, and a nephew of former New Hampshire Governor William Badger.   He earned his own military recognition during the Civil War.  In reporting on his marriage to Elisa, The Sun mentioned "He is a well-known practising lawyer of this city.  He fought through the war of the rebellion."

He not only fought during the war, but in May 1862 he returned from duty in Washington to raise a volunteer regiment, which he did at his own expense.  That 105-man unit became the 145th Regiment, which fought in the Battles of Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, among others.

When Badger called the commander of the regiment at Chancellorsville a coward, he was court-martialed and discharged from service in September 1863.  But he met personally with Abraham Lincoln to plead his case.  Lincoln restored him to duty and he served through the remainder of the war, eventually serving judge advocate at Macon, Georgia.

Badger's impressive legal career in New York included high-profile cases, perhaps the best remembered being the 1888 libel suit against publisher James Gordon Bennett.  Badger won the case, securing for his client, Phoebe Robertson, the second largest verdict ever recovered for libel in New York State--$10,000 (about $257,000 today). 

Badger's law office was far downtown at 176 Broadway.  A year and a half after his wedding, on December 14, 1898, he left home headed to his office.  As he reached the corner of 85th Street and Broadway, he began to falter. 

The New York Times reported "Two young women who were passing at the time helped him into a nearby store, where he expired a few minutes later.  His death was due to heart disease."  In reporting his death, the newspaper listed his notable legal and military successes, then closed with a humorous anecdote to illustrate his good nature.

After Mayor Van Wyck's election Col. Badger paid an election bet by exchanging places with a rubber [i.e., a masseur] in a Turkish bath, and giving the rubber a rub-down and shampoo.

A little over a year later, on February 20, 1900, Lucy Hall died.  Surprisingly Elisa lost the house in foreclosure later that year.

Nos. 316 and 318 in 1922.  Cora Martin Scott, widow of John B. Scott, had died in No. 316 at the age of 81 four years earlier.  photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library.

As owners and residents came and went during the first half of the 20th century, it was not a family, but an organization that purchased 316 in 1930.  In 1896 The Catholic Boys' Brigade was founded in England and Ireland.  A United States contingent was organized in October 1916 in the Church of the Holy Innocents on West 38th Street.  Now 316 West 85th Street became headquarters to the Catholic Boys' Brigade of the United States.

Three officials of the group moved into the house--its president, Rev. Kilian J. Hennrich, Michael J. Nolan, and Michael Lonergan.  The group took a $50,000 mortgage on the property, equal to $710,000 today.

The swirling forms in the complex stone carvings are somewhat mimicked in the under side of the cornice.

The goal of the Catholic Boys' Brigade was to steer boys away from idleness and crime by providing after-school activities and discipline.  Rev. F. Segesser described its work to The Tablet, saying "The Catholic Boys' Brigade makes use of military drill organization and discipline, which is found to attract the boys very readily, and by means of which it is possible to control large bodies of boys effectively and to practice them in physical exercises, in obedience and submission to lawfully constituted authority, and in esprit de corps, which benefits them immeasurably, bodily, mentally and spiritually."

The boys from the Brigade were a regular presence in the many parades up Fifth Avenue over the years.  They wore military-type uniforms, drilled in precision, and followed quasi-military protocols including a rank structure.

In 1935 the group recognized the influx of a new type of immigrant--Mexicans.  On June 7 that year Rev. Kilian Hennrich announced the formation of a new division, the White Star Committee, "which will be devoted to the development and execution of an Americanization plan for American-Mexican youths in this country."

By the time a benefit supper dance was held in the roof garden of the Hotel Pierre on April 16, 1937, the Catholic Boys' Brigade of the United States had a membership of 40,000 men and boy members throughout the country.  In reporting on the benefit, The New York Times elaborated "The work, which is under the sponsorship of Cardinal Hayes, provides patriotic, social, recreational, educational and physical training for its members."

Clarence True's original hardware, including the bell escutcheon, survives along the row.

Just a week earlier, an honor had been given to Mrs. Thomas J. O'Neill at 316 West 85th Street.  Mrs. O'Neill, president of the ladies auxiliary of the Brigade, received the medal "Pro Ecclesia et Pontifice" from Pope Piux XI.  The Times reported "The honor was granted by an Apostolic brief and was transmitted by Cardinal Pacelli, Papal Secretary of State."

The organization sold the house in 1941 to a developer who announced plans to convert it to "apartments of one and two rooms."  That conversion, completed in 1942, was the first along Clarence True's row.

Perhaps because of the extremely narrow widths, the houses were slow to be broken up.  No. 318 was converted to a basement-parlor duplex, with two apartments on the second and third floors in 1949.  No. 320 remained a single family house, with an apartment conversion on the top floor in 1963; and in 1989 No. 322 was divided into two residences.  Nos. 324 and 326 remain single family homes.

Although somewhat grime-covered, the row is remarkably intact--an especially charming and unusual group.

photographs by the author

The Lost Blossom Mansion -- 844 Fifth Avenue

On May 30, 1891 the Record & Guide published a photo of the nearly-completed renovation. (copyright expired)

Howard Meyer and his wife, the former Minnie P. Cole Randall, and their daughter Ellen Rowena, lived comfortably at 844 Fifth Avenue in the late 1870s.  Their house, like most of the pioneering structures this far up the avenue, was brownstone-fronted.  But by 1891, shortly after Meyer’s death and as millionaires’ mansions began fronting Central Park, the house was out of style.

Minnie remodeled the home, bringing it up to date.  A “happy mix of styles,” it blended a hefty Romanesque Revival basement and parlor floor with a two-story bowed Beaux Arts bay and a Queen Anne style upper floor.  Minnie Meyer’s resultant home was a delightful 1890s rejection of stylistic purity in favor of architectural fun.

Minnie parents, Otis and Ellie Randall, moved into the mansion with her.  But the arrangement came to a tragic end early 1895.  On March 17, Ellie died while visiting Egypt.  The shock was possibly too much for her husband.  Five days later Otis Webster Randall died in the Fifth Avenue mansion.  His funeral was held in the house two days later.

The following year a more joyous event was held at 844 Fifth Avenue.  Ellen was still a young girl when she and her little friend, Anna M. Jarvis, held white ribbons to form an aisle for her mother’s wedding in the house on the afternoon of November 1, 1898.  The New York Times reported “The ceremony was performed in the Louis XV drawing room by the Rev. Albert Erdman of Morristown, N. J., where the bride’s country home is situated.”

The widowed Minnie Cole Meyer became Mrs. Benjamin Blossom at 3:00 that day and her house fairly groaned under the weight of plants and flowers.  In true Victorian style, “Chrysanthemums were the flower in favor at the wedding.  They were placed in every available nook.  Southern smilax was used with them, and even the mirrors were almost concealed from view by the filmy green, garnished with the soft Autumn blooms.  Pink was the color chosen for the drawing room.  The hall was in yellow and the reception room in white.”

The newspaper noted “Mr. and Mrs. Blossom will give a large reception at their home, 844 Fifth Avenue, Jan 5, upon their return from the honeymoon trip.”

Minnie's remodeled house sat next door to the mammoth Astor mansion.   photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWN5O8Q2&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=899

By now Minnie had as her next door neighbor the queen of New York society, Caroline Schermerhorn Astor.  Two years earlier, the double Astor chateau had been completed, rubbing its imperious shoulder against Minnie’s house.  On the other side, at 845 Fifth Avenue, was the mansion of stockbroker Grant B. Schley.

After the turn of the century Benjamin and Minnie spent less and less time on Fifth Avenue.  The New York Times mentioned they “of late have lived chiefly in Pasadena, where they have a beautiful place, called The Blossoms, on Orange Grove Boulevard.”

John Jacob Astor, who lived in the southern half of the Astor mansion, recognized the threat to his property should 844 Fifth Avenue fall into the wrong hands.  In 1902, a developer had purchased the house at 835 Fifth Avenue, just a block south of the Astor mansion.  The New York Times reported that he “promptly created a stir among the neighboring owners by the announcement that he would build a fifteen-story apartment hotel.”  The menace was taken care of after several panicked meetings among the homeowners resulted in a tidy profit for the speculator.  But a lesson had been learned.

And so, in December 1905, Astor purchased the Blossom property.  It was assessed at $225,000--in the neighborhood of $6.25 million today.  Several weeks later, on January 7, 1906, The New York Times said “The purchase is said to have been made with a view to preventing any undesirable use being made of the property in the hands of some speculator.”

Now that he had another property to rent, John Jacob Astor quickly set to work to make the former Blossom house more marketable.  Minnie’s eclectic mix of styles was falling from fashion.  On May 23, 1906, architect Charles A. Platt filed plans for what the New-York Tribune called “extensive alterations.”  

In reporting on the $50,000 renovations, the newspaper said “A two story rear extension is to be built, the present south bay removed and the interior remodeled generally and refitted with floors reinforced with steel beams.  The present front will be taken down and replaced with a façade of Colonial design, with a cartouche of carved stone at the third story.  There will be a new central entrance at the ground floor.”

The renovations were completed by the beginning of summer 1907 and The Architectural Record was pleased.  In June it announced that Platt “has designed a building which is adapted in every respect to be the residence of a family of refinement and wealth.  It is both a more completely finished and better-looking dwelling than many private houses on Fifth avenue which have cost twice as much…Every detail of the building has an air of quiet but positive good taste.”

Architectural Record, June 1907 (copyright expired)

In sharp contrast to the Astor mansion, Platt’s design was reserved and understated.  The façade of gray limestone blocks was unadorned with the exception of the carved cartouche and three panels of festoons above the fourth floor openings.  Indeed, possibly the most elaborate feature was the grand iron fence with its lantern perched above a scrolled arch.  

The entrance was slightly below ground level.  This level was used as a reception area, behind which were the kitchen and servants’ quarters.  A delicate winding staircase took quests to the piano nobile where the drawing room was to the front and the dining room to the rear.  Platt designed the rooms with an 18^th century feel—dark floor-to-ceiling paneling throughout most of the rooms.  The Architectural Record hoped the new residents would follow his lead.  “It will require equally careful furnishing in order to properly complete the effect.”

Platt made heavy use of wood to create an 18th century setting.  The Architectural Record June 1907 (copyright expired)

Off the dining room, a set of glass doors led to a small smoking room.  “The architect is peculiarly happy in devices of this kind, which turn to excellent account some of the unfortunate practical conditions of an interior design,” noted The Architectural Record.  One floor above was the library which was also finished in dark wood.  “The effect of this apartment has been made much more gay by the rich though comparatively inexpensive subdued gilding of the architectural detail.”

Astor leased the remodel house to Paul Morton.  In reporting on the deal, The New York Times reminded readers that the house was purchased “to protect the Astor property against any undesirable improvement.  Since then it has been almost entirely rebuilt, and is to-day a six-story American basement house of most modern design.”

Morton had recently served as Secretary of the Navy between 1904 and 1905, but was forced to resign when it was revealed that the Santa Fe Railroad, of which he was vice president, was given illegal rebates under him.  President Theodore Roosevelt supported Morton, insisting that the millionaire never knew of the improprieties. 

Paul and Charlotte Morton --the New-York Tribune, August 20, 1905 (copyright expired)

Now President of the Equitable Life Assurance Society, the affable Morton’s sense of humor was evident in a speech before a banquet of insurance men on May 8, 1909.  He mentioned a rival company which had suffered a bad deal.  When the Equitable offered its consolation for the firm’s bad luck, he said “they took our sympathy in ill part.  It was like the widow who called on us the other day.

“This widow called to collect a small policy due her on her husband’s death.  Our clerk, as he counted out her money, said sympathetically, ‘I am very sorry to hear of your sad misfortune, ma’am.’

“’Well, that’s just like you men!’ snapped the widow.  ‘You’re all the same—always sorry when a poor woman gets a chance at a little money.’”

Morton’s wife, the former Charlotte Goodridge, was not content with vacuous teas and society chatter.  She was an ardent “anti” during the early Suffragist Movement, allying herself with socialites against women’s rights to vote.  By the time she and her husband moved from Park Avenue into 844 Fifth Avenue, she was Honorary Vice-President of the National League for Civic Education; an organization that strove to snuff out the Suffragist Movement.

In December 1908, however, things changed.  The National League for Civic Education slated Congregationalist theologian Lyman Abbott to address the group on the subject.  Charlotte Morton listened to his address carefully, and slowly seethed.

Abbott could not have been clearer in his opinions.  “If woman attempts man’s function, she will prove herself but an inferior man.  Some masculine women there are; some feminine men there are.  These are the monstrosities of Nature.”  Abbott insisted that women do “not wish to assume the responsibility for protecting person and property.”  He pointed out that women’s natural work was in rearing children while men were intended to run countries and businesses.

A few weeks later, on January 12, 1909, The Evening World ran the headline “Mrs. Paul Morton Suffrage Convert.”  The newspaper said that Lymann Abbott’s “attack upon the vote seekers unintentionally made converts of some of those opposed,” and among them was Charlotte Morton.   She now worked as passionately for the Suffragist cause.  

But there was grave trouble developing closer to home, unseen by the public or even Charlotte.

In December 1910, the Equitable Life Assurance Company issued “Christmas policies” and Paul Morton signed up for one.  Shockingly, his medical examination revealed that he was “uninsurable.”  The Insurance Press later said “He had a few weeks’ notice that he was a doomed man.”

On January 19, Morton went to the Hotel Seymour to visit lawyer Paul L. Kiernan, but never made it to his suite.  He was found dead in a corridor, the victim of a ruptured blood vessel in the brain.  While the millionaire’s life had been relatively unassuming, his funeral in St. Thomas Church was anything but.  The church was crowded with dignitaries and newspapers were filled with paid tributes.

Astor (who was still busy buying up nearby properties as they became available) now leased 844 to former senator John Kean.  The politician, who lived in New Jersey, rented the house for his mother's use.  Lucy Kean moved in with her grown son, Julian, and daughter, Susan. 

A colorful character, Lucy was born in 1826, the daughter of the President of the Bank of Manhattan Company.  Married in 1846 to Colonel John Kean, she had eleven children.  Her son John served two terms in Washington, and Lucy had tagged along, living with his family there.  “About public affairs she was very well informed,” The Sun later said, “and she included among her friends President Roosevelt, President Taft, some of the Justices of the Supreme Court and other prominent men.”

The sharp-minded woman was well-known for her deep knowledge of history and her ability to discuss matters of state with her guests.  The now-elderly Lucy Kean gave generously to charities, always with the stipulation that her bequests were kept anonymous.

The Keans got a major scare on December 10, 1911.  The New York Times reported “One man was probably mortally injured and two others were badly hurt last night at Fifth Avenue between Sixty-fifth and Sixty-sixth Streets when a high-powered open touring car shot up on the sidewalk in front of the residences of John Jacob Astor and Mrs. Lucy K. Kean.”

The car had been speeding south on Fifth Avenue when it “got beyond the control of its chauffeur.”  The newspaper said that it “rose high in the air, balancing itself on one front wheel, gyrated completely around, and finally turned over on its side, hurling its three occupants to the street.”

A witness said two women had exited Central Park right into the path of the car, causing it to careen.  He reported that the car was headed “for the black iron fence surrounding the sunken entrance” of 844.  “It didn’t get that far.  Instead, it stood right straight up in the air on its left front wheel, turned completely around, and then, fell over on its side so that its four wheels extended in the direction of the Kean house, while its top faced the street.”

The New York Times reported “The only ones who didn’t rush to help the injured men were the two women who caused the accident by getting in the car’s way.  They hurried off, according to Policeman Cunningham, without even stopping to find out how badly the men were hurt.”

Lucy Kean’s stay in the Fifth Avenue mansion was not long.  She died in the house on the morning of March 9, 1912 at the age of 86.  Her funeral was held in Grace Church.  Susan and Julian Kean remained in the house.

On April 6, 1924, New Yorkers were shocked when it was announced that Vincent Astor had filed plans to replace the double Astor mansion with a 12-story apartment house.  Astor, interestingly, had commissioned Charles A. Platt to design the $1.8 million structure.  “The building is to include the site of the adjoining house at 844 Fifth Avenue, which is also owned by Mr. Astor,” said The New York Times.

But something happened.  A year later, on July 3 when Susan Livington Kean died in the house, plans for the apartment building had been abandoned.  Instead of the Platt-designed structure, construction began in 1926 on Robert D. Kohn’s massive Temple Emanu-El.   And the 1870s house at 844 which had undergone two remarkable makeovers was no more.

The lower extension of the synagogue (left) sits on the site of No. 844 photo by Jim Henderson

From Millionaire's Home to Irish Pub - 8 East 36th St

In 1852 John Jay Phelps, Isaac N. Phelps and William E. Dodge purchased the block front on Madison Road (later renamed Madison Avenue) between 36th and 37th Streets, and began construction of their handsome brownstone mansions.  They were planting the seeds for what would be a new, exclusive residential district known as Murray Hill.

Within only a few years other free-standing mansions and upscale rowhouses appeared.  Among them was the Italianate-style brownstone at No. 8 East 36th Street, between Madison and Fifth Avenues.  Part of a speculatively-built row, it was 25 feet wide and four stories tall above an English basement.

It was home to New York World journalist George Alfred Townsend, who arrived in Manhattan from Philadelphia in 1861.  But the bachelor reporter most likely saw little of his new home.  That same year , on April 12, the Confederates opened fire on Fort Sumter, triggering the Civil War.

George Townsend (left) chats with a young Mark Twain (center) and David Gray.  photograph from the collection of the Library of Congress

George was sent off to cover the conflict.  At just 20 years old, he was the youngest of the nation's correspondents.  In addition to reporting on the battles, he was in Washington to cover the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and then doggedly followed the subsequent investigation.  When he returned to his East 36th Street house following the war, he assembled his notes into a book, The Life, Crime and Capture of John Wilkes Booth, published in 1865.

Immediately upon his return he married Elizabeth Evans Rhodes and the newlyweds soon moved to Washington DC, where he acted as the Chicago Tribune's DC correspondent.

The house became home to the Thomas P. Eldridge family.  Born in Williamson, Massachusetts in 1829, Eldridge arrived in New York in 1855 and went to work in the dry goods business of Phelps, Bliss & Co. as a salesman.  Later he was made a partner, and in 1868 the firm was renamed Eldridge, Dunham & Co.

Shortly after he and his wife, Julia, moved into the 36th Street house, a daughter, Julia Norton Eldridge was born.  Four years later, on May 21, 1870, the little girl died.  Her funeral was held in the house two days later, on Monday afternoon.

The family suffered a far less consequential tragedy the following year when its beloved pet escaped.  An advertisement was placed in The New York Herald on October 13, 1871: Lost--On Monday last, a Skye Terrier.  A suitable reward will be paid.

By now Eldridge's wealth was reflected in his directorships in the Home Insurance Company and the Dry Goods Bank.  He also served as a trustee in the fashionable Fifth Avenue Brick Church.  

On December 4, 1874 Eldridge left his office "in good health," as described by The New York Times, "but shortly after arriving at his home he was attacked with inflammatory rheumatism."  The condition worsened into rheumatic fever, and the 45-year old died around 4:00 on the morning of December 18.

In 1882 millionaire financier and banker John Pierpont Morgan purchased the old John Jay Phelps mansion down the block, at the southeast corner of Madison Avenue and 36th Street.  His son, J. P. Morgan, Jr., known as Jack, married Jane Norton Grew on December 11, 1890.  Four months later the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide noted that Morgan had purchased No. 8 East 36th Street "on private terms."

J. P. Morgan Sr. and Jr.  Moody's Magazine, January 1913 (copyright expired)

Morgan apparently presented the house as a wedding gift; but before moving in Jack did some updating to the old brownstone.  He hired architects Sturgis & Cabot to remove the stoop and lower the entrance to sidewalk level, add a three-story extension to the rear, make "interior alterations," replace the plumbing, and "alter" the wells.

To make the exterior more in fashion, the former parlor floor (now the second) received a French make-over and the third floor windows were given a Beaux Arts treatment.  The Italianate cornice was replaced with a formal balustrade.  The changes cost Morgan $40,000--more than $1 million today.

The house was identical to its neighbors before Morgan's update, a sliver of which can tantalizingly be seen at the right edge of this photo.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

In April 1899 Henry T. Sloane, the massively-wealthy partner in W. & J. Sloane, obtained a divorce from his wife, Jessie, who had been carrying on an affair with Perry Belmont.   Jessie went directly from the courtroom to the train station where she boarded a train for Connecticut to be married to her lover.  (Sloane had written into the divorce decree that she could not marry in the State of New York while he was alive.)

Months earlier Sloane had taken his two daughters from the immense mansion he had built for his wife two years earlier at No. 9 East 72nd Street, and brought them to No. 8 East 36th Street, which he leased from Morgan.  One month after the divorce, on May 26, The Times noted "Henry T. Sloane has secured a permanent lease of the home of J. Pierpont Morgan, Jr...Mr. Sloane has been occupying the house with his two daughters, Emily and Jessie, for some time under a temporary lease."

The Sloanes would remain in the house until their new mansion at No. 18 East 68th Street, designed by C. P. H. Gilbert, was completed in 1905.  While Jack and Jane leased other residences for their own use (for the winter of 1904-05, for instance, they leased the furnished Prescott Hall Butler house at No. 22 Park Avenue), Jack retained ownership of the 36th Street house.  After Henry Sloane moved out, it was rented by iron merchant David S. Egleston and his wife, the former Frances N. Hawley.

Egleston was the head of Egleston Brothers & Co. at No. 160 South Street, and a director in the Bank of America.  He was a member of the exclusive Union and Metropolitan Clubs and despite his advanced age, refused to retire.  On the afternoon of New Year's Day, 1908, the 78-year old died in the house of cirrhosis of the liver.

While the Murray Hill neighborhood east of Madison Avenue remained relatively unchanged, the block closer to Fifth Avenue was seeing the encroachment of businesses.  Frances (known to friends as Fannie), however, remained in the house, continuing to pay rent to Morgan, and later to Mrs. S. A. Robbins who bought the house along with several other properties in the immediate neighborhood.

Fannie remained active in society; especially in the social life of Ridgefield, Connecticut, where she maintained her summer estate.  She died in the 36th Street house on Friday, May 4, 1923.  Five months later the house was sold to a developer "for improvements."

The renovations, completed within the year, left no hint of the elegant home that had housed some of Manhattan's wealthiest citizens.  Remodeled as headquarters for the New York State Commission for the Blind, it was clad head to toe in white terra cotta.  The minimal decoration of the clean 1920s design appeared in the form of shells and cornucopias above the top floor openings, and a draped heraldic shield flanked by rondels below the parapet.  We are left to wonder what the ground floor looked like.

Prim Art Deco waterfalls cascade from the edge of the parapet.

The building was opened with a two-week sale of holiday gifts made by blind workmen.  In what seems a strange accommodation today, the State Commission arranged the sale so that "members of various religious faiths have been allotted days on which they will have charge of the sale," according to The New York Times on November 22, 1924.   November 24, for instance, was "Jewish Day;" November 26, "Episcopalian Day," and so forth.

The money paid for the hand-made goods went back to the makers.  The newspaper noted that the training and work provided by the Commission for the Blind provided hope as well as income.  "There will be tables of hand-woven scarfs, mats, curtains, cushions and bags, which the blind themselves never see as they work away at their looms.  But this weaving has brought many of them back thread by thread to a new interest in living."

Among the visitors to the sale was Governor Al Smith, on December 2.  Smith gave a speech which explained the history of the Commission.  The Times made special note of one journalist in the audience.  "As the Governor was delivering his address one of these present traced his words with a finger on the back of Catherine McGirr, employed on the Ziegler Magazine for the Blind.  Miss McGirr, who, like Helen Keller, is both blind and deaf, has been trained to interpret works traced on her back, arms, or face."

Throughout the rest of the century the building would be home to various businesses.  Arthur Merchandising Designers, Inc. was here in 1930; and by 1935 the ground floor held a Western Union branch office.  In 1944 John C. Anderson, a company that had dealt in "hides and leathers" since 1857, purchased the building.   By mid-century the ground floor retail space was home to Litecraft, a shop that offered imported lighting.

Today the upper three floors remain unchanged since the 1924 make-over.  Below, a mock Irish pub facade replaces the storefront.  And not one patron who sits at the bar and orders a Guiness today could imagine the history of the pre-Civil War period house around him.

photographs by the author