The Unique 1915 No. 411 Fifth Avenue

The undulating roofline and lavish terra cotta decorations on rough stucco make the building unique in Manhattan -- photo by Alice Lum

On November 15, 1865, just six months after the end of the Civil War, General Ulysses S. Grant along with his wife and personal aides stopped at No. 411 5^th Avenue to visit Senator Edwin D. Morgan.  The influential Morgan had been Governor of New York from 1859 to 1862, served in the Union Army as General during the war, and since 1863 was a member of the U.S. Senate.

The Morgan mansion sat at the northeast corner of 5^th Avenue and 37^th Street in what was rapidly becoming the most affluent and desirable residential neighborhoods.  But the residential nature of stretch of 5^th Avenue, home to millionaires with names like Astor and Stewart, would disappear as quickly as it developed.

By 1914 only a handful of stubborn homeowners remained.  The brownstone mansions had either been razed or converted for commercial use and so it was with the Morgan mansion.  Having completed the new Grand Central Terminal, Architects Warren & Wetmore began plans for a 12-story commercial building for developers Murray Hill Investing Company which would replace the two mansions at Nos. 411 and 413 .  It would be a structure like nothing seen in New York before.

The broad Edwin D. Morgan house, on the corner, and its neighbor at No. 413 would soon be replaced by Warren & Wetmore's unusual new building -- photo NYPL Collection

Unlike the nearby proper white marble Italian palaces that housed the B. Altman’s department store and Tiffany jewelers, this would be a fanciful and exotic flight of the imagination.  The architects splashed the façade with baroque ornamentation inspired by the colorful buildings of Spain and colonial Mexico.  Waves of terra cotta undulated across the roofline, sprouting finials and quirky decoration.  Bands of molded faces, urns overflowing with fruit, and along the third floor heads in full relief—maidens, soldiers and academics—crane outward for a look at the people below.   The figure farthest east down 37^th Street, though, is different.  Unlike the others in ancient dress, this one dons a necktie and fedora—possibly a self-portrait of one of the architects.

Nearly hidden at the farthest point from 5th Avenue, a modern face is a mysterious anomaly -- photo by Alice Lum

Along straitlaced Fifth Avenue, the rough-finished stucco slathered over the upper eight floors was both unexpected and successful.



The building, still under construction in 1915, is a celebration of ornamentation.  Brainson Tailors is already advertising from its 8th floor space -- Architecture and Buildling, 1915 (copyright expired)

The $800,000 building was completed in 1915 and apparel firms quickly moved into the upper floors.  C. F. Rumpp & Sons, dealers in leather goods, took 5,000 square feet on the 7^th floor and Brainson Tailor leased space one floor above.  Vogel & Saltzman, “manufacturers of high grade hand-blocked and tailors hats,” opened its showroom here as did hat maker D. B. Fisk & Co.

The National Enameling and Stamping Company was among the original tenants and would stay for over a decade.  And as the United States joined the war in Europe the American Red Cross took space here in 1917.

Warriors and maidens peer out at pedestrians from lavish ornamentation -- photo by Alice Lum

In April the workrooms of the Red Cross buzzed with activity as women from across the city rushed to prepare bandages to be shipped overseas.  The offices were kept open nights and Sundays as thousands of yards of gauze were cut into proper lengths and rolled.  Between April 20 and 29 ten cases containing 22,920 bandages were prepared.  “Many women gave up their duties as home and other engagements to prepare bandages,” said the New York Tribune.

On street level the retail store was home to the Columbia Gramaphone’s “Grafonola Store.”  Here shoppers wandered among hand-cranked phonographs in cabinets ranging from “English Chippendale” to Chinese lacquered models.

Among Columbia's array of phonographs was this exotic Chinese cabinet -- The New York Tribune, December 14, 1919 (copyright expired)

While Columbia marketed its phonographs on 5^th Avenue, Ireland was in a state of turmoil.  The political revolution of November 1913 and the April 16 Easter Rising had brought independence fighter Eamon de Valera to international prominence.   In 1917 he was elected president of Sinn Fein.

In 1919 de Valera came to the United States and took an office in No. 411 5^th Avenue.   His popularity in America was tested within a year.  He received a heated letter in December 1920 from the Friends of Irish Freedom who demanded that he release funds deposited in American banks intended for Irish relief efforts.

The group insisted that the funds “which we understand now lies idle in American banks in your name…be sent immediately to the suffering people in Ireland to relieve their distress and aid them in their work of restoration and reconstruction.”  The organization told the New York Tribune that the collected money “aggregated several million dollars.”

On New Years Eve 1921 Eamon de Valera returned to Ireland, evading notice by British authorities.  The headquarters of the American Commission for Irish Freedom at No. 411 5^th Avenue was besieged with well-wishers “jubilant at this new evasion of British vigilance by the man whom Irish revolutionaries elected ‘President of the Irish Republic’ while he was a fugitive from British justice,” reported the New York Tribune.

The rough stucco is ornamented with countless decorations:  caryatids, portraits, medallions, baskets, garlands and more.  Note the infant faces incorporated into the molding along the roofline, totally invisible from the street. -- photo by Alice Lum

That year Max Fertig’s linens and laces store took over the former Columbia store, signing a 21-year lease.   At same time Bonwit Teller & Co took the second floor—a full 10,000 square feet, “who will connect it with their present space at Fifth Avenue and Thirty-third Street,” said The New York Times.  It was a busy year for No. 411 with silver makers R. Wallace and Sons Mfg. Co. taking space as well.  The firm would remain here until 1937.

In August 1922 around $2.3 million deposited in United States banks by de Valera’s office here was frozen by the courts.   The action was authorized by the Irish Minister of Finance, Michael Collins, “to prevent any possible irregularity.”  The New York Tribune reported that the De Valera government feared that “irregulars” would “use the funds to destroy that government through rebellion.”

Grinning faces form capitals of the ornate, swirling columns while others, gaping or stern-faced, line the cornice -- photo by Alice Lum

Six years later the building would again be the scene of history making.   For years the General Electric Company and the Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing company had done research on the possibility of transmitting live images.  By 1928 the futuristic idea was close to becoming reality.  That year The Radio Corporation of America, later known as RCA, began construction of a transmission studio in No. 411.   The R.C.A. Photophone, Inc. already had a recording studio here and the new equipment room was adjacent to it.

On March 22, 1929 the Radio Corporation of America announced that “television images are now being broadcast daily from 7 to 9 P.M.”  The company’s vice president, Dr. A. N. Goldsmith said that the program was intended to give “experimenters an opportunity to look in on the development work, which, it is contemplated, will in due course evolve into a service to the public on a commercial basis similar to that of sound broadcasting.”

High above the corner, an immense work in terra cotta resembles the figurehead of a sailing ship -- photo by Alice Lum

Decades before the television set would be commonplace in America’s living rooms pictures were appearing on a screen at No. 411.  “Transmissions consist of pictures, signs and views of persons and objects,” said Goldsmith.  “Announcements are made frequently by transmitting a picture of the call letters of the station…occasionally actors from the sound movie studios will appear before the photocells of the transmitter.”

Among Irish political maneuvering and television pioneering, millinery and apparel firms still hung on in the building throughout the 20^th century.  In 1938 the Pictorial coat and Dress Company was here as was Frank Allaixe’s millinery firm in 1944.   In 1968 the showroom of Fownes Brothers glove company was on the second floor.

A $6,000 renovation of the small lobby was carried out in 1959, eliminating most of the Warren & Wetmore design.   Around 2000 the façade was carefully cleaned, a modernistic front was plastered over the street level, and the original windows above replaced.  Even though the building lacks landmark protection, it has survived remarkably intact and lovingly—for the most part—preserved.

The 1872 Benjamin Franklin Statue -- Park Row

photo by Alice Lum

Captain Albert De Groot felt he owed a lot to the newspaper publishers of New York City.   The 59-year old steamer captain, now retired, desired to somehow repay “the many favors he has received from the press of this city,” as later explained by Horace Greeley.  An immense bronze statue in Printing House Square, he felt, would do nicely.

De Groot was responsible for the ornately-decorated steamboats that copied his Jenny Lind, built around 1850.  During the Civil War he built the steamers Resolute and Reliance for the government and made a name for himself in the naval service.  But his fortune came as captain of steamers owned by Cornelius Vanderbilt.  As a sign of appreciation, he had worked with German-born sculptor Ernst Plassman to create a bronze statue of the Commodore.  The completed sculpture was dedicated in 1869.

A year later De Groot turned to his next project—a statue of Benjamin Franklin, America’s first newspaper editor, as a tribute to the printers and newspaper publishers of New York City.   He called upon Ernst Plassman once again.

On May 7, 1870 the first wax model of the proposed statue was completed.  De Groot had no intentions of receiving harsh criticism at a later unveiling and placed the model in the counting room of Baker & Godwin for the newspapermen to comment on.  An invitation was sent by Baker & Godwin to the publishers:

“Please specially oblige us by calling, on Monday or Tuesday (any hour from nine to five), at our counting-room to see Captain Albert De Groot’s idea of a colossal Statue of Franklin.

Captain De Groot intends to complete a Statue of Franklin in bronze (the model is now ready), and present it to the press and printers of New York, in testimony of his gratitude for the kindness he has received from the press, for so many years, in all the various position he has filled.”

The newspapermen filed in.  On May 10 The New York Times responded that “So far as can be judged from the model, the attitude and expression of the figure are natural and good.”  The New York World said “The pose of the figure is more natural and dignified than in either the statue in Boston or that in Philadelphia, and the face is more expressive of what Franklin’s character was than in either of the statues alluded to; in the former of which it wears a silly smirk, while in the latter the mouth seems to belong to a man whose chief characteristic is an imbecile desire to be benevolent to the whole universe.”

The critiques continued to glow.  The Commercial Advertiser called it “the finest of the kind we have seen,” and the New York Herald said it “is decidedly one of the most admirable representations of Ben Franklin that has ever yet been designed.”  For nearly a week the comments flowed in.  The New York Sun, The New York Courier, The New York Dispatch all gave their assessments.

While the opinions were overwhelmingly positive, there were a few suggested adjustments.    The Herald felt “the only fault which an artistic eye could discover was in the right arm, which lies too formal and straight to the body to look natural.”  Each comment was carefully considered by the artist and rectified.

By November 1 a larger model was completed and Baker & Godwin issued another invitation; and another line of newspapermen filed past the statue.  The comments were even more complimentary than before.

The New York Evening Express reported “Captain De Groot, after his great success in the Vanderbilt bronzes, and in the success of an art which he has had a taste for from childhood, recently turned his attention to a Statue of Franklin, which has just been completed in plaster.  It is of colossal size, and represents Franklin as he appeared at Versailles as the Ambassador of the United States.  Franklin was then past seventy years, weighed 202 pounds, and stood six feet and two inches.  His figure was, of course, a huge one in itself.  The plaster statue is twelve feet high, and will be placed on a pedestal of the same height.  The likeness to the original secured by Captain De Groot seems to us wonderfully correct, and the whole outline of form, figure, and dress, in general and in detail, gives promise of a most gratifying result when the work is put I bronze.”

While the artist and De Groot busied themselves with the completion of the statue, the newspapermen focused on providing an appropriate base.    The city had given permission to place the statue among the newspaper and publishing houses in Printing House Square.  If the statue were to be unveiled on Franklin’s birthday, the publishers needed to act swiftly.

Baker & Godwin issued a circular to the publishers reminding them that De Groot’s generous contribution of the $15,000 for the statue did not include a pedestal.  “The sum of five thousand dollars is thought to be needed for a proper granite pedestal, railing, &c., and toward the raising of this sum you are respectfully asked to contribute.”

At 2:00 on the afternoon of October 26, 1871, ground was broken for the cornerstone of the statue.   The Honorable John H. Anthon of the Masonic fraternity of the State of New York conducted the ceremonies with full Masonic rites.  Despite the drizzling rain, a large crowd assembled and the Fifth Regiment Band played.   The box placed inside the cornerstone contained a long list of items including copies of the Constitution of the United States and the State of New York, a Bible, "Parton’s Life of Franklin," Appleton’s Railway Guide, Hoe’s Catalogue of Printing Machines, etc., Type Founders’ Specimen Books, various New York City newspapers, almanacs, calendars and business cards of New York printers. 

Also included were a map of Chicago and illustrated newspapers describing the recent tragedy that shook the nation—the great Chicago Fire had occurred only 16 days earlier.

Fischer Brothers was given the task of casting the immense statue—one of the largest ever made in the United States to date.   On December 5, 1871 it was ready for examination at the foundry at No. 209 Forsyth Street, near Houston Street.   De Groot had spared no expense in the 12-foot tall statue.  The bronze used was of exceptional quality, even for monuments.  “An unusual proportion of the metal is pure copper,” the ceremonial pamphlet of the unveiling would later report.

Once again journalists were invited to review the statue.  A private pre-viewing was held in the foundry and, once again, the comments were glowing.  “Captain De Groot and Mr. Plassman have produced what we must deem a perfect success,” said the New York Standard on December 6.   Likewise, the New York Evening Express opined “The face of Franklin seems to us to be perfect; certainly it is in full accord with the best likenesses handed down from his own time.  The workmanship upon the features and dress shows great skill, taste and perfection, and leaves nothing to be desired.”

In the meantime, the publishers had been busy with the pedestal.   The committee of newspapermen had decided on a monolithic granite base in what they called “of the modern style of architecture.”   A single, 16-ton block was quarried at Mill-Stone Point, about six miles from New London, Connecticut.   It was the largest single piece of granite ever transported over New York City streets, taxing the pavement.

Fisher & Bird constructed the pedestal at their workshops on Houston Street.  The base stone was eight feet, six inches square, over which two blocks of granite rested.  The foundation necessary to support the massive weight of the pedestal and the 3,500-pound statue reached seven feet below ground.

To protect the statue and illuminate it, decorative cast iron railings and lamps were manufactured and put in place on January 6, 1872 along with the granite base.   Four days later the statue was erected and immediately cocooned in “the drapery of the American flag.”   It would remain covered, eliciting the curiosity of passersby, for eleven days until Benjamin Franklin’s birthday.

The curiosity of one passerby landed him in jail.  The Illustrated Police News reported that shortly after 12:30 on January 15 “A person, supposed to be crazy, rushed down Chatham Street with a huge knife in his hand, and climbing upon the large pedestal on which the Statue of Franklin is placed, proceeded to tear the flag off and to hack the Statue with the knife.”

The man, a 37-year old German-born sailor named Diedrich Barr, later explained that he was passing by and “desired to know what was concealed beneath the covering of the flag, and that he meant no harm.”

The newspaper reported on the large crowd that gathered.  “The police rushed to the place and endeavored to reach the man with their clubs, but he was too quick.  Stones, sticks, missiles and various things were hurled at the man, without any effect.”  Barr continued his assault until his foot slipped and he fell to the ground.  “The police seized him, but he fought terribly, and the police had to use their clubs, which excited the wrath of the crowd to such a degree that the police stopped their clubbing for fear the crowd would attack them.  He was taken to the station-house, followed by a large crowd.”

An early stereoscope view shows the decorative cast iron lamps and railings -- NYPL Collection

 The unveiling, two days later, would be no small matter.    Long before the ceremony was to start, a crowd estimated at between 20,000 and 30,000 had arrived.  “All the windows and balconies in the neighborhood were filled with ladies.  The most sanguine among the projectors of the celebration could not have anticipated that it would have been witnessed by so great a concourse of people,” said the Record of the Proceedings and Ceremonies.

“The police arrangements were excellent, but the hundred and fifty men would have been powerless to keep the space around the Statue clear had they not been assisted by strong stakes and chains,” it reported.

Sketch from Harper's Weekly (copyright expired)

The ceremonies began just after noon, headed by Samuel B. Morse.  Horace Greeley sat on his one side and Peter Cooper on the other.   All the prominent printers of the city were on the platform as were politicians.  Ernst Plassman was noticeably absent due to illness.

It was a very cold day and, unknown to most, Morse appeared despite the advice of his physician and his family.   The ailing inventor insisted on being present and as he drove up in his carriage, the crowd erupted in cheers.   Standing uncovered in the frigid air, he delivered his short address.  In it he mentioned “When requested to accept this duty I was confined to my bed, but I could not refuse, and I said: ‘Yes, if I have to be lifted to the spot!”

After his short address, the statue was unveiled.  The “Star Spangled Banner” was played as the drapery fell, a salute of artillery was fired in City Hall Park and the crowd roared.  Immediately following the unveiling, Morse left the platform and Charles C. Savage, President of the Board of Trustees of the New York Typographical Society slipped into his place.

 It would be Morse’s last public appearance.   He was intended to be the guest of honor at the banquet at Delmonico’s that evening, but he listened to the pleadings of his family and stayed home.    On the 2^nd of April he died of pneumonia.

At 7:00 that evening the banquet was held at Delmonico’s on 14^th Street.   By each of the 136 plates was a facsimile of the September 10, 1741 issue of the Pennsylvania Gazette.   “The room was tastefully decorated with bunting, and the tables were beautifully ornamented,” said the Record of the Proceedings.   Among the diners were the most noted names of the day:  Horace Greeley, the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher, Peter Cooper, Erastus Brooks, H. O. Houghton and others.  Among the many toasts presented that evening was one sent by telegraph by the President of the United States.

Banquet attendees received the Report of the Proceedings which included the above illustration -- copyright expired

Seventeen years later the statue was covered with the soot and grime of New York City.  On April 19, 1889 two men decided to take the matter into their own hands.    The New York Times reported “Two colored gentlemen climbed upon the statue of Benjamin Franklin yesterday afternoon” and began washing it.   One carried a bucket of water which he perched upon the statue’s head.  “It was not a pretty crown,” said the newspaper, “but it was proper for the time, being of assistance to take off the dirt that had been allowed to accumulate on the statue.”

Unfortunately, the hours of labor the two men spent on the statue did little to help it.  “But when they were through the statue was not much improve in appearance,” said The Times.  “The dirt had been allowed to stay so long that it had generated an acid which had eaten into the statue.”  It was a situation that would have to be addressed several times to come.

Towards the turn of the century portions of the railing were already missing -- photo NYPL Collection

The overwhelming critical praise that Plassman’s Franklin received in 1872 would not last forever.  On April 19, 1896 The New York Times, once so glowing in its assessment, said the statue “viewed from the standpoint of the sculptors of to-day is disappointing.  Even to the popular mind it does not convey that impression of the patriot and philosopher whose peculiar fortune it was to appeal with equal success to man’s love of country and love of fireside.”

In 1917 art critic Helen Henderson would be even more vitriolic.   She called the Franklin statue an example “of the stupid portrait statue that grew out of the decadence of classic influence.”

But whether the critics liked the statue or not, the public did.  Year after year for decades it was the center of celebration on Franklin’s birthday.   Platforms were erected and ceremonies staged with great fanfare.   In 1922, for instance, nearly forty wreaths were laid at the statue by organizations somehow affiliated with Franklin—printers, the post office, electrical workers, libraries, and others.  That year, in recognition of his experiments with electricity, Franklin’s statue was outfitted with a string and kite were attached to his right hand.  A few feet up the string a large key was tied.  “The other end of the kite was hitched to the City Hall, so that it would not be torn away by the winds,” reported The New York Times.

On Franklin's birthday in 1936 the crowds were a bit sparser.  A subway grating now replaced the former grassy park -- NYPL Collection

 The effects of dirt and pollution that were noticed by the two men in 1889 continued throughout the 20^th century.  Environmental corrosion prompted the Parks Department to treat and restore the statue on four occasions from 1940 into the 1980s.   In 1999 a total conservation was conducted by the City Parks Monuments Conservation Program.

Today, although stripped of his Victorian cast iron lamps and railings, the monumental tribute to Benjamin Franklin stands watching passing New Yorkers as he did a century and a half ago.

The Converted 1847 House at No. 684 6th Avenue

The building gives no hint to those passing Starbucks today that it was once a brick residence.

By the middle of the 1840s residential neighborhoods were creeping northward towards 23^rd Street.  A decade earlier rows of dignified Greek Revival mansions along Washington Square planted the seed of a refined neighborhood that spread up 5^th Avenue.  Along 6^th Avenue more modest homes were being built.

Richard Upjohn’s lovely Church of the Ascension had been completed in 1841 just above Washington Square on 5^th Avenue, quickly followed by his wonderful Gothic style Church of the Holy Communion on 6^th Avenue and 20^th Street, completed in 1846.  The two churches reflected the rapid development of the area.

A year after the Church of the Holy Communion opened and one block to the north, William Winslow built his wide three-story brick clad home at No. 684 6^th Avenue.   But the quiet neighborhood of respectable homes along the wide avenue would not last very long.

By the end of the Civil War things were changing.  In 1869 Edwin Booth opened his colossal granite Shakespearean theater at the corner of 23^rd Street and 6^th Avenue.  Dry goods stores and other retail establishments, like Wiliam Moir’s 1870 cast iron jewelry store building on the opposite corner of Booth’s Theater, gradually replaced the houses.   By the 1880s, 6^th Avenue had become the center of the shopping district known as The Ladies’ Mile.   The residences that were not demolished to make way for the block-wide retail palaces were converted for business use.

And so it was for the former home of William Winslow.

By the 1870s it had already been converted to the dry goods business of John Byrne on the street level, with boarders living above.   In April of that year Byrne took in a boarder, Richard Burns, whose stay would be both short and memorable.  Within 24 hours the new tenant had taken off with $91 worth of clothing from the store.

“It appeared that he decamped with the property after one day’s residence with the complainant as a boarder,” reported The New York Times on May 3, 1870.  The felonious tenant was sent to the State Prison for four years.

While 6^th Avenue between 14^th Street and 23^rd Street filled with gargantuan department stores along most blocks, it was perhaps the charming Church of the Holy Communion that prevented the monster emporiums from obliterating the small former residences north of 20^th Street on the east side of the avenue.    Along with them, No. 684 continued to adapt.  Although the little building could not compete, its store owners happily rode the coattails of the great retailers like Cooper Siegel Department Store and Adams Dry Goods.

In 1900 owner Alex Hess commissioned architect David P. Miller to install a proper storefront to the building.   Not long after he sold the building to Frederick Klingman who, by 1905,  had the good fortune to lease the store to Singer Sewing Machine Company.  Perhaps it was through an arrangement with Singer that Klingman remodeled the entire building.

That year he hired respected architects Buchman & Fox to completely redesign the façade.   Any hint of Winslow’s brick home that had survived was now obliterated.   Expansive upper story windows framed in cast metal flooded the interiors with sunlight.  Fluted Ionic pilasters separated the openings and supported a simple cast cornice.  Paneled brick pilasters ran up the sides. 

Buchman & Fox's clean new look, done possibly to placate Singer, replaced any trace of the house.

Singer Sewing Machine would not stay long, however.  In 1908 P. Genninger leased the street level and Mrs. A. Zoller took the upper floors.   In 1912 Adolph A. Hageman owned the building, leasing the storefront to Johnson J. Pusey.

Three years later, in February, Hageman leased the store and basement again; this time for a 16-year term.  Optician J. H. Maguire moved his practice here from his former East 23^rd Street office.

They heyday of the Ladies’ Mile was over by the 1920s.  Throughout most of the 20^th century the once-grand emporiums along 6^th Avenue sat vacant or were used as manufacturing or warehouse space.   A renaissance began in the 1980s and one-by-one the massive department stores were renovated to be used once again as retail space or residences.

In 1996, reflecting the trendy new neighborhood, a new aluminum storefront was installed on No. 648 which made no attempt to sympathetically co-exist with the historic upper floors.   But above street level the squat little building looks much as it did when parasol-bearing women in shirtwaists shopped for laces and bonnets along the Ladies’ Mile.

photographs taken by the author

The Lost 1882 Knickerbocker Apartments -- 5th Avenue at 28th Street

photo NYPL Collection

In the early years of the 1880s 5^th Avenue was changing.  Looking north from 33^rd Street where the two brownstone mansions of the Astors confidently filled the block, followed by A. T. Stewart’s white marble Second Empire palace across 34^th Street, a visitor might assume this wealthy residential neighborhood would last forever.

But if he turned and walked a few blocks south, he would see the approaching tide of change.

On 5^th Avenue below 14^th Street, by now, nearly all the homes of New York’s wealthiest citizens had been razed or altered for commercial purposes.   Between 14^th and 23^rd Streets residents were one-by-one abandoning their private homes.

But another trend had taken hold as well—apartment living.  The concept of luxurious flats where well-to-do residents could forego the expense and bother of maintaining a private home and the required full staff appealed to many.  The stretch of 5^th Avenue between 23^rd Street and 33rd Street, where the elegant Fifth Avenue Hotel and exclusive Delmonico’s Restaurant stood, was perfect for such an enterprise.   

On the corner of 5^th Avenue and 28^th Street sat the imposing mansion of William B. Duncan.   A decade earlier Duncan had moved out, selling the building to the newly-formed Knickerbocker Club.   The club had been formed by old guard members of the exclusive Union Club including August Belmont, John Jacob Astor and Alexander Hamilton, Jr.  They had become disgruntled with the admission of young, nouveau riche members who not only smoked pipes within the clubhouse, but gambled.

Only a decade later, however, the club decided to take over another mansion four blocks to the north.  In 1882 a group of investors, with a reverent nod to the staid clubhouse it was about to demolish, styled themselves as the Knickerbocker Apartment Company and purchased the property.  Fifth Avenue would soon see yet another change with the construction of The Knickerbocker Apartments.

Calling the new venture “apartments” was a daring move.   At the time most upper-class apartment buildings were deemed “French Flats,” to distinguish them from tenements.   Even that term was not convincing enough for many wealthy renters who avoided the stigma of apartment living by moving into residential hotels, instead.

But the Knickerbocker Apartments would be designed more like private houses than "flats"—thereby side-stepping what Mrs. Caroline Astor disdainfully referred to as “living on a shelf.”

The architectural firm of Hubert, Pirrson & Co. was give the commission to design the hulking structure.   Partner Philip K. Hubert took over the project keeping in mind that the residents who moved in would be wealthy enough to afford a 5^th Avenue address just five blocks south of the Astors.   And while he sketched out the massive 11-story structure, he turned over the design of the interiors to a fledgling architect still in training—Ernest Flagg.

The Architectural Review was impressed with the ingenious layouts.  “The apartments were planned in two stories.  Each apartment is arranged like a two-story house.  On the lower floors are the living-rooms, the kitchen, pantry, etc., and on the second floor, the bed-rooms, bath-rooms and servants’ rooms.  Each house, or apartment, has its own private hall and staircase from the first to the second floors.  The building its eleven stories high, and eight of the floors are arranged in this way, that is to say, as four series of two-story houses.”

Architectural Forum explained the term “living-rooms” as used in the Architectural Review’s article.  “The living rooms, that is, the parlor, library, dining room, kitchen and pantries, were grouped on one floor, and high ceilings used; on the floor above the chambers and bathrooms were arranged with lower ceilings.”

The venture was a complete success and the building filled with wealthy residents.  During the summer months, like the vast mansions to the north, the Knickerbocker Apartments sat almost entirely unused as its moneyed tenants spent the season in Newport or other fashionable resorts. 

The James H. Wickes family, for instance, “live during the Winter months in apartments in the Knickerbocker apartment-house, 247 Fifth avenue, and in the Summer go to Brant Lake in the Adirondacks, where they have a fine house,” said The Evening World.   Wickes was the head of the Wickes Refrigerator Company, manufacturers of refrigerated railway cars.

And so it was that on September 11, 1887 as the season drew to a close, the building was essentially empty.

Although the entire building was leased, there were only two men in the building other than employees.  High above the street on the 10^th floor were the apartments of banker Thomas Maitland.   About 1:00 in the morning an employee smelled smoke and when the bachelor’s rooms were entered, fire was discovered in the bedroom.

A small fire extinguisher was of no help and when firemen arrived, they had to drag fifteen lengths of hose up the 10 flights of stairs.   By the time they made it to Maitland’s apartment flames were shooting from the windows facing east.

“The flames were centred in the bedroom,” reported The Sun, “and had spread from there back to the bath room and forward to the parlor…It was easy to put the fire out, but not so easy to guess how it started.”

Although the only two residents in the building were also on the 10^th floor, they were on the opposite side of the building and had slept through the commotion.  The Sun noted that “Mr. Maitland’s bedroom was gutted, but much of his parlor furniture was saved.”

The excitement was barely over when another incident occurred.    John H. Haslam, a stableman employed in the nearby Mason’s livery stable, noticed a suspicious package.  According to The Evening World on November 22, 1887, “The box was placed at dead of night on the sidewalk at Twenty-eighth street and Fifth avenue, in front of the side entrance of the gorgeous Knickerbocker flats.”  It appeared to be a bomb.

Protruding from the cardboard box were copper wire, a tin tube and a cotton fuse.  The stableman took it to the 13^th Street police station where Sergeant Schmittberger dismantled it.  He found “A tin tube about 7 inches long, apparently part of a bettered fishhorn, plugged at both ends with sealing wax and resin.  Protruding from the narrow end of the tube was a cotton fuse encased in copper wire, the end of the wire being used to bind a parlor match at the end of the fuse.  A piece of twine was fastened to the end of the fuse and was conducted out fo the box through a hole cut in the side.”

The Sun reported that the perpetrator (whom the newspaper named “the dynamite joker”) “ingeniously arranged the whole so as to present the appearance of an infernal machine.”

In the meantime, the owner of the stables, Mr. Mason, suspected Haslam as being involved.  “His fellow-workers in the stable say that he would not have been so ready to carry the box to the station-house four blocks distant if he had not known its contents were harmless,” noted The Sun.

Reverdy Johnson Travers, Jr. moved into the Knickerbocker from his home at No. 3 West 38^th Street.   The wealthy widower owned at least one race horse and came from a distinguished family that traced its roots to colonial times.   After Travers’ death in 1893 a woman suddenly appeared who filed papers as Anna Frances Travers and sought “to recover dower in his estate,” according to The Sun on April 8, 1893.

Travers’ brother, William R. Travers, was shocked and signed an affidavit saying he had never heard of the woman, believed that his brother had never married her, and knew that she had never lived at the Knickerbocker.  William A. Duer, a brother-in-law of Travers told the court that he had known the plaintiff for two months after Travers’ death and at the time she went by the name of Mrs. Arlington.  “He says,” said the newspaper, “she admitted that she was never married, and she did not then claim to be the widow of Travers.”

Supreme Court Justice Barrett directed Anna Frances Travers to advise the time and place of her alleged marriage and if it had been a ceremonial one.   Adding to the mystery was a “secret letter” included with Travers’ will “providing for the disposition of $20,000 to Gillott D. Deckert,” the woman’s attorney.

When the daughter of General and Mrs. Charles A. Whittier, who lived here at the turn of the century, became engaged to the socially prominent Ernest Iselin, among her attendants was May Goelet.   The Goelet mansion a few blocks north was among the showplaces of 5^th Avenue and a center of society functions.  In October 1903 as the important wedding day neared, Pauline (Polly) Whittier entertained her bridesmaids at a luncheon at high society's favorite dining spot, Sherry’s.

The president of the Delaware & Hudson Railroad, Leanor Fresnel Loree, and his wife the former Jessie Coles Taber, were living here in 1912.  That year their son Robert Fresnel Loree graduated from Yale to enter a career in banking.

A few months after this photograph was taken in 1925, the building would be gone -- photo NYPL Collection

When Mr. and Mrs. Charles A. Sackett announced the engagement of their daughter Beatrice to Alfred Purdy Hodgman in December 1920, they may have been looking for a place to live as well.   Earlier that year, on March 15, Max N. Natanson purchased the building for $1 million in cash.  Although it was fully rented to prominent residents like Mr. and Mrs. Thomas N. James and Mr. and Mrs. John Vernon Bouvier, Jr., The New York Times reported that “all leases expire in October, 1920.”  The newspaper added “Recently it was reported that the property would be converted into a high-grade office building, and it is possible that a resale will be made for an improvement of this character.”

Although the resale did not happen for another five years, Natanson turned the building over to a developer on May 6, 1925.  Before the end of the year it was demolished to make way for the 24-story office building designed by George F. Pelham.

Like the mansion that had stood here before it, the remarkable Knickerbocker Apartments, designed with the feeling of two-story houses, became a victim of the ever-changing 5^th Avenue.

George F. Pelham's office building still stands on the site of the old Knickerbocker Apartments -- photo by Alice Lum

The 1898 Dreicer Building - Nos 436-468 5th Avenue

The white marble Dreicer Building, engulfed by the much later Lord & Taylor building, is rarely noticed by passersby -- photo by Alice Lum

The jewelry company founded by Erastus Barton in 1810 at No. 166 Broadway had come a long way by 1898.   Now known as Black, Starr & Frost it had a reputation equal to Tiffany & Co. for its high-quality jewelry, sterling silverware, clocks, watches and related goods.

As the shopping district catering to the carriage trade crept uptown, so did Black, Starr & Frost.  It had moved five times and now was preparing to do so again.    In 1893 the looming Waldorf Hotel opened on Fifth Avenue and 33^rd Street signaling the encroachment of business into the residential neighborhood.   The jeweler would be close behind, opening its new marble home on April 1, 1898, years before the arrival of Tiffany and B. Altman & Co. who would follow suit nearby.

The new building replaced two broad mansions at Nos. 436 and 438 Fifth Avenue, at the southwest corner of 39^th Street.   Seven-stories high, the rusticated Beaux-Arts structure was at the same time opulent and refined.   The Fifth Avenue and 39^th Streets facades were equally impressive.  Juliette balconies with ornate French railings projected from the sixth floor.  One floor above, a stone balcony wrapped the building supported by paired, scrolled brackets.   Surrounded by the mansions of New York’s wealthiest citizens, the white marble oozed class.

sketch from Black, Starr & Frost's cenntenial pamplet (copyright expired)

In the meantime, another jewelry firm was making its mark.  In 1868 Jacob Dreicer opened his jewelry business at No. 1,128 Broadway.  At the time, socialites festooned themselves in pearls, essentially ignoring colored gemstones.    Although Dreicer and his son became important pearl dealers—one 30-inch string of perfectly-matched pearls put together by the firm sold for $1,500,000 and single pearls from the store went for as high as $130,000—they were instrumental in establishing the popularity of colored gems.  Decades later The New York Times would say “The father and the son are credited with having done much to overcome these prejudices and to have aided in creating in this country a taste for beautiful gems and exquisite art in jewelry.”  A single diamond, known as the Duke of York diamond, was sold for $125,000.

Black Starr & Frost sold this up-to-the-minute Art Nouveau silver ewer here in 1910.

Even before Black, Starr & Frost edged its way into residential Fifth Avenue, Dreicer did so.   The Times noted “Jacob Dreicer was among the first to perceive the possibilities of Fifth Avenue’s development as the greatest exclusive retail shopping street in the world.  In 1885 he purchased the old Wall home at 292 Fifth Avenue, then in the heart of the fashionable residential section of New York City, and converted it into one of the finest business buildings on the avenue.”

Son Michael Dreicer continued in the family business, but actively involved himself in real estate as well, focusing mostly on the development of Fifth Avenue.   In April 1904 he shocked real estate investors by paying $1 million for the 39^th Street corner where the six-year old Black, Starr & Frost building stood—the highest price ever paid for Fifth Avenue property.  Dreicer explained that he purchased the property as an investment for his children.   In order to keep it in the family, “Mr. Dreicer is said to have arranged matters so that none of his children can dispose of a share in it without the consent of all the others,” reported The Times.

photo by Alice Lum

The purchase no doubt annoyed brothers F. V. and J. H. Burton—known in real estate circles as the Burton Brothers—who by now had managed to buy up the entire block, except for the 39^th Street corner.  The brothers were the largest holders of realty in the Fifth Avenue area.  Brownstone mansions still filled the block, wrapping around the stately building, presenting a ripe plum for development.

Dreicer leased a portion of the building, still occupied by his rival jeweler, to the esteemed publishing firm D. Appleton and Company.   The firm was founded in 1825 by Daniel Appleton and by now was one of the premier book publishers in America, with a major focus on educational publications.    The American School Board Journal remarked that year that “D. Appleton and Company’s new location is but two blocks from the site of the new consolidated library of New York, now in process of construction.  The vicinity of this great library will doubtless become in time the literary center of New York.”

It didn’t happen.

 An Appleton banner hangs from the building in 1904 -- photo The American School Board Journal, January 1904 (copyright expired)

Shortly afterward, Black, Starr & Frost was on the move again.   In July 1909 the jeweler purchased the Charles T. Cook mansion a few blocks north at 5^th Avenue and 48^th Street, and exactly one year later moved into its new building designed on the site by Carerre & Hastings.

In October 1912 Lord & Taylor decided to abandon its grand Victorian emporium on Broadway.  The department store leased from the Burton Brothers all the property on the west side of Fifth Avenue between 38^th and 39^th Streets “except the Dreicer building on the Thirty-ninth Street corner,” said The Times.   Construction on its new building designed by Starrett & Van Vleck began the following year and was completed in 1914.  The impressive 10-story Italian Renaissance structure engulfed Dreicer’s.

In the meantime, in February 1912 A. A. Vantine & Co. had leased the entire Dreicer Building.  Its subsidiary, Aitken Company, took over Black, Starr & Frost’s former retail space.   Aitken had established itself as one of the select dry goods stores in the city, having done business from Broadway and 18^th Street for four decades.

Vantine & Co. operated Vantine’s “The Oriental Store.”  Exotic gifts like Chinese porcelains, Japanese tea sets, Turkish rugs and lacquered ware were sold here.  With the change in tenants, Michael Dreicer announced planned renovations for the building that would add five stories at a cost of $100,000.  Although plans were filed with the Building Superintendent on April 20, 1912, they were never carried out.

Vantine's sold a dizzying array of "Oriental delicacies."

Vantine’s remained until May 1921 when it subleased the building to Ovington Brothers, dealers in china goods.  When the arrangement was announced in June 1920, Dreicer commissioned architects Hutton & Buys to renovate the lower floors.  The remodeling, which cost Dreicer about $20,000, updated the two lower floors with Corinithian pilasters, a Greek key frieze and expanded window openings.  The renovations were completed by June 1921 when Ovington’s took over the space.  An advertisement in The New York Tribune boasted “A new landmark appears upon the scene.”

A 1921 Ovington's advertisement shows the renovated lower floors.

The high-end store filled the building with exclusive goods aimed at moneyed customers.   The first floor displayed Venetian glass, Nancy glass, smoking items, Florentine leather and other gifts.  On the second floor were clocks and Italian marbles, tapestries, bronzes and silver.  The china department was on the third floor, crystal on the fourth and home furnishings were on the fifth.  Here women could sort through tea wagons, mantel mirrors, lamps and shades, and other items for the home.

Through all the renovations, the upper stories with their carved marble ornamentation, French railings and exquisite cornice survived untouched -- photo by Alice Lum

The following month Michael Dreicer died.  At only 53 years old, he had amassed a tremendous fortune not only through his jewelry business; but through his extensive real estate holdings.   He bequeathed an art collection valued at more than $1 million to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In March 1935, with Ovington’s now gone, Beyda & Co., dealers in linens, took over the store, mezzanine and basement.

The corner property that Michael Dreicer snatched up before the Burton Brothers could buy it was finally absorbed when, in 1986 Lord & Taylor’s parent company, Associated Dry Goods, signed a lease for the entire building.    The ground level Lord & Taylor façade was reproduced around the 39^th Street corner, including the vast show windows with their Roman upper sections.  Only the rear section retained its rusticated first and second floors.

Lord & Taylor continued its street level facade around the corner of the Dreicer Building; but retained the Corinthian pilasters of the 1920 renovation-- photo by Alice Lum

In a bustling city where busy pedestrians rarely look above street level, no one notices that Lord & Taylor’s mammoth store is really two buildings.  The white marble home of a Victorian jeweler that once sat among brownstone mansions is largely overlooked.