The Lost Kernochan Mansion -- No. 862 Park Avenue

The Kernochan mansion was surrounded by private carriage houses -- photograph "Architecture" July 1914 (copyright expired

Joseph Frederick Kernochan enjoyed the privileged life of a wealthy Manhattan child in the 1850s.  Born to Joseph and Margaret S. Kernochan, he was privately tutored by respected professors.  The one-on-one education was successful—he entered Columbia College Law School in 1863 and graduated as valedictorian two years later.  On April 15, 1869 the already-successful lawyer married Mary Stuart Whitney, daughter of William and Mary Whitney.  The first of five children would arrive a year later on March 14.

The Kernochans lived in a large old house at No. 11 East 26^th Street, facing Madison Square.  Next door at No. 13 was the home of Frank Work, a well-known banker and “horse fancier.”   Once one of the most exclusive residential enclaves in the city; Madison Square was being taken over by business buildings in 1911 when Frank Work died.  Now the Work and Kernochan mansions were among the last relics of that gilded age.

On April 2, 1912 The New York Times reported on the sale of the two houses to make way for a new commercial structure.  “Only one of the old-time residences will remain in the block when the Kernochan and Work houses are torn down—the old Field dwelling at 21 East Twenty-sixth Street.”  The newspaper reminisced “When Mr. Work took up his residence there Madison Square was the centre of fashionable residences, and he lived long enough to see the majority of them give way to towering commercial structures.”

Just over a week later the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide reported that architects Cross & Cross had filed plans for a five-story mansion for J. F. Kernochan at the northwest corner of Park Avenue and 77^th Street.  The once-marginal thoroughfare had lately lured affluent homeowners who only recently would not have ventured farther east of Madison Avenue.

The mansion was completed in 1914—a distinguished red brick neo-Georgian beauty that sat on a rusticated limestone base.  The 18^th century motif was carried out in splayed stone lintels, handsome carved panels between the second and third floors, an imposing broken pediment above the balcony over the entrance portico, and a stone balustrade above the bracketed cornice.

The intricate entrance portico supported a balcony with wrought iron railing -- photograph "Architecture" July 1914 (copyright expired)

The commanding mansion spread itself over 90 feet along Park Avenue and stood in stark contrast to the rows of utilitarian carriage houses that surrounded it on both sides.

J. Frederick and Mary Kernochan were highly visible in society.  Kernochan was an influential and highly regarded attorney, causing Yale College’s “History” to say “He has the management of many large estates and has been engaged in several important causes, with marked success.”

In July 1914 "Architecture" published the floor plans of the three main levels (copyright expired)

Nevertheless, it was son Frederic who garnered most of the attention.  A lawyer like his father, he became City Magistrate and later a Chief Justice of the New York County Supreme Court and a co-founder of the Association of the Bar of New York City.

And so when a small fire broke out in the house on November 26, 1916 The New York Times ignored the homeowners and focused on the judge.  “During the dinner hour last night at Justice Frederic Kernochan’s home at 862 Park Avenue a slight blaze was discovered in the breakfast room.  It was extinguished by the firemen before much damage resulted.  The cause is not known.”

The Kernochan dining room was fully-paneled -- photograph "Architecture" July 1914 (copyright expired)

On January 7, 1921 son Whitney married Helen Gaynor Bedford--the daughter of the later Mayor William Jay Gaynor.  Society pages focused less on the bride’s relationship to the former mayor and more on her recent divorce from Edward Thomas Bedford in Nevada four months earlier.

It would be among the last joyous events for the residents of 862 Park Avenue.  The following summer, as they were accustomed to doing, the Kernochans closed the mansion and went to their estate at Bernardsville, New Jersey.  There, following a long illness, the 70-year old Mary Stuart Kernochan died on August 11, 1922.

The family living room was, perhaps, unexpectedly inviting -- photograph by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYW5IMH42&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

The title to the Park Avenue mansion was in Mary’s name and, oddly enough, her will did not include her husband in its handling.  “Mrs. Kernochan bequeathed her furniture, furs, laces, engravings, books and automobiles to her daughters, the Misses Eweretta and Mary S. Kernochan, to whom she also gave the use of the Park Avenue residence during their lives,” reported the New-York Tribune on October 10, 1922.  “Upon the death of the daughters the residence is to revert to Justice Kernochan and another son, Whitney Kernochan, of East Norwich, L.I.”

Mary left $500 each to three of the household servants—a generous $6,500 today.  Perhaps she felt J. Frederick’s personal fortune was enough to keep him comfortable; for the will instructed that the “residuary estate is to be divided equally among the decedent’s husband, sons and daughters.”

The mansion cleverly wrapped around the family garage -- photograph by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYW5IMH42&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Mary’s death signaled the end of Kernochan residency in the mansion.  On November 14, 1922 the New-York Tribune noted that “Mr. and Mrs. Geoge Arents, Jr. have taken the Frederick Kernochan house…and will make their home there this winter.”

Just prior to moving into the Park Avenue mansion Arents had become a Director of the American Tobacco Company, of which his father was Treasurer.  Within a few months he would inherit one third of his father’s $10 million estate. 

The 1920s saw the rise of glamorous apartment buildings along Park Avenue and the Kernochan mansion soon became a victim of one.  On July 17, 1925 construction was completed on what the Department of Buildings deemed a 14-story “tenement”—an upscale Jazz Age apartment building that survives today. 

Amazingly, next door is another survivor, albeit much altered: one of the string of vintage carriage houses that once swarmed around the Kernochan mansion. 

A close look reveals an much-altered carriage house that still stands next to the 1925 apartment building which replaced the decade-old Kernochan mansion.  photo cityrealty.com

The 1896 Edith Wharton Carriage House -- No. 111 E 77th Street

On August 9, 1895 builder-architects McCafferty & Buckley filed plans for a “three story brick stable and dwelling” to be erected at No. 111 East 77^th Street.  Robert W. Buckley and Robert McCafferty had already been busy in the rapidly-developing area; putting up rows of townhouses and corresponding carriage houses.

Their choice of location made sense.  Sitting between Fourth Avenue (later named Park Avenue) and Lexington Avenue, it was close enough to the fine homes near Central Park to be convenient; yet far enough away that wealthy homeowners were not offended by noises and smells.  Similar carriage houses were appearing on the north side of the block; while on across the street was the nurses’ training school of the German Hospital and Dispensary.

The architects estimated the cost of the proposed structure at $18,000—about half a million today.  That figure may have risen when the intended brick façade became instead stone.  The handsome gray graining of the planar block of the upper floors suggests marble rather than the more expected granite or limestone.

McCafferty & Buckley’s carriage house “and dwelling” was completed the following year.  It was an income producing property for the partners and they retained ownership for four years.  And while similar structures housed stable-related employees on the upper floors, rooms in the building at No. 111 were leased to a variety of tenants of meager means.  As the 19^th century rolled over to the 20^th, only one occupant held a carriage occupation—apprentice coachman George H. Thompson (just 16 years old).

All of the residents were black, born in the US, except Irish immigrant Ellen McCarty who made her living as a laundress.  The other three women in the building were also laundresses; and there was one valet.

On October 3, 1900, about three months after the census-taker recorded the mix of residents, The New York Times reported that McCafferty & Buckley had sold the “three-story private stable” to Edward R. Wharton.   The wealthy Wharton who lived nearby at No. 884 Park Avenue at 78^th Street paid a hefty $36,000 for the stable. 

In 1885 he had married the former Edith Newbold Jones in a fashionable society wedding.  Wharton relished the whirlwind of social seasons in Newport and Europe; in stark contrast to his wife who disdained the conspicuous consumption and inane lifestyle of her staggeringly-wealthy peers.

For about a decade following her marriage Edith Wharton published poems and short stories; although Edward was mainly unimpressed with her avocation.  By the time the carriage house was purchased, Edith was seeing some recognition as a writer.  In 1897 she had begun writing The Decoration of Houses and two years later The Greater Inclination, a collection of short stories was published.

The deed to the 77^th Street carriage house was apparently transferred to Edith’s name.  On November 13, 1903 The New York Times reported that Edith Wharton had leased the stable to Edward T. H. Talmage. 

Talmage lived at No. 969 Park Avenue at 82^nd Street.  His passion for golf led to his co-founding the Somerset Hills Country Club in Bernardsville, New Jersey in 1894.  The Talmages maintained a 400-acre estate in New Jersey known as “Woodmere Farms.”

Edward Talmage used the carriage house for only a year.  In 1904 Edith Wharton sold it to Francis Burton Harrison and his wife.  Mary Burton Harrison was the former Mary Crocker, daughter of Colonel Charles Fred Crocker of San Francisco, and heiress to the Crocker Bank and railroad fortunes.

The Harrisons had been married four years earlier.  Mary’s personal wealth rivaled that of her husband and Some Prominent Virginia Families noted that under Crocker’s will “the daughter received a large fortune.”  Her portion of the estate was about $5 million.

The year that Harrison purchased the carriage house he received the nomination for Lieutenant Governor at the Democratic State Convention.  The following year he was elected to Congress.  The couple lived at No. 876 Fifth Avenue across from Central Park.

Although their coachman lived above the stable, evincing that the building was still used for horses and carriages; the Harrisons owned motorcars, too, and a garage was maintained on West 58^th Street.  On November 25, 1905 tragedy struck when Mary was motoring in Long Island City.   Her brother, Charles T. Crocker who was studying at Yale, and two friends from San Francisco, Mr. and Mrs. Laurence I. Scott, were visiting and the party was on their way to Hempstead Colony, Long Island.

As the limousine headed down Thompson’s Hill (deemed by a newspaper as “a favorite speedway for automobiles"), Scott and Crocker were examining a road map while Mary and Mrs. Scott were talking and laughing.  The chauffeur, Constant Ravert, turned and said that something was wrong with the steering gear.

According to the Baltimore Sun, “The next instant the machine swerved sharply.  The chauffeur’s frantic efforts to guide it back into the road were fruitless and the car plunged toward a ditch at the side of the road, with a telegraph pole booming directly in its course.  It struck the pole a glancing blow and then toppled into the ditch.”

Mary Burton Harrison was thrown under the car, her head pinned down by the vehicle.  Her neck was broken.  The Baltimore Sun reported “Former Congressman Harrison was grief stricken to-night, remaining at the hospital with the body of his wife.”

Harrison would hold on to the 77^th Street carriage house for years as his political stature grew.  Unfortunately, so did his less-than-sterling reputation.  According to historian Robert A. Fulton in his Moroland, 1899-1906, “Handsome, rich, and powerful, Harrison also gained a deserved and less-savory reputation as an aggressive ladies man who targeted other men’s wives, particularly attractive spouses of those equally rich and powerful.  He went through six marriages in his lifetime, four ending in divorce.”

In the meantime, the German Hospital and Dispensary moved its facility in 1905 from the Lower East Side to the block where its nursing school had stood for decades.  As the United States entered World War I, a name change was deemed advisable to distance the hospital from the enemy abroad.  In July 1918 the medical facility directly across the street from the Harrison carriage house was renamed Lenox Hill Hospital.

In 1920 Francis Burton Harrison sold the contents of the Fifth Avenue mansion.  On March 13 the public was invited to the American Art Galleries to view the “costly antique and modern furniture, Oriental rugs and other objects of household embellishment and utility belonging to the estate of the late Mrs. Mary Burton Harrison.”  The following year, on April 21, 1921, he sold “the three-story garage” to Amy H. Weatherbee.

Amy was the widow of Edwin H. Weatherbee, the former head of the dry goods firm Arnold, Constable & Co.  Weatherbee’s position with the emporium was no doubt influenced by the fact that his wife was the daughter of Arnold Constable.  The Weatherbees had been highly conspicuous in society.  Until his death in 1912 Edwin bred and raced thoroughbreds and was a member of the Chamber of Commerce, New York yacht Club, Riding Club, Metropolitan Club, Union League and the Yale Club.

Throughout the 20^th century the block of 77^th Street between Lexington and Park Avenues changed greatly.  Lenox Hill Hospital expanded and enlarged until it engulfed the entire block across the street.  And yet the three-story carriage house remained essentially unchanged above the ground floor.

Today the picturesque little building is part of Lenox Hill Hospital—an unlikely survivor of a time when an emerging literary giant housed her horses and elegant carriages here.

photographs taken by the author

The 1909 Ziegel House -- No. 8 West 86th Street

photo by Alice Lum

The gilded 1890s saw the construction of ornate marble or limestone palaces along the east side of Central Park.  But as the decade wore on, interest in a less fussy form of architecture and residential decoration caught hold.  Rooted in America’s early Georgian or Federal styles, it took the form of red brick and limestone residences like the Andrew Carnegie mansion, completed in 1903. 

Across the park on the Upper West Side, among the more eccentric rowhouses and mansions, the style appeared as well—as reflected in the Charles Rich house at No. 225 West 91^st Street, erected in 1896.  Twelve years later Dr. H. F. L. Ziegel and his wife, Beatrice, would join the trend.

On February 28, 1908 The New York Times reported that the Ziegels had filed plans for a four-story residence to be built at No. 8 West 86^th Street.  “The house will be of Colonial design,” said the newspaper, “with a façade of brick and limestone.” 

The Ziegels commissioned the architectural firm of Taylor & Levi to design their home which was completed a year later at a cost of $20,000—about $500,000 today.  The result was a charming neo-Georgian home that recalled the pre-Revolutionary streets of Philadelphia, Boston or New York. 

photo by Alice Lum

The dark red brick was accentuated by gleaming white limestone.  Two bandcourses, above the first and third floors, broke the visual weight of the structure.  A handsome columned portico supported the focal point of the home—multi-paned French doors opening onto a wrought iron balcony and capped by an delicately carved tympanum.  A gently-curved mansard punctuated by three dormers finished the motif.

The French doors and carved tympanum steal the show -- photo by Alice Lum

As was most often the case with high-end residences at the time, the deed was put in the wife’s name.  The couple, it seems, held a deep affection for initials; for the title was held by Beatrice S. B. Ziegel.  The highly-esteemed Dr. H. F. L. Ziegel was the house physician at Mount Sinai Hospital and routinely wrote articles published in medical journals.

The house was completed and the Ziegels moved in just in time for a house wedding.  Dr. Ziegel’s cousin, Helen Wile, lived in Rochester, New York.  Her finance, Reuben Mills, was a resident of Nashville, Tennessee.  Perhaps the two families felt it most convenient to hold the ceremony somewhere geographically in the middle and on December 17, 1909 the ceremony took place in the Ziegel home.

Splayed lintels and a graceful broken pediment add to the 18th century motif -- photo by Alice Lum

After the Ziegels left No. 8 West 86^th Street the medical tradition continued as Dr. D. M. Kaplan moved in by 1921; followed by Dr. M. Herman.  Unlike Drs. Ziegel and Kaplan, Dr. Herman’s time in the spotlight was for less-than-respectable reasons.

With Prohibition in high swing, Dr. Herman discovered a way to make easy cash—“prescription bootlegging.”  Often forgotten today is the fact that not all alcohol was banned by the Volstead Act.  Six distilleries were allowed to manufacture “medicinal whiskey.”  They were permitted to sell it to licensed pharmacies which, in turn, could fill prescriptions signed by a physician.

The legally distilled whiskey was highly prized for its quality—not to mention its safety--when compared to bootleg liquor.  It made for an alluring proposition for physicians like Dr. Herman who was arrested on March 17, 1926 along with 26 other physicians, six druggists and four distillery owners.  The New York Times explained how “prescription bootlegging” worked.

“The physicians, two of whom are women, are charged with having sold their prescription books at $125 to $150 each to distillery salesmen, who in turn sold them to druggists.  The books, it is alleged, were signed in blank so that the druggist could fill them out whenever he sold whisky to a customer.”

On February 11, 1945 the house, still a private home, was leased to Dorothy Jewson.  But its status as a single-family residence would not survive into the second half of the century.  In 1953 the house was converted to apartments, two per floor. 

A few years later Martha J. Black moved into one of the apartments.  Known as Jo Jo to her friends, she was a psychiatric social worker at Mount Sinai Hospital; coincidentally the same hospital where Dr. H. F. L. Ziegel had practiced.  A graduate of Swarthmore College and the New York School of Social Work of Columbia University, she was perhaps better known as the daughter of Associate Justice Hugo L. Black of the United States Supreme Court.  In 1959 while living here she married Dr. Mario Lewis Pesaresi, a resident psychiatrist at Mount Sinai.

Dr. Ziegel’s medical tradition in the house continues today, in a manner of speaking--a veterinary clinic operates on the first floor.  A spacious duplex apartment engulfs the second and third floors; while the fourth story still contains two apartments.

photo by Alice Lum

Taylor &Levi’s handsome neo-Georgian home survives beautifully intact; a delightful surprise just steps from Central Park.

The George M. Cohan Statue -- Duffy Square

photo by Alice Lum

George M. Cohan was born on July 3, 1878—one day before the Fourth of July—with musical theater in his veins.   At a very early age he joined his family in their vaudeville act, “The Four Cohans,” that included his father, mother and sister.

By his teens, when the talented boy was not wowing audiences with his singing, dancing and acting, he was composing songs and plays.  In 1901 at the age of 23 he produced his first play in New York, The Governor’s Son.  Undaunted by its luke-warm reception, he followed-up with Running for Office in 1903.  The 20-member cast included the all four of the Cohans, and George introduced 15 new songs.  The manager of the Fourteenth Street Theatre touted it as “a real novelty.”



One song from The Governor's Son had the shocking title "Never Breathe A World of This To Mother [Father Who's Your Lady Friend?] -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

Like The Governor’s Son, Running for Office was doomed to fade into theatrical oblivion.

Then the following year George produced Little Johnny Jones.  Things were about to change for the 26-year old George M. Cohan. 

As with his earlier projects, along with writing the play Cohan was his own song-writer and lyricist.  Among the 16 new songs in Little Johnny Jones were two standouts—“Give My Regards to Broadway,” and “Yankee Doodle Boy.”  The latter foreshadowed the patriotic songs Cohan would pen during World War I and which would become his hallmark.

One page from an advertising pamphlet for Little Johnny Jones promised "The prettiest girls and the funniest play that ever departed from Old Broadway." -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

Little Johnny Jones was a hit with Broadway audiences as well as on the road.  Each time Cohan took the play to another city, he was pulled back to New York.  On August 1, 1905 The New York Times noted “George M. Cohan has come back to the New York Theatre with ‘Little Johnny Jones.’  Seven times already has this musical comedy been in New York, and this is its second visit to the New York Theatre.”

While his hit play was running, Cohan was busy working on a new musical.  In 1905 he simultaneously produced Forty-five Minutes from Broadway; and on February 11, 1906 The Times reported “George M. Cohan, who made the unique record of twelve engagements in New York in his own play, ‘Little Johnny Jones,’ in the eighteen months past, will return to this city to-morrow evening and present his new musical play ‘George Washington, Jr.,’ at the Herald Square Theatre."

The newspaper noted that “Like ‘Little Johnny Jones,’ Mr. Cohan wrote the book, lyrics, and music of ‘George Washington, Jr.,’ staged the piece himself, and plays the principal role.”  Cohan added to his list of patriotic songs with his new production.  “Mr. Cohan sings two new patriotic songs, ‘The Grand Old Rag,’ [later renamed "You’re a Grand Old Flag”] and a topical song, ‘If Washington Came to Life.’”

photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

By 1920 Cohan had written and produced more than 50 musicals, comedies, revues and dramas.  With the United States' entry into World War I, his patriotic fervor, expressed as music, detonated.  In 1917, shortly after hearing that the United States had declared war on Germany, he wrote “Over There.”  The tune became the virtual rallying song of Americans throughout the war; and was later resurrected during World War II.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

In February 1919 Cohan played the leading role in his A Prince There Was.  In its review, The New-York Tribune wrote less about the play than about its author and principal actor.  “No one is particularly concerned to find out whether Mr. Cohan is as good an actor as he is an acute and successful playwright and author.  As a matter of fact he is.  Accomplishments seldom come singly…He keeps in continuous operation a three-ring circus of which he is the sole performer.  Thus in one ring he is busily pyramiding the plays he is writing, in another he is juggling chaotic bits of the new musical piece he is producing and in the third he lightly trapezes into the performance of ‘A Prince There Was.’  These three rings cannot be kept going simultaneously, of course, but the successions are effected with the smooth continuity of a protean artist.”

Cohan's 1910 production The Man Who Owns Broadway included this lavish chorus scene -- photograph by Byron & Co. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWE24X85&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=579

One of the three rings of the Cohan circus was about to disappear.

Later that year the Actors’ Equity Association struck the Broadway theaters.   Cohan opposed the strike which sought restrictions which would hamper his appearing in his own productions.  Although while the strike continued he donated $100,000 to finance the Actors’ Retirement Fund, many theatrical professionals never forgave him.  He announced his retirement from acting that year.

The Sun opined on November 30, 1919 “As actor, playwright, dancer and singer he has enjoyed all the success that might come to any man.  And it is as playwright, in such work as ‘Get Rich Quick Wallingford’ and in ‘Seven Keys to Bald Pate’ that he has shown ability of a fine order…Mr. Cohan’s present retirement will never be regretted if it affords him the time to write plays as good as the best of those he has produced in the past.”

On June 29, 1936 President Franklin D. Roosevelt added to Cohan’s many distinctions when he presented him with the Congressional Gold Medal for his patriotic songs that bolstered morale during World War I.  The song-writer was the first person in an artistic profession to receive the honor.

As he aged and his theatrical and musical successes continued, George M. Cohan was the embodiment of Broadway.  Throughout the decades he represented the profession at the funerals of its greatest names—Barrymore, Belasco and Gershwin among them.  In 1941 Broadway feared Cohan’s own funeral was imminent.

On October 18 he underwent an emergency operation for “an abdominal condition.”  The 63-year old was reported to be “gravely ill.”   That he was suffering from stomach cancer was not publicized for months.   While he was hospitalized, Warner Bros. was finishing up its musical spectacle based on Cohan’s life, Yankee Doodle Dandy.  Cohan was played by James Cagney.

The film was released in 1942.  George Cohan was by now severely ill and a private screening was held for him.  Reportedly his comment on Cagney’s portrayal was “My God, what an act to follow.”

Later that year, at 5:00 a.m. on November 6, “George M. Cohan, the Yankee Doodle Dandy of the American stage who gave his country its greatest song of the first World War, died,” as reported by The Times.  The newspaper called him “The great song and dance man—perhaps the greatest in Broadway history.”

The President of the United States sent a telegram to Cohan’s widow saying “A beloved figure is lost to our national life in the passing of your devoted husband.  He will be mourned by millions whose lives were brightened and whose burdens were eased by his genius as a fun maker and as a dispeller of gloom.”

Two days later St. Patrick’s Cathedral was overwhelmed by the crowds at Cohan’s funeral.  “Four thousand persons including many standees filled the edifice during the high mass of requiem.  Two thousand more, according to police estimates, gathered outside the cathedral, leaving the steps clear for the long procession of honorary pallbearers,” said The New York Times.

Among the dignitaries in the church were five Governors, two Mayors, the Postmaster General, and the former secretary to President Woodrow Wilson.  The honorary pallbearers included Irving Berlin, Eddie Cantor, Frank Crowninshield, Sol Bloom, Brooks Atkinson, Rube Goldberg, Walter Huston, George Jessel, Connie Mack, Joseph McCarthy, Eugene O’Neill, Sigmund Romberg, Lee Shubert, Jerry Vogel and Fred M. Waring among many others.

Before long a committee was organized to memorialize Cohan on Broadway.   On June 26, 1956 committee chairman Oscar Hammerstein announced the plans.  The city agreed to improve the block-long triangular Duffy Square and organizers were already collecting subscriptions towards the $75,000 statue.  Hammerstein announced that the base of the statue would bear the inscription “Give My Regards to Broadway.”

The Times noted that “Irving Berlin, who suggested the inscription, already has pledged $10,000, Mr. Hammerstein said.”

Georg John Lober was given the commission to sculpt the statue and architect Otto Langman worked on the granite base.  (The pair simultaneously worked on the Hans Christian Anderson statue in Central Park.)  

photo by Alice Lum

As the memorial was in work, Oscar Hammerstein commented on it in 1957.  “When I was told that there was talk of building a statue to commemorate George M. Cohan, I started immediately to wonder why it had not been done before.  And then I tried to think of how many statues of American actors, playwrights or song writers I had seen in the parks or streets of American cities.  I could think of none.  Perhaps there are a few.  I hope so.  Here, at any rate, is a man who deserves quite obviously to be so honored.  New York is the right city to have a statue of George M. Cohan, and the Broadway which he served so well is the right place in that city to harbor the statue.”

By November 21, 1957 when ground was broken the cost of the statue and base had risen to $100,000.  On September 11, 1959, following the last Broadway curtain’s drop that evening, the statue was finally unveiled.  “Ten thousand of the old throng, Broadwayites, entertainers, policemen and theatre-goers jammed into the area around Broadway and Forty-sixth Street for the unveiling of a bronze statue eight feet tall at the south end of Duffy Square,” reported The Times the following day.

George Jessel, wearing the obligatory cane and straw hat of a song-and-dance-man, acted as master of ceremonies.  Just past midnight, as the end of the ceremony ended, the 10,000 onlookers joined in song, belting out “Give My Regards to Broadway.”

photo by Alice Lum

The Fannie R. Scott House -- No. 129 East 64th Street

photo by Alice Lum

In 1876 architect and builder John McCool was frantically erecting rows of brownstone houses in Manhattan’s rapidly developing Upper East Side.  That year he began construction on another project—ten matching homes stretching from No. 115 to 133 East 64^th Street.  The neo-Grec residences, completed a year later, would be among McCool’s last ambitious developments; a year later he was forced into bankruptcy with nearly $3 million in liabilities.

The house at No. 129 was home to retired merchant Michael Elias and his wife Johanna in the 1890s.  The wealthy Elias came to the aid of Ronald T. McDonald, Director of the Madison Square Bank in 1893 when he, as well as all other officers of the bank, were arrested and “accused of being concerned in the wrecking of that institution,” according to The New York Times on October 25.

While Edward S. Stokes (who, incidentally, had been pardoned in 1884 for the murder of James Fisk) had furnished preliminary bail for McDonald; it was Michael Elias who stepped up with the $10,000 to guarantee his freedom.  To do so, he gave the house at No. 129 East 64^th Street as collateral.  It was valued at $25,000 (about $625,000 today).

By the turn of the century Helena Rexer owned the house; and in the spring of 1900 she sold it to Winfield Scott and his wife.  On May 13 The New York Times society page noted that “Mr. and Mrs. Winfield Scott have given up their town house on Lexington Avenue, where they have resided since their marriage.”  A month later the title to No. 129 East 64^th Street was transferred to Scott’s wife, Fannie R. Scott. 

While highly visible in society, the Scotts were not part of the Newport or Bar Harbor sets, instead summering in their cottage at Far Rockaway.

Fannie would live for decades in the house, busying herself with charitable causes and social events.  In 1920 she increased the square footage of the home by adding a two-story extension in the rear at a cost of $1,300.

In 1937 Arne Horlin Ekstrom and his wife, Parmenia, purchased the house.  As was normally the case, the title was put in Parmenia’s name.   By now many of the old brownstones in the original row had been made over and updated.  Before moving in, the Ekstroms had major plans in mind.

The architectural firm of Coffin & Coffin was commissioned to transform the outmoded Victorian into a modern mansion.  The stoop was removed and the entrance lowered to street level within a rusticated limestone base.  The architects managed to successfully integrate the original neo-Grec details and brownstone façade of the third and fourth floors into the design.  At the new fifth story was a Palladian-inspired window grouping and a romantic, projecting balcony.

A less expressive servants' entrance opens to the left -- photo by Alice Lum

The house would be the scene of receptions, teas and dinners.  Parmenia Ekstrom was the President of the Ballet Guild and entertainments in her drawing room were often as much social and business.  On March 23, 1940 The Times reported that the Ekstroms “gave a tea yesterday at their home, 129 East Sixty-fourth Street, for a group active in the plans for the second annual Ballet Ball.”

 

Later that same year Parmenia accepted the chairmanship of the midnight All Star Dance program scheduled for August 6 at the Winter Garden.  The benefit event was sponsored by the British War Relief Society and was intended to aid children evacuated from the war zone.

The house managed to remain a single family home and in 1960 it was purchased by world renowned motion picture director Otto Preminger for $128,000 (just under $1 million today).  Preminger and his wife, Hope, were the parents of two new twins; but before they would move in they made changes.

Preminger wanted a modern home and commissioned graphic designer Saul Bass to make over the interiors.  The Academy Award-winning Bass was best known for his design of movie title sequences, corporate logos and film posters.  But for Preminger he turned his talents to interior design.

The interiors of the house were gutted and the renovations took nearly a full year to complete.  The family moved in on New Year’s Day 1961; although the work was not yet fully completed.  Preminger told his wife the house was like a play out of town:  “If you don’t bring it in, it will never open.”

In 1998 new owners once again set architects and designers to work renovating the mansion.  Christopher Smallwood, architect to the British Royal Family, added a limestone veneer with shallow pilasters to the former parlor level; extending the base to two stories.  Preminger’s modern interiors were made less so with antique 17^th and 18^th century architectural elements brought from Europe. 

Added stories provided more living space and questionable proportions -- photo by Alice Lum

The renovations took four years to complete and John McCool’s 1877 house, hidden somewhere within it all, had now risen to seven stories and included 20 rooms and an elevator.  In 2013 the mansion was sold for $11.6 million.

A baronial fireplace, parquet floors and wood-paneled walls effectively eliminated Otto Preminger's stark 60s-modern interiors -- photo www.elliman.com