All Saint's Episcopal Church -- No. 230 E. 60th Street

photo by Alice Lum

By 1871 development on the Upper East Side was well underway.  With the Civil War ended construction here had resumed.  Rowhouses and small commercial buildings were appearing and along the riverfront grittier industries like factories and saloons had sprung up.  There was a serious lack of houses of worship for these new residences; a fact that did not escape the attention of Rev. William Ferdinand Morgan, rector of St. Thomas Church far downtown.

Under Morgan St. Thomas’ prestigious new church building on Fifth Avenue and 53^rd Street had been completed the year before.  Now he turned his attention to the community uptown.  For decades, as Manhattan’s residential areas spread away from its churches, chapels were constructed as extensions of the parishes.  He proposed to move the existing St. Thomas Chapel to a new location.

In December 1871 three buildings plots were acquired on East 60^th Street between Third and Second Avenues.  On Christmas Day the following year The New York Times reported on the consecration of the new chapel by Bishop Henry Codman Potter four days earlier.  “This chapel is admirably located, and is not intended to be a poor church for poor people, but an attractive and well-appointed sanctuary for all, the rich and the poor, the high and the low, who may seek the consolations of the Gospel.”

The completed church had cost about $34,000—a significant $625,000 by today’s standards.  The newspaper noted that it “is paid for to the uttermost farthing, and is to be forever free.”  The decision of St. Thomas not to charge pew rents was judicious one.  Although the article stressed that the chapel was not to be a “poor church for poor people,” the community was still middle-class at best.  Charging fees to worship could have seriously deterred potential members.

When St. Thomas’ Protestant Episcopal Chapel celebrated its first anniversary in December 1873 there were already signs that a larger structure was needed.  Calling it a “neat and comfortable little edifice,” The New York Times noted on December 22, 1873 that the seats were “well filled.”  In his address, Bishop Potter noted “The chapel was surrounded…with a larger population than the old Church of St. Thomas when it was built down town” and “there were general evidences of prosperity.”

The New York Times published a sketch of the anticipated chapel on November 4, 1894 (copyright expired)

The number of congregants increased over the next two decades and by the beginning 1894 of plans were on the table to demolish the two-year old building and erect a “larger and better one.”  The trustees of St. Thomas possibly would have made do with the original chapel had it not been for Mrs. J. S. Linsley whose mansion off Fifth Avenue was at No. 3 West 50^th Street.  The New York Times reported on November 4, 1894 that “Mrs. Linsley took much interest in the church and in the work being carried on there by Dr. W. H. Pott, and noticing the discomforts of the old building, offered to build a new church.  Her offer was accepted and the old building was torn down last Summer, and the new one is fast approaching completion.”  She intended to present the new chapel as a memorial to her son.

C. E. Miller was chosen to design the chapel.  Like many late 19^th century architects, he did not feel obligated to limit himself to a single style.  For his 64-foot wide church he splashed his generally Sicilian Romanesque design with Gothic Revival—resulting in a charming structure The New York Times called “in the Venetian style of architecture.”

The brickwork formed tapestry-like patterns.  The stained glass above the main entrance is like a millefiore paperweight. photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWNQEVXR&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Miller used buff- and orange-colored brick trimmed in stone for his perfectly symmetrical chapel.  An opalescent glass rose window hovered above three clustered lancet windows over the entrance.  The interiors were finished in oak and 36 stained glass windows “insure perfect light and ventilation,” according to The Times.  Among them was an 8 by 12 foot chancel window, a reproduction of Hoffman’s “Christ in the Temple,” which was flanked by two 8-foot square windows representing the sky.  Another Hoffman-inspired window, the “Annunciation,” was 9 feet high.  “The other windows will be of opalescent glass set in carved oak frames and supported by stone columns,” announced the newspaper.

Delicate oaken tracery screens the chancery.  Two of the artistic stained glass windows can be seen.  photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWNQEVXR&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Delicate spidery Gothic tracery, imitation marble columns, and half-groined arches adorned the space.  The floors were tiled and the steps to the chancel were of marble.  Capable of seating 700 worshipers, it was deemed “one of the handsomest in the city for a church of its size.”  Interestingly enough, the completed chapel cost $30,000--$4,000 less than the original structure. 

It was consecrated on April 21, 1895 by Bishop Potter; but finishing touches would continue for several years.  It would be two years before the new organ was installed.  At its dedication in November 1897 the organist from St. Thomas Church, Walter C. Gale, and his assistant, Frank A Warhurst, played.  The church sent its quartet along as well to add to the music provided by the chapel’s own vested choir.

Parishioners spill onto the street after services.  photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWNQEVXR&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Directly behind the chapel were the parish house and the mission house, on 59^th Street.  By now the upscale tone of the Fifth and Madison Avenue neighborhoods were pushing eastward; but the population around St. Thomas Chapel still included those in need.  The Churchman noted the outreach provided by the chapel on June 18, 1898.  “The mission work here is under the direction of the Helping Hand Association, a society which has under its charge the chapel, the mission house, the day nursery, the diet dispensary, the Employment Society and other forms of parochial activity.”

In the mission house, said the article, “the ground floor is occupied by a diet kitchen, where cooking classes are held and from which good food is distributed to the sick poor of the parish.”  Girls were taught simple cooking “as are possible in their own tenement house homes.”  There was also a day nursery, so mothers could work.  The Employment Society provided some of these women work sewing and doing “days’ labor.”  

Young girls learn sewing in the Mission House.  photograph by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWNQEVXR&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

The diet kitchen was an early form of today’s soup kitchen.  According to The Churchman, “Thousands of quarts of soups, gruels and milk have been given away, and this judicious distribution of nourishing food has, in many cases, prevented serious illness.”

The mission work here developed into an interesting concept in 1910 when a “model tenement” was opened at No. 410 East 65^th Street.  Neighborhood girls visited the apartment and were taught housekeeping—cooking, ironing and bed making—in a virtual environment.  According to the New-York Tribuneon March 27, 1910 “There are four rooms, and in these four rooms is everything necessary for a well conducted home…Nothing is in the model flat that is superfluous.  The bedroom has its bureau, a chair or two, a bed with snowy bedding and a trundle bed hidden under the big one.  In the small parlor are a desk, chairs and a couch covered with blue denim, which can be used as a bed. Rag rugs, easily taken up and shaken, are on the floor.”

According to an instructor, Harriet Jessup, “We want to show the girls, and through them their families, that household things can be simple and inexpensive and yet very pretty.  We want to show them how much more attractive is a flat with a little furniture, well chosen, than rooms all cluttered up with heavy upholstered chairs, unnecessary wall pockets and thick carpets to harbor germs.”

The year 1931 was pivotal in global history as war ignited and the rumblings of other war threatened.  On April 14 that year the Spanish monarchy was declared overthrown and a provisional government took over.  In September Japanese soldiers disguised as Chinese outlaws would dynamite the South Manchurian Railway.  Rev. Frederick Swinglehurst took the pulpit at St. Thomas Chapel on May 31 and warned the congregation about glorifying war.  Swinglehurst knew what he was talking about, having served in World War I during which he was gassed and wounded.

He told the congregants that war was incompatible with religion and civilization, both from the viewpoint of a churchman and a soldier.  “Despite all the assertions of literature and the press, our civilization, erected in the accumulation of genius, was swept into an undeniable refutation of itself by the recent war.  It was not a struggle of people against people, nor of a group against another, but the outcome of a highly commercialized and materialistic outlook.”

Unfortunately for the world, those in power did not share Rev. Swinglehurst’s views.

At mid-century architectural design tastes changed in favor of flat surfaces and sleek space age modernism.  In the 1950s Urban Renewal began sweeping the country, eradicating blocks of Victorian structures to be replaced by shoebox office buildings and cookie-cutter homes.  Directly in the fad's crosshairs, the 19^th century architecture of St. Thomas Chapel was considered passé.  C. E. Miller’s charming structure was not demolished; but it might as well have been.

The opalescent class rose window was trashed, replaced by a modern composition; the lancet windows were removed and covered over; and a slathering of thick stucco covered the tapestry-like brickwork and stone.  An aluminum cross was affixed to the modernized façade.

In 1959 little hint of C. E. Miller's handsome design remained.  http://www.nycago.org/Organs/NYC/html/AllSaintsEpis.html from St. Thomas Church archives.

In 1963 the name of the chapel was changed to All Saints and two years later became an independent parish church.  Nearly four decades later the architectural blunder made in the 1950s was apparent to nearly everyone.  The parish turned to architect Samuel G. White of Buttrick, White & Burtis to reverse the damage.

The architect spent years working with All Saints in deciding which direction to take.  White’s solution was not to replicate Miller’s original design—a not impossible but certainly difficult and highly costly project—but to create a new look with a 19^th century feel.  The resolution was to remodel the façade in a 21^st century take on Carpenter Gothic; the style familiar to most Americans through Grant Wood’s iconic painting “American Gothic.” 

photo by Alice Lum

The $1.3 million renovation, completed in 2002, resulted in a board-and-batten façade that does not pretend to be anything but new; yet gives a sympathetic nod to the building’s history.  The abstract rose window was replaced with a more appropriate 10-foot diameter figural stained glass window by artist Sylvia Nicolas.

The result is an eye-catching remedy to a brutal 1950s modernization.  The one-time chapel’s several architectural incarnations reflects the significant changes in the neighborhood it has served for well over a century.

photo by Alice Lum

The Darling House -- No. 35 East 60th Street

As the Upper East Side building boom of the early 1870s forged on, the block of East 60^th Street between Madison and Park Avenues saw the rise of a long string of Italianate rowhouses along its north side.  Typical of rows erected by developers like brothers David and John Jardine, they were four stories tall above an high English basement and clad in brownstone.

Like scores of other homes being built simultaneously, they featured the expected architectural details of the style—pediments above the parlor floor openings, Doric-columned porticoes that sheltered double-doored and arched entrances, and high stone stoops.

The homes attracted respectable, upper class owners.  Among them was former U.S. Representative William Augustus Darling, who purchased No. 35.  Born in Newark, New Jersey in 1817, his was a diverse life.  He began his career as a clerk and later was involved in the wholesale grocery business.  He was director of the Mercantile Library Associated and served eleven years in the National Guard.  Darling was nominated to Deputy Receiver of Taxes in 1847 and held the position through 1854.

He was then President of the Third Avenue Railroad from 1854 until 1865, when he was elected to Congress.  Following his two-year term, he ran for mayor of New York City.  The New-York Tribune, on November 25, 1856, commented on his popularity.  “We have not met one Republic objection to William A. Darling.  He represented our City in the last House, and did it to such general acceptance that, while our general vote in the City was 4,000 less in 1866 than in 1864, his vote was increased [by over 2,000 votes].”

Darling’s first wife, Eliza M. Lee, had died at the age of 35 on November 14, 1853.  His second marriage ended tragically as well.  The New York Times said, on reporting Eliza’s brother’s death in March 1890, “William A. Darling…successively married [Lee's] two sisters, both of whom are dead.”  Prior to moving to the East 60^th Street house, the Darling family had resided at No. 96 Lexington Avenue.  

By 1880 the Darling children were coming of age and on April 28 that year daughter Henrietta Webb Darling was married in the First Baptist Church, at the corner of Park Avenue and 19^thStreet, to Frank Overton Evans.  The New York Times noted that the wedding “called together a brilliant array of the representatives of our best society.”

William Augustus Darling -- from the collection of the New York Public Library

Three years later, on Saturday January 13, 1883, Remsen Darling married Julia Augusta Walton of Brooklyn.  The Brooklyn Daily Eagle was impressed that “a pleasant feature was the unusual clearness with which the bride and groom uttered their responses.”

By the time of Darling’s death in 1895 he had moved to No. 80 East 72^nd Street.  The row of homes along East 60^th Street was still filled with well-to-do families and No. 35 East 60^th Street became the home of retired merchant and real estate operator Henry Korn.  The aggressive developer erected speculative store and loft buildings, many of them replacing the old brownstone homes of lower Fifth Avenue and Broadway.

Despite its lamentable condition, No. 35 still hints at its former status.

Korn and his wife, Fannie, had five children and the house would be the scene of the marriage of one of them, daughter Grace, on December 30, 1902.  After their honeymoon Grace and her husband, Felix Hessberg lived in Boston.  When Grace’s brother Raphael was married at Delmonico’s five years later, The New York Times noted that “there were about 300 guests.”

On October 21, 1912 Henry Korn, called by The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide “a large owner of real estate,” died in the East 60^th Street house.  He left an estate of just under $400,000; equal to approximately $8 million today.

The following year Dr. Henry Herman and his wife Eleanor moved into the house.  Dr. Herman was a member of the Jewish Protectory and Aid Society and Eleanor, interestingly enough, was a breeder of Pomeranian puppies.  The Hermans were followed by Dr. William Cowen in the house.  He was an ophthalmologist and member of the American College of Surgeons. 

In the 1920s, when the sidewalks of East 60^th Street were widened, the stoop to No. 35 was turned to the side.  By now many of the old homes along the row were being converted to business but, other than the doctor’s office in the basement level, No. 35 survived relatively unchanged.  Dr. Cowen remained in the house until the early 1930s.  In 1936 it was converted to what the Department of Buildings described as “furnished rooms.”

Throughout the rest of the 20^th century what remained of the original row became nearly unrecognizable as former homes.  Yet amazingly No. 35—while suffering humiliating abuse—retained its residential appearance.  Today the portico, standing on paneled blocks, survives, as does the arched entrance and late Victorian double doors.  The carved brownstone frames of the windows along with their miniature brackets survive; although the pediments of the parlor floor and the lintels above have been lost.  A close look at the second floor windows reveals that even the interior shutters are still in place.

A set of 19th century interior shutters hauntingly recall long-past residents.

The architecture of the old Victorian is not remarkable, and its once-proud façade has suffered much abuse.  Yet its nearly-intact survival on the busy street makes the Darling house exceptional.

photographs by the author