The 1941 John Murray House -- No. 220 Madison Avenue

As the 18^th century became the 19^th, the land that would become Madison Avenue between 36^th and 37^th Streets was part of the Robert Murray country estate.   A well-to-do- merchant, he had signed a 42-year lease on 23 acres of “common land” in 1764, paying the city $250 a year rent.  Later Murray purchased the land, which became popularly known as Murray Hill. 

When son John Murray died, the land was divided among his children with the strict covenants that restricted the “use of the land in this area to residential purposes.”

Shortly after the related Phelps and Dodge families built their imposing brownstone mansions on Madison Avenue a block to the south in 1854, John H. Sherwood began construction of handsome rowhouses on the opposite site—at Nos. 220 through 230.  The last of these would be completed in 1859.

As the century drew to a close, the block was still exclusive.  At the southwest corner of 38^th Street was No. 230 Madison Avenue, the mansion of millionaire Anson Stokes and his wife the former Helen Louisa Phelps.  It was a gift of Helen’s father, Isaac Newton Phelps.   

The Stokes mansion at No. 230 Madison Avenue, was entered on 38th Street. Stokes Records - notes on his ancestry and that of his wife, 1915 (copyright expired)

Just to the south, No. 220 Madison Avenue exemplified the extraordinarily high-end tenor of the block.  When Perry Belmont leased that house for the winter season of 1893, he was especially excited that its top floor included a “fully appointed theatre.”  The New York Times, on December 20 that year noted that “he will arrange or the presentation of a comic opera in French, in which Mme. Theo is to play the leading role.”

But by the time that Stokes died in his brownstone residence in 1913 commerce was encroaching on Madison Avenue.  In 1920 No. 220 became the clubhouse of the American Woman’s Association; and yet the string of houses hung on through 1940.   That year, on December 14, Lee E. Cooper, writing in The New York Times, reported “A group of old brownstone dwellings rich in the early lore of the Murray Hill section of Manhattan is now in the hands of wreckers, and within a few months their site will be occupied by a fourteen-story apartment building, with penthouses.”  Cooper noted the old residences “have stood for eighty-years or more as symbols of the restricted residential character of the neighborhood.”

The 220 Madison Avenue Corp. had hired architect Kenneth B. Norton to design its upscale building.  Norton was no stranger to apartment building design; and in 1927 had published The Architecture of Co-Operative Apartments.  Along with the six mansions on Madison Avenue, Nos. 16 and 18 East 37^th Street would be demolished for the substantial building.

No. 220 Madison Avenue would have all the amenities expected by upper class apartment dwellers.  “Auto storage” for tenants only was provided below ground level and a private restaurant or “dining room” was planned for the ground level. 

While the upper façade of the completed building would be rather unremarkable in unadorned brown
brick; the first four floors were a modern take on the 18^th century style of Robert Adam.  Flat-faced stone pilasters rose three stories.  Their modified neo-Classical capitals were surmounted by bas-relief urns—another Adam-inspired motif.  The openings above the third floor cornice were ornamented by handsome paneled lintels.  Residents would enter through a delicately-adorned 18^th century-style doorway into a marble-wainscoted foyer with double doors below an arched and leaded fanlight.

Norton's 1940s take on 18th century elements included neo-classical capitals, urns and paneled lintels.

As the building neared completion in July 1941, artist Victor Seydel was hard at work on the lobby murals that honored the Murrays.  The first to be completed depicted the Murray family’s coach “which was often seen on the famous Middle Road which cut through the Murray estate,” said The New York Times on July 13.  The other murals would illustrate Kip’s Bay and the East River “where the British landed prior to going to Mary Murray’s house during the Revolutionary War;” the family home of Catherine Bowne, John Murray’s wife, in Flushing; and various other scenes of New York around 1800.

But perhaps the ultimate nod to the history of the property was the building’s name: The John Murray House.

18th century-inspired motifs abound in the entrance and foyer.

By now the first apartment lease had been signed in the $1,050,000 building.  Edward L. Beck, manager of the New York Clearing House was first in line on February 26, 1941.  By the time Seydel had finished the first mural in July, 20 more leases were signed.

The first residents moved in just before the attack on Pearl Harbor.  The United States entry into the war would have a noticeable effect on the lives of the tenants of No. 220 Madison Avenue.  Socialite Mrs. Austin Baldwin became highly involved with the Red Cross; and Anne Baumann Spear, wife of Maurice R. Spear (executive vice president of the Helmsley-Spear real estate company), took to driving an army ambulance.  By the war’s end she would be recognized by the Government for driving a total of 3,600 hours on Long Island.

Gerald Bradford, Jr. left Madison Avenue to fight overseas.  He was a Lieutenant commanding a “Catalina flying boat”—a navy bomber.  The 23-year old lieutenant’s father, incidentally, had served in World War I and was now back in uniform as a naval commander.

On March 9, 1943 Beverly Wilson Bradford picked up the newspaper to read that her husband had successfully sunk a German submarine.  Sensitive to the confidentiality of naval operations, she told reporters “I don’t think he’d want me to talk about it either, but now that it’s out, I think it’s pretty keen”

Living with Colonel William H. Beers of the U.S. Army and his wife, Helen Lois Beers in the building at the time was Helen's widowed sister, Mrs. Raymond Lewis Carpenter and her daughter, Helen Lois Carpenter.  A graduate of upscale private schools, Helen Carpenter was married in St. Bartholomew’s Church on June 12, 1943 to the dashing Army Lieutenant. Francis Harold Cloudman, Jr.

The 23-year old groom had recently graduated from the United States Military Academy.  His father was Major Francis H. Cloudman.  It was a military wedding with the male members of the party in dress uniform.   

In May of 1944 a son, also named Francis, was born.  When his father left to serve in the war in February 1945, Helen and the baby moved back into No. 220 Madison Avenue with her mother and aunt.  Tragically, she would never see her husband again.  On November 9, 1945 newspapers announced the Francis, now a captain, had been killed in Czechoslovakia.

The building served the war effort in other respects when it became home to the Friends of Belgium’s offices.  On October 17, 1943 the group announced it was accepting old clothes for war victims.  “The need is greatest for warm, sturdy things.”

Doris Kavanaugh lived here with her parents at the time.  Like Helen Lois Carpenter, she was educated in prominent schools—Trinity College in Washington DC and the Academy of Mount St. Vincent.  She was employed by a Government Information agency before accepting a position with the Overseas Branch of the Office of War Information in 1943.   She was sent to New Zealand in November to open the first OWI library there.

In time of war romance often blooms quickly, and only five weeks after she arrived in New Zealand a cable arrived at The New York Times office on New Year’s Day 1944.  The short communication advised that Doris “was married to Marine Lieut. George Metcalfe of California and Saint Andrews here today.”

When a reporter arrived at the John Murray House that afternoon, Mrs. Cavanaugh admitted that “news of the marriage of her daughter Doris to a Marine lieutenant came as a complete ‘New Year’s surprise.”

By the time World War II ended, the main floor dining room had been converted to a restaurant, The White Turkey.  Its chef in 1946, G. R. E. Ovide, was a somewhat surprising choice.  Ovide grew up in Bordeaux and Marseilles and was trained in French cuisine.  He had worked for three years on French ocean liners; but with the outbreak of war served in England and France baking bread for GIs.  During his 15 months of service he estimated he had baked 15 million pounds of bread.

Now he was the head chef of The White Turkey where his French culinary skills were put to the side.  The popular restaurant offered only classic American fare.  He told a reporter on August 27, 1946 “One reason people come back to the Turkey is the chicken pie.  We serve about 75 of them every day, season in and season out.”

Among the wealthy residents of No. 220 around this time was the family of greeting card manufacturer Stephen Usichon.  The Usichons maintained a 20-room country home in Dutchess County and it was here in 1949 that they experienced remarkable terror.

The house was filled with guests on the evening of March 20 for Betty Usichon’s birthday party.  Unexpectedly an automobile drove up and three men got out.  The driver remained inside the car.  The men entered the house as if they belong there; but not even the hosts complained.  The New York Times reported “Regarding the invasion as a practical joke, the guests bandied pleasantries with the armed intruders who cheerfully accepted drinks from them.”

Before long, however, the “thugs” tired of the pretense and herded the guests to the back of the house.  To convince the group that they were serious, they fired a few shots into the floor.   Some of the guests still thought their hosts were playing a prank.  Their suspicions ended when one of the robbers put his gun to the head of the caretakers’ three-month-old son and announced “I’ll let him have it if anybody moves.”

One person in the house that night had early on realized that this was no joke.  Unnoticed, Betty Usichon slipped upstairs where she retrieved a .22-calibre rifle.  As the men gathered up cash and jewelry from the guests, she came down the back stairs and through the dining room.  Just as she aimed the rifle, one of the victims saw her and shouted “Don’t do that, somebody is going to get hurt.”

Betty Usichon intended for somebody to get hurt; but the guest had upset her plans.  She was disarmed by one of the thieves. 

Before they left with $4,000 in cash and jewelry, the gunmen cut the phone wires and bound their victims, leaving them in the cellar.  They also removed all the keys from the ignitions of the cars parked outside. 

But one of the guests was able to free himself quickly and to start one of the vehicles.  With an accurate description of the getaway car, troopers captured the gang at gunpoint.  One of the men, Horace A. Nichols regretted taking part in the hold-up.  He told a detective “I’m a burglar and should have had enough sense to stick to my trade.”

Within the year armed robbery would strike much closer to home.  Two men entered The White Turkey on February 25, 1950 and, after patiently waiting at the bar an hour for a table, sat down to eat at around 9:00.  One of the men had come in without a tie, so hostess Julia Keegan loaned him one from the restaurant’s stock kept for such occasions.

When the patrons were finished, they paid the bill of $7.50 and tipped their waitress $2.50.  Then on their way out they pulled out guns and took $2,000 in cash from the cashier.  But before escaping, the thief that borrowed the tie remembered to return it to Julia Keegan.

Living in the John Murray House at the time were Harold S. Pollard, former chief editorial writer for the New York World-Telegram and Sun; and his wife, the once-famous stage actress Chrystal Herne.  The daughter of James A. Herne, who had been one of the leading actors, playwrights and directors of his day; she had made her stage debut in 1899 at the age of 16.  An immediate success, she was a leading lady until her last appearance at the 46^th Street Theatre in January 1936 in A Room in Red and White.

Chrystal Herne as she appeared in the early years of the 20th century -- from the collection of the Library of Congress

By 1957 Irving Hutter, president of a grocery store chain in the South, and his wife Phyllis lived in a 14^th floor duplex apartments here.  In April that year Phyllis left to visit friends for a few days.  Irving stayed in the apartment in her absence.  When she returned she discovered that furs were missing from a bedroom closet.  Further investigation revealed that the safe in that closet had been rifled and $7,000 in cash was missing.  Phyllis’s missing furs were valued at $15,000.  The case was confusing to investigators as there were no signs of forced entry and the Hutter’s chauffeur was normally at home during the day.

The Hutters’ bad luck continued three years later when Phyllis was awakened by the doorbell at 9:45 am on March 30, 1960.  Through the door’s peephole she could see an employee of the building.  What she could not see were the two gunmen on either side of the door who had forced him to ring the bell.

When she opened the door the robbers pushed their way in.  They grabbed $2,500 worth of Phyllis Hutter’s jewelry and fled.  Their heist was short-lived.  Immediately Phyllis telephoned the building’s switchboard and an employee rushed to the street to notify police and give a description.  The Times reported “After firing one warning shot, two patrolmen seized the thugs at Madison avenue near Thirty-seventh street, as they attempted to flee in a taxicab.”

Among the building’s more recognized residents around this time was billiards and swimming champion Edward Lee.  Between 1931 and 1964 Lee had won 20 annual national championships in billiards.  Another tenant was the highly-esteemed architect Walter Hesse.  Well-known for designing restaurants, synagogues, schools and other buildings, he had produced more than 30 restaurants for the Schrafft’s chain; the famous Lindy’s, Leone’s, and “21” Club restaurants, and the Jewish Chapel at Kennedy International Airport.  For many years he was the consulting architect for the New York Public Library and architect for the American Broadcasting Company.

Three-quarters of a century after its completion, The John Murray House is little changed.  Its prim neo-Classic inspired presence recalls a time when elegant brownstone mansions gave way to another type of upscale housing on Madison Avenue.

 photographs by the author

Alfred Zucker's 1894 Corndiac Buildling -- No. 139 Fifth Avenue

Lower Fifth Avenue of the 1840s was far different in the 1890s.  The elegant brownstone mansions of Manhattan’s wealthy were quickly giving way to tall commercial buildings.  Among the developers responsible for transforming the neighborhood into a modern commercial area were brothers Samuel and Henry Corn.   In 1891 Henry replaced two staid mansions at Nos. 91 and 93 Fifth Avenue with a Beaux Art loft building complete with nude caryatids.  The Corns’ mark would be seen in a number of other handsome commercial structures on the avenue below 34th Street.

The house at No. 139 had been home to Loring Andrews in the 1840s; and by the 1870s was the address of iron mining millionaire James A. Burden.  The year after Corn erected Nos. 91-93 Fifth Avenue the Burden family was gone from No. 139.  The four-story brownstone was leased to the Democratic National Committee as its headquarters.  On September 11, 1892 The New York Times quoted former Congressman John M. Wiley of Buffalo who was interviewed in the house.  “Cleveland has grown stronger every day and still the election is nearly two months off.”

Following the election of 1892, the Committee moved out and the Corn brothers made their move.  On August 6, 1893 it was announced that “Samuel and Henry Corn have leased…for twenty-five years with renewal privilege, 139 Fifth Avenue.”  The Times reported “A six-story business building, to be ready by February, will be built on the plot.”

Two months later plans were filed under the name of Samuel Corn & Son.  The Corns had chosen prolific architect Alfred Zucker to design the structure.  At the time of the filings, in October 1893, the street level store space and several of the offices had already been rented.

Zucker’s original plans were somewhat elaborate and fanciful.  There was to be a sixth floor balcony that stretched the width of the façade to create a loggia effect; stepped gables and an onion dome surmounted by a flagpole.   The plans were quickly reworked and when the $83,000 building was completed in 1894 it was a subdued and dignified Renaissance Revival work in cream-colored brick outlined in rough-faced mocha-colored brick.  Zucker’s exotic plan survived in the quirky Eastern-influenced columns and pilasters of first two floors.  At the fourth floor a beefy cast iron balcony, two bays wide, announced the building’s name: THE CORNDIAC.   The origin of the name is unclear; although it may simply have been a play on the developers’ names.

The blank-faced balcony until recently announced the building's name.

The new tenants had hardly moved in before the Corns sold the building.  On May 13, 1894 the New-York Tribune noted that “Samuel and Henry Corn sold, for about $115,000, the new building, No. 139 Fifth Avenue.”  The $35,000 gross profit would amount to just under $1 million in 2015.

The retail piano district was centering around Union Square and lower Fifth Avenue by now and Hamilton S. Gordon moved into the store at No. 139.   One of the oldest piano firms in the city, it had been formed by Stephen T. Gordon in 1846 as a musical instrument store.  In 1890 the company began manufacturing pianos and by now was making and selling about 1,300 instruments each year.  Gordon also sold instructional books, such as Hellak’s New Method, and Gordon’s New School.

                                                                   

When Hamilton S. Gordon moved his store into the new Fifth Avenue building, he expanded his sales beyond pianos and organs “to include musical instruments generally and Edison phonographs,” according to American Music and Musicians.

During election year 1896, a massive parade was held on October 31 for Major William McKinley.  The Times noted that the stores and homes along the route “seemed to vie each with each other in the magnificence of their external adornments.”  The newspaper pointed out as one of the “most notable” was the store of Hamilton S. Gordon.

Like many piano stores, Gordon’s leased the instruments as well.  In 1898 an upright could be rented for $6 a month; or a Gordon “large size” for $7.  On October 5 that year the store lured potential customers with free delivery “this week.”  For those wishing to purchase, a new piano could be had for $250, or a second hand instrument for $150.

Zucker's cast iron elements are exotic.

While Hamilton S. Gordon sold pianos and Victrolas downstairs, the Werner Company was producing the American version of the Encyclopaedia Britannica on an upper floor.  The New York Times, on April 29 1897, noted that when the 25-book work was first introduced in the United States, “It was disappointing to Americans that such eminent writers as Proctor, Huxley, and Spence contributed to its pages, when they saw that such renowned personages as Gladstone, Bismarck, and Queen Victoria had been omitted from the list of subjects because they were still living.”

The Werner Company solved the problem by publishing “supplemental matter.”  Now 30-volumes in total, the Americanized Encyclopaedia Brittanica took care of what The Times called the “incompleteness” of the original.

As the first seeds of Socialism took root overseas, cooperative enterprises appeared.  Members could buy goods without the cost of the retailer, paying a nominal membership fee to support the store.  Among the earliest was the Rochdale Society of Equitable Pioneers, founded in England in 1844 when a group of weavers and other craftsmen opened their own store selling food items they could not otherwise afford. 

Several cooperative societies opened in New York City towards the turn of the century.  In 1899 the New York Co-operative Society operated its bookstore in No. 139 Fifth Avenue.  Directly across the avenue, at No. 140, was the Society’s Fine Arts store.  In October 1899 the Society described itself as offering “to its members special cut prices on books, pictures, magazines, stationery, engraving, etc.  We supply the cheapest book as well as sets in the finest bindings.”

In the building in 1902 was Russian immigrant and importer Akop Leon.  He was drawn into a messy international situation that year when in September his friend, a prominent lawyer in Alexandria, Russia, confided that two months earlier the school teacher of his 14-year old son had kidnapped the boy.  She escaped off to New York City with him.

Marie Richter may have gotten away with the crime had she not been caught stealing $40 worth of items from Wanamaker’s Department Store on Saturday night, December 20, 1902.  With her was the teen-aged boy who told officers his name was Leo Eranos.  But agents from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children soon discovered his real name was Eparnly.

Akop Leon was questioned and he disclosed his friend had told him “the boy had been stolen from him” by the school teacher.  Mrs. Richter was jailed, the boy taken to the Society, and the Russian Consul General informed of the affair.

Although the Gordon Piano Co. would remain in No. 139 until 1913, when it moved to West 36^th Street; it shared space in the building with a competitor.  Mason & Hamlin had a showroom here and in 1905 its success warranted extra space.  According to The Music Trade Review that year “Mason & Hamlin have taken a new floor in the Corndiac Building, which will give them about three times the room which they have heretofore.  By so doing, they can give more space to the display of their organs and the repair shops will also have more freedom.”

When composer and conductor Vincent d’Indy arrived in Boston for his American debut, he chose the Mason & Hamlin piano on which to play.  The Music Trade Review noted “The tremendous superiority of the Mason & Hamlin over the foreign pianos must have appealed to a man of the analytical nature of D’Indy.”

 

A 1902 advertisement touts "mouseproof" organs -- copyright expired

W. H. Daniels operated his business from No. 139 in 1905.  He was in Chicago on business that year before heading back to New York on the luxurious Twentieth Century Limited on June 21.  The train was operated by the New York Central Railroad and boasted regular passengers like Theodore Roosevelt, Lillian Russell, “Diamond Jim” Brady, opera stars Enrico Caruso and Nellie Melba, industrialist J. P. Morgan, and William Jennings Bryan.

The upper-crust passengers were drawn to the train which broke speed records, traveling between Chicago and New York in around 18 hours.  Among those traveling the same day as Daniels were Henry Zibblee, the brother-in-law of Marshall Field; Armour & Co. executive T. A. Valentine; and D. C. Hewett, president of the Hewett Manufacturing Company; and New York lawyer John R. Bennett.

Around 9:30 that night the $200,000 train, consisting of four Pullman cars and a buffet car, was running full speed, two miles outside of Mentor, Ohio.  It struck a recently-installed switch and left the tracks.  A telephone call to The New York Times reported “When the engine struck the switch it left the rails, dragging after it the first three cars of the train and dashed at full speed into the Lake Shore freight station on the opposite side of the track.”

When the train overturned, the burning coals of the firebox set the wreckage on fire.  The gruesome carnage ended in 19 deaths and multiple injuries.  John R. Benett was among the fatalities, burned to death.  The Times later reported that W. H. Daniels was among those who survived.

Among the firms in the Corndiac Building at the time was Solomon C. Guggenheimer’s “white goods” importing business, Guggenheimer, Rosenberg & Co.  By 1910 S. H. Kahn’s importing business was here as well.  Kahn found himself in trouble on June 24, that year when he attempted to bypass Customs officials when he stepped off the steamship Lusitania.

“After the examination of his baggage the Customs officials found that he had in his possession a gold locket containing a miniature of his family and a gold and silver key chain which he had failed to declare,” reported The Times the following day.

Kahn tried to wriggle out of the embarrassing situation by saying he had purchased the locket several years ago.  Finally he admitted it was a recent purchase and that the key chain was a present for his sister.

When Gordon Piano Co. moved out the ground floor store was taken by glassware and china dealers Rowland & Marsellus Company.  In reporting on the store’s move northward from its Barclay Street location, The Times mentioned “This is the fourth china concern to locate in the neighborhood of Twenty-third Street and Fifth Avenue.”

Rowland & Marsellus had been in business since around 1893, importing English pottery.  Although they sold dinnerware, they were more noted for their “souvenir” wares.  These were often decorated with American scenes of buildings, notable figures or cities.

The store was still here in 1928 when fire gutted the building.  The first alarm was turned in at around 6:35 in the morning on December 20 and quickly grew to a four-alarm blaze.   Policeman William E. Ward first noticed the fire when the heat on the upper floors blew out the windows.

On the second floor above Rowland & Marsellus, was the Liberty Lamp Shade Company.  The upper floors were occupied by the necktie manufacturers the Metrpolitan Neckwear Company, the Artistic Neckwear Company, and Leopold Lerner.  Also in the building were the Nasco Silver Company, the Charles Baum Novelty Company, and lamp dealer T. W. Hamilton.

Fighting the blaze was hampered by the two tall structures on either side of the Corndiac Building.  Firemen entered the blind alley behind the building where The Times said “Thick smoke and a shower of glass from breaking windows forced them to work in relays.”  It was in the alley that several firefighters received injuries from falling glass.

At one point Acting Deputy Chief John Rankin and Captain Thomas O’Toole entered the burning building to determined if the fire had been extinguished in the basement.  As they investigated, the roof collapsed and bricks, plaster and other debris caved into the building.  “The two men were caught in an avalanche of plaster and at the same time a back draft shot tongues of flame and smoke in their faces.  They were rescued by other firefighters and both were treated for smoke inhalation and minor lacerations,” said the newspaper.

Firefighters were still dousing the smoldering ruins late in the afternoon.  Nine firemen had been injured and the Corndiac Building was “wrecked.” The losses the following day were estimated at between $500,000 and $1 million.

Rather remarkably, the building was repaired and continued to house importers and retailers.  In 1938 another china and glass firm took an entire floor.  And in 1940 as the novelty industry began centering on lower Fifth Avenue the Joseph Redgold Company, dealers in stationery and toys, moved here from Park Row where it had done business for four decades.

As the 20^th century drew to a close, the neighborhood saw a renaissance.  On September 24 1989 Elaine Louie, writing in The New York Times, noted “The Flatiron district, bounded by Broadway on the east, Seventh Avenue on the west, and 23d and 14^th Streets on the north and south, may become to the 90’s what SoHo and Columbus Avenue were to the 80’s—New York’s hottest shopping area.”

Later that year Joan Vass opened her shop in No. 139 Fifth Avenue.  Her clothing line, under her own name, also included shoes and accessories for men, women and children.  The price tags here reflected the rediscovery of lower Fifth Avenue as a trendy spot.  A hand-knitted minidress in 1989 would cost the buyer $330—nearly double that much in today’s dollars.

Outwardly, little has changed on the upper floors of Corndiac Building.  The eccentric columns of the lower floors happily survive.  For some reason in the very recent past the cast iron CORNDIAC plaque of the balcony was removed—a significant loss in the physical history of the building.

photographs by the author

The 1910 Society for Ethical Culture -- 2 West 64th Street

The Ethical Culture movement sprang from the mind of 25-year old Felix Adler in 1876.  It was a brash, unexpected and brave undertaking for the son of the rabbi of New York City’s most prestigious synagogue, Temple Emanu-El on Fifth Avenue.  The Social Reform movement in America had already gained momentum; but the German-born Adler’s vision went further.  His Ethical Culture’s focus on enhancing ethical standards would logically include human rights, racial and sexual equality, humanitarianism, housing, political principles, and religion.   

Adler’s Society for Ethical Culture was incorporated on February 21, 1877.  The society plunged headlong into the problems of those in need; creating a visiting nurse service and organizing the first free kindergarten in the United States.  Quickly other programs followed—the Workingmen’s School in 1880 (which became the The Ethical Culture School in 1895), the Mothers’ Society to Study Child Nature and in 1889 the Visiting and Teaching Guild for Cripple Children.  Similar programs were added, contributing to the Society’s esteem within the community.

Some of Felix Adler's theological views were shocking to Edwardian traditionalists - from the collection of the Library of Congress

But there was one aspect of the Society which made staid citizens uneasy.  The religious services of the Society were “non-theistic.”  The members did not recognize the traditional religions and its marriage ceremonies treated the bride and groom as equals.  The word “obey” was not included in the short ceremony.  Dr. John Lovejoy Elliott would later explain “Morality is supreme, we believe, and I think that everybody who is decent is an ethical culturist.”

As might be expected, as the Society grew differences of opinion on its management arose.   On March 3, 1909 the New-York Tribune noted “Born out of a rebellion against the orthodox religious forms, the society now finds itself in the curious position of being divided into ‘high church’ and ‘low church’ parties.” 

The day before member Percival Chubb addressed the woman’s conference of the Society.  He expressed his concern that the Society was “cold” and “too colorless to hold young women.”  He suggested that all it would take to make young female members abandon the Society was to “get their heads inside an Episcopal church, or any other that has a little ‘color’ in its worship, and ‘off they go.’”

Already plans had been laid for a new, permanent headquarters for the Society for Ethical Culture on Central Park West and the corner of 63^rd Street.  Chubb offered his views of what it should include.  “We are going to have stained glass windows and frescoes and an organ.  Why should we not have more and give these young people what they want?  They want a beautiful celebration of marriage, a beautiful rite of admission, a beautiful ceremony for the naming of children.”

Another member, Robert D. Kohn, was not quite as enthusiastic as Chubb.  The respected architect had recently completed the New York Evening Post Building and the Spero Building, both striking examples of Art Nouveau architecture.  Now, on June 23, 1909, he filed plans for a $300,000 “four-story and basement meeting house and Sunday school” for the Society for Ethical Culture.

If Percival Chubb wanted the “color” of the Episcopal Church, he was sorely disappointed.  Instead, Kohn produced a dignified and somber edifice, the style of which the Real Estate Record and Builders’ Guide said could not “be ‘tagged,” in the sense of having borrowed its elegance of manner from some accepted style of architecture.”

Dedicated with “appropriate ceremonies” in October 1910, the building was widely praised.  The Guide, on October 29, said Kohn “has received wide commendation for the graceful originality and the artistic honesty of his conception.”  A letter to the editor of the Evening Post said “at a time when buildings are springing up on every hand the most successful of which claim our favor by some derived nobility of style, it is worth while to note the birth of a building conceived in a totally different spirit.”  The writer summed up his critique saying “Conviction is in every big line of this composition; an air of necessity, of massive simplicity pervades the whole.”

The blocky brackets between the openings under the cornice were intended to hold sculptures.

"Massive simplicity” perfectly defined Kohn’s building.  The Record and Guide noted, “The exterior walls are built of massive blocks of limestone, hand cut with tooth chisels.”  High above street level Kohn included tall niches on heavy brackets, nearly identical to those in his New York Post Building, intended to house statues.  There was no grand portico, no classical columns; simply a sturdy block defined by geometry and openings. 

Typical of the Society’s focus on equality, the few sculptural details were done by women.  Above the entrance was a bas relief executed by the architect’s wife, Estelle Rumbold Kohn, of figures in “an attitude of reverent light.”  Four smaller figures of torch bearers decorated the side entrances.

Estele Rumbold Kohn executed the entrance sculpture--its style in perfect harmony with the architecture.

The New York Times was moved.  “The severe plain wall is eloquent in its protest against the breathless rush and hustle of the modern city; it beckons to the hastening, sordid throng: ‘Tarry a while; there is in life more than stocks and shekels and vain show.’”

Small sculptures of torch bearers decorate the side entrances, which are flanked by striking lamps.

Far afield from Episcopalian abundance, the auditorium was relatively severe.  Stained glass windows on the north wall provided color and ornament; otherwise the vaulted ceiling, the oaken pews arranged in a fan-shape on the inclined floor, and the simple stage, while relatively understated, created an inspiring space.  The Times explained “The new Meeting House is designed for service and for comfort; it is not a Vanity Fair, neither is it a prison of the spirit.”

photo - http://kazenowa911.blog6.fc2.com/blog-entry-10.html

Felix Adler’s views on education and religion would continue to raise eyebrows among traditionalists.  Not long before the completion of the 64^th Street building, he explained to a Times reporter, “Moral training is necessary for everyone; religious training is another matter.  Not every one is born with a religious nature; there can be unreligious persons just as there are unmusical persons.”

He continued, “Very great harm is done by trying to force religion on people who are not by nature religious…Much of the tragedy of history has arisen from no other cause than insistence in forcing religion on persons irreligious by temperament and their consequent misconception of it.”

Three weeks after the building’s dedication, Adler’s views shocked some--perhaps even some of the Society.  While speaking in the auditorium on “Christianity and Socialism” on November 20, he criticized Socialism for insisting that all men were equal.   Although he explained, “I do not object to equal shares.  I would not mind wearing the same sort of clothes as a workingman, eating the same sort of food, living in the same kind of a house.  That is not the reason why I object to expressing brotherhood as equality of satisfaction of desires.”

He gave an example.  “I do not think of the drunken man in the gutter as like me.  He is like and yet he is very unlike.  I don’t like too close contact—I would prefer a certain distance between myself and my fellowman, like that which separates the planets, each revolving about the sun and governed by it, yet each in its own orbit.”

The Society’s interest in all religions and adherence to none was exemplified by the series of services headed by associate leader Alfred W. Martin beginning on January 8, 1911.  His topics included, “Introducing the Discovery of the Sacred of Sacred Books of the East and Its Ethical Effects,” “Gotama, the Buddha, and the Path to Salvation,” “Zoraster, the Prophet of Industry” and “Confucius, Lao-Tze and the Problem of Good Government.”

It was the marriage ceremonies that most often drew press attention.   On October 21, 1912 Hilda Matzner married Louis O. Schwartz.  The headline in The Sun ignored the names of the couple; rather it focused on the non-traditional ceremony.  “No Ring and No ‘Obey’ Will Bind These Two—No Mention of Love in Their Ethical Culture Society Marriage.”

When pressed by a reporter to explain why the Society dropped the phrase “to love and obey” from the ceremony, Dr. John Lovejoy Elliott replied, “As far as marriage goes, we believe in common with all other good thinkers, that man dedicates himself to the idea that the woman’s welfare should be placed by him before his own; and the woman dedicates herself to the idea that the man’s welfare should be placed before her own.  There is nothing mysterious about the ceremony and nothing startling.”

Apparently the explanation was not sufficient for The Sun.  When Maude R. Ingersoll was married to Wallace McLean Probasco two months later, on December 30, 1912, The Sun’s report included a sub-headline that read, “Ethical Culture Ceremony Exacts No Promise to Obey Husband.”  Not overlooking the fact that Maude’s deceased father was “the agnostic,” the newspaper added “Miss Ingersoll has long been a member of the cult.”

The Society’s concerns for social welfare included Felix Adler’s seat on the first Executive Committee of the National Urban League in 1910.  He was, incidentally, also Professor of Political and Society Ethics at Columbia since 1902.  (Adler’s professorship at Cornell University had earlier been removed because of his “dangerous views.”)

Emblematic of the wide-range of events in the building was A Better Industrial Relations Exhibit held from April 18 to 25, 1914.  Iron Age described it saying “It will show the devices in modern business which tend to make more harmonious the relations between employer and employee, and to better the conditions of employment.”  And in 1915 the building hosted a meeting of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, which the Society had been instrumental in founding.

The auditorium was repeatedly the scene of lectures and discussions; many of them controversial.  Harriet Stanton Blatch reprimanded American women on Monday afternoon, March 25, 1918.  She said the women of the U.S. were lagging in war work and “must wake up.”  The New-York Tribune reported she “dropped this bomb into the meeting of the Society for Ethical Culture…when she declared that American women were not doing nearly enough to help the war, and that the time would come when they would be called upon to bend their backs to men’s labors, even as the women of Europe have done.”

She pointed out that 60,000 German women were making military uniforms and that French women and girls were working the farms.  Blatch reprimanded, “We are too extravagant…We are too fond of ‘the way mother used to do’ Imagine fifty women standing over fifty stoves, boiling fifty little pots of potatoes!  Women, wake up.  That sort of thing won’t do.  We must adopt the time and labor saving devices that science has put in our hands.  Mother’s way won’t do for the terribly poor world we have got to reconstruct after the war.”

The auditorium was the scene of marriages and funerals over the decades; but perhaps none was so noteworthy as that of Felix Adler himself, who died at the age of 81 in April 1933.  The funeral was held on April 27.

Felix Adler’s death came at a time of great political upheaval in Europe.  A year later, on Saturday December 8, 1934 that climate was reflected in the topic of Dr. Hans Kohn, “Communism, Fascism and Europe.”

As Central Park West and 64^th Street changed around it, the Society for Ethical Culture’s building did not.  In 2004 a significant renovation of the auditorium was completed by architect Marc Holmquist and interior design firm Drake Design Associates.  The exterior, as well as the Society’s goals, remain steadfastly unchanged.  Its website declares, “We embrace the diversity of our city and invite all to join us in celebrating life’s joys, supporting one another through life’s crises, and working together to make the world a better place.”

photographs by the author