The Afred Rossin House -- No. 15 East 62nd Street

In 1871 brothers David and John Jardine worked both as real estate developers and architects.  Before the century was up, they would line blocks of the newly-developing Upper East Side with long rows of brownstone homes.  But this year they worked on a project as architects only; designing six neo-Grec style homes for contractors William H. and Charles Gedney.

Like Charles T. Wills, W. H. Gedney & Son, would play a major part in building and construction in the second half of the 19^thcentury.  Their speculative homes at Nos. 11 through 21 East 62^nd Street would be completed in 1872—handsome Victorian residences with broad stoops and carved stone railings sure to lure merchant class homeowners.

By at least 1891 respected dermatologist Dr. Sigmund Lustgarten was living in No. 15.  That year he had written “The Primary Cause of Death Following Burns to the Skin, with Therapeutic Observations” published in the Medical Record.  Born in Vienna, he came to New York in 1889 and became the visiting dermatologist at Mount Sinai Hospital.  He instructed “many of the leading dermatologists of this city,” said The New York Times later; and was a consultant for the Montefiore Home and other institutions.

Dr. Lustgarten and his wife sold the 62^nd Street house in March 1899.  Shortly thereafter The New York Times revealed the buyer as Frank C. Hollins.  But as was often the case, Hollins was apparently acting as an agent to keep the actual purchaser’s name temporarily unknown.

A month later the same newspaper reported on the society wedding of Alfred Rossin and Clara Lewisohn.  The couple was married in the “the newly completed residence of the bride’s father, 9 West Fifty-seventh Street, one of the most beautiful of New York’s newer houses.”  Among the guests that day were some of Manhattan’s wealthiest and best known Jewish citizens, with names like Rothschild, Untermeyer, Stern and Guggenheimer.

The newlyweds would move into the former Lustgarten house—but not before updating the old Victorian.  Rossin commissioned C. P. H. Gilbert, who had recently completed massive mansions for Isaac D. Fletcher and Franklin Winfield Woolworth, to transform the old brownstone into an up-to-date mansion.

Gilbert stripped off the drab stone façade and replaced it with gleaming limestone.  The resulting Beaux Arts beauty bore no resemblance to its former self.  A rusticated basement and parlor floor base supported a bowed second story façade which, in turn, acted as a spacious balcony at the third floor. 

Prior to its remake, No. 15 matched its next door neighbor (right) -- photo 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=24UAYW1J2RFV&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=3#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYW1J2RFV&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=3

Rossin was President of the Public National Bank; and while he busied himself with things financial, his wife was involved with the Hebrew Technical School for Girls as its president.  Working along with her was her father, investment banker Adolph Lewisohn, who served as vice-president.  The school came under fire in January 1917 when Felix Warburg laid plans to update the curriculum.

Warburg was a banker and member of the conference board of the Rockefeller Foundation, which planned to revise primary and secondary education nationwide.  Shocking (and unacceptable) to traditional Edwardian minds was his announcement that Latin and Greek would be replaced by French and German in the “modern school.”  He fired back at criticism saying “It is questionable whether a child can be taught what he ought to know under our present system,” and Adolph Lewisohn back him up.  According to the New-York Tribune on January 22, 1917, he “said the community needed more schools like the Hebrew Technical School for Girls.”

Not far away, at No. 40 East 68^th Street, was the grand mansion of John Daniel Crimmins.  The wealthy contractor had created the lavish home by combining two older row houses.  On November 9, 1917 the aging widower died with seven of his ten children at his bedside.  Within three months of the funeral, the Crimmins family moved out of the family home.

On March 16, 1918 The Sun reported “The Crimmins family…will occupy the dwelling at 15 East Sixty-second street, a small house, in the future.”  Alfred and Clara Rossin used their house, valued at $97,000, as partial payment for the Crimmins mansion, which they purchased for $350,000.

Apparently the “small house” on 62^nd Street was not sufficient for the Crimmins siblings.  Just a year later, on May 5, 1919, The Sun reported that the house was sold to Howard Elliott for $110,000.  “The new owner plans to occupy the house after making extensive alterations,” said the newspaper.

The 59-year old railroad executive and his wife had two married daughters and a son.  He was President of the New York, New Haven & Hartford and the Northern Pacific Railroads.  He was, as well, a director of 17 other railroads, director of the American Railway Association, and sat on the boards of numerous other concerns.

Elliott came from a distinguished family.  His father, Charles Wyllys Elliott was a historian and author of several books.  The Elliott family traced its American roots to John Eliot who settled in Natick, Massachusetts in 1631 and was known as “The Apostle to the Indians.”  On his mother’s side was Samuel Howard, a member of the Boston Tea Party of 1773.

The Elliotts moved into No. 15 in 1919 -- photographs from the Library of Congress

Following his wife’s death in 1925, the semi-retired Elliott lived on in the 62^nd Street house with his son, Howard Elliott, Jr.  Three years later he traveled to Cape Cod to spend the summer in the home of his daughter, Mrs. Frederick Wilson.  There, on July 8, 1928 he suffered a fatal heart attack at the age of 67.

Elliott’s entire estate of about $2.25 million was divided among his family.  On October 29, 1929 the house was sold to real estate operator Charles Brown.   He held the property for only 48 hours.  The New York Times, on November 1, wrote “After an ownership of two days, the five-story limestone residence at 15 East Sixty-second Street was resold yesterday by Charles Brown.”  The newspaper added that the buyer “plans to rebuild the house and occupy it.  The alterations will include the installation of an electric elevator.”

Earlier that year Jennie, the wife of wealthy banker Henry White Cannon, died.  New Yorker socialites were no doubt shocked a year later on September 18 when the 80-year old married Miss Myrta L. Jones.  The Times reported that “After a wedding trip the couple will live at 15 East Sixty-second Street.”

Cannon was a member of the board and a former president of the Chase National Bank.  His illustrious financial career included having been appointed Controller of the Currency by President Chester A. Arthur in 1884 and serving as a delegate to the International Monetary Conference in Brussels in 1892.

Myrta’s family was well respected in Cleveland society; but Henry’s pedigree was impeccable.  On his mother side was Peregrine White, born aboard the Mayflower on November 20, 1620 while the ship was moored in Cape Cod Harbor.  His grandfather fought in the Revolutionary War and died a prisoner of the British in Manhattan.

The millionaire’s age did not prevent him from fathering a son, Harry.  Each winter the family would travel to Daytona Beach where Cannon had owned a house on South Beach Street.  Henry Cannon’s health was been failing for some time in 1934, and it was at the Florida home in April, that he died.

Myrtle and little Harry accompanied the body back to New York and Cannon’s funeral was held early in May in Delhi, New York, where he was born.

No. 15 East 62^nd Street became home to Dr. Johan H. W. van Ophuijsen, an eminent psychiatrist and director of the Creedmoor Institute for Psychobiologic Studies.  Born in Sumatra, he was associated early in his career with Dr. Sigmund Freud and Dr. Ivan Pavov—pioneers of psychoanalysis.

He came to New York by invitation of the Psychanalytic Institute to teach in 1935.  He would teach there from 1938 to 1948.  He served on the psychiatric staffs of Mount Sinai and Lenox Hill Hospitals, and beginning in 1946 was attending psychiatrist at the Veterans Administration.

The New York Times would write of him, “Dr. van Ophuijsen stressed the importance of the role of the father in the psychological rearing of children, taking sharp issue with experts who had ‘told but half the story,’ he said, in blaming psychoneurotic symptoms—which in this country made many young men unfit to bear arms during the recent war—on the mother.”

Ophuijsen renovated a lower floor in the house as an office where he personally saw patients.  As well as living in here, he founded the Van Ophuijsen Center in the house.  In May 1950 he was stricken with a heart problem, “but flew to Detroit to read a paper before the American Psychiatric Association’s annual meeting,” said The Times.

Four weeks later, on Wednesday May 31, the 68-year old psychiatrist said good-night to his last patient of the day.  A few minutes later he suffered a heart attack and died in the house on East 62^nd Street.

The Beaux Arts mansion continues to be home to the Center, a philanthropic, non-profit institution that carries on its founder’s work.  Outwardly, it remains relatively unchanged since mansion architect C. P. H. Gilbert transformed an outdated Victorian to an modern Edwardian for wealthy newlyweds.

non-credited photographs by the author

The Scandalous Love Nest at No. 323 West 74th Street

Restoration continued in 2012 -- photo by Alice Lum

As the 20^th century approached, sumptuous mansions—many of them free-standing—were rising along Riverside Drive.  The recently completed Riverside Park and the magnificent views across the Hudson River created a viable rival to upper Fifth Avenue as the city’s most exclusive address.

As mansions crept up the Drive, the New York Orphan Asylum was in the way.   The orphanage building filled the block between 73^rd and 74^th Streets, and the institution owned the block directly north, between 74^th and 75^th Streets.   In 1893 the Asylum put the block front on the northern side of 74^th Street for sale.   Despite the institution across the street, it was a superb opportunity for developers or potential homeowners.

Grand houses quickly filled the northern side of 74th Street, despite the Orphan Asylum across the street -- photo Museum of the City of New York

A group of eight millionaires formed a syndicate and purchased the land with the intention of erecting fashionable residences for themselves and sharing the profits on any additional homes.  They divided the block into eleven building lots ranging according to their needs from 22 to 30 feet wide.   The syndicate then commissioned architect C. P. H. Gilbert to design the row of homes.  Each would be, according to an announcement in the Real Estate Record & Guide, “of the highest order.”

Gilbert had designed several mansions by now, and would soon be responsible for some of the most lavish homes in the city including the French Gothic Isaac Fletcher chateau.   For the row on 74^thStreet he would create eleven individually designed residences, none of which would hog the architectural spotlight.

Completed in 1896 they stretched from No. 303 to No. 323, nearest the Drive.  While each of the other mansions was faced in white limestone or buff-colored brick, No. 323 was dressed in red brick—a noticeable punctuation mark for the row.   The house sat on a white marble base above shallow steps leading back from the sidewalk.  Doric columns upheld two stories of bowed façade that created a sheltered portico.   White marble quoins ran zipper-like up with sides creating a pleasant contrast with the red brick.

photo by alice Lum

The mansion became home to William Crittenden Adams.   Born in San Francisco, Adams had a Civil Engineering degree from the Columbia University School of Mines.    Six years before the house on 74^th Street was built, he formed a partnership with his brother, Samuel F. Adams, as operators and speculators in Manhattan real estate.   By now a millionaire, he moved in with his wife, Grace Fairchild James Adams, and their three impressively-named children, Crittenden Hull, James Fairchild and Darwin James Adams.   Adams was apparently busy in the neighborhood for in his will he bequeathed the house and lot at No. 259 West 74^thStreet, a block away, to his son.

photo "Universities and Their Sons" 1900 (copyright expired)

Adams was a member of several of the most exclusive men’s clubs in town, including the Union League Club.  But it was his love and expertise of yachting for which he was best known.  Adams was a member of the Atlantic Yacht Club and the Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club.   

While Adams was busy sailing and developing real estate, the New York Orphan Asylum took advantage of soaring real estate values.   In 1901 it sold the entire block, from 73^rdto 74^th Streets and Riverside Drive to West End Avenue to steel magnate Charles M. Schwab.  The industrialist paid $865,000 for the block—the most ever spent on a building lot.   The houses along 74^thStreet which had faced the orphanage would, by 1906, overlook the largest, most sumptuous mansion ever constructed in New York City.

For a few years as his gargantuan French Renaissance chateau was being built, Schwab rented No. 323.  The location, directly across the street from the construction site, offered him unparalleled ability to oversee the massive project.

Gilbert focused attention on minute details like the lace-like carving along the window framing and the intricate fruit garland of the keystone -- photo by Alice Lum

Robert E. Tod purchased the house after Schwab moved into his new mansion.   Tod, with his brother John Kennedy Tod, ran the banking firm of J. S. Kennedy & Company which was founded by their uncle, John Stewart Kennedy.    Like Adams, Robert E. Tod was a major player in the yachting community.

While he was Commodore of the Atlantic Yacht Club at the turn of the century, he was instrumental in organizing an international yacht race that involved the German Emperor.  He offered prizes for the winners in a series of ocean races off the coast of Sandy Hook, New Jersey.  The regatta caught the attention of Sir Thomas Lipton of England while he was visiting in 1903.

Sir Thomas was impressed with the fervent interest in the races and offered a cup for a transatlantic race managed by the Atlantic Yacht Club.   Tod was put in an uncomfortable situation when a representative of Emperor Wilhelm II arrived, offering an imperial cup as the main prize.  With apparently delicate diplomacy Tod convinced Sir Thomas Lipton to withdraw his offer of the silver cup so as not to offend the monarch.

In 1913 Tod offered the house at No. 323 West 74^thStreet to a real estate firm as partial payment for an apartment building.    The company quickly resold it in December for $125,000.   The purchaser’s name was kept secret, causing much speculation.    The Sunmused “There is one other real estate mystery in Manhattan.  It involves the ownership of the fine dwelling at 323 West Seventy-fourth street…Various stories have been heard as to the real buyer, but none of them could be verified.  In fact, as has been said, it is one of the mystery properties of the city.”

The mystery would not be solved for years; and it would result in delicious fodder for parlor gossip.

When industrialist Jay Gould died in 1892 he left a staggering fortune of approximately $72 million to be divided among his six children.  While daughter Helen remained in the Fifth Avenue mansion living quietly and devoting herself to charity, her siblings, as later reported in a newspaper, “went out in the world.”  Among them was brother George.

George married Edith Kingdon and the couple had seven children.  But by now Edith’s once-striking figure was gone.  The socialite was obese and George’s eye began to wander.    That wandering eye landed on showgirl Guinevere Sinclair, a “Gaiety Girl” dancer.  Despite her career choice, Sinclair had been reared in a prominent family and her grandfather, Sir Edward Sinclair, had been Provost of Trinity College in Dublin.

The young and beautiful Guinevere Sinclair was the recipient of the house at No. 323 West 74^th Street—a gift of her new lover.   A son, George Sinclair, was born on April 15, 1915, then a daughter, Jane, in 1917.  Gould also purchased a magnificent Tudor-style country estate in Rye, New York for his lover.  The Gould family, including Edith, was well aware of the arrangement and the children were known among the family as “George’s bastards.”  Only New York society was kept in the dark. 

Edith tried valiantly to lose weight and regain her husband’s favor.  She went through diets and massages and took up golf.   Her attempts to appear thin included wearing a tortuously tight rubber suit under her clothing.    During a golf game in November 1921 with George, Edith suddenly dropped to the ground, dead of a heart attack.   Beneath her golf costume was the suffocating rubber suit.

Within six months George Gould married Guinevere Sinclair in a five-minute ceremony in Lakewood, New Jersey, about the time that another daughter, also named Guinevere, was born.    The newly-weds immediately sailed for Europe and clubrooms and ballrooms of New York society buzzed with rumors regarding the unknown bride.

Although the New-York Tribune reported that “All the mystery surrounding the marriage was swept away yesterday with the discovery of the records pertaining to the wedding on file at the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Trenton, New Jersey, “ it bemoaned that “Very little could be learned here yesterday about the new Mrs. Gould.”   The newspaper disclosed “It was said yesterday by friends of Mr. Gould that the marriage was no surprise to members of the Gould family, although none of them was present at the ceremony.”

The marriage would not last long.  A year later, in May 1923, the 59-year old George Gould died alone in France from heart disease.  It would be the beginning of a bitter fight for the $15 million estate.

The Gould family harbored bitter animosity against the former showgirl and her children.  Gould’s legitimate children fought in court for valuable paintings which they said were given to Edith during his lifetime, and the family mansions in Lakewood, New Jersey and Manhattan.    Finally on June 18, 1925 the estate was settled with Guinevere receiving $1 million in Liberty bonds which George had sent to her just before his death in Paris and a $4 million trust fund for the children.

Guinevere Sinclair Gould did not let grass grow under her feet.   Later that year she married the English viscount George St. John Broderick Dunsford.  Dunsford apparently had an eye for showgirls, for he had recently divorced another former actress.    By 1927 Guinevere, now Lady Dunsford, had purchased Estwell Park, a sprawling estate in Kent, England and lived there with her three children and new husband.

That same year, the house at No. 323 West 74^thStreet was divided into “non-housekeeping apartments.”  Five years later the designation was changed to simply “apartments.”  In 2002 architect Allen Strasen was commissioned by owner Van Velle to renovate the home.

Obscured by construction scaffolding are the white marble entrance steps and base -- photo by Alice Lum

A penthouse, invisible from the street, was added to the roof, creating a triplex apartment with the fourth and fifth floors.   Although no longer a private home; the impressive brick and marble exterior has been lovingly preserved.

C P H Gilbert's 1898 No. 312 West 73rd Street

Perhaps most remembered for the lavish mansions he designed on Manhattan’s East Side; C. P. H. Gilbert was equally busy on the West Side during the last years of the 19^th century.  In 1897, having just completed the George E.Fahys house next door, Gilbert was at work on No. 312 West 73^rdStreet.

William Lee Trenholm had purchased the lot from John J. Sutphen on January 18, 1897.  He paid $30,000 for the land—over $800,000 today.  Gilbert’s design for Trenholm would be starkly different from the limestone-fronted Fahy house.   In the late 1890s, taste in residential architectural style was beginning to inch away from European-inspired design as America rediscovered its roots.   The decade had seen the founding of groups like the Daughters of the American Revolution, the Sons of the American Revolution, and the Society of Colonial Wars.  Before long prim neo-Federal and neo-Georgian mansions of red brick with white limestone or marble trim were rising along Central Park.

But the Trenholm house would go a step further.  While the Renaissance Revival Fahy house was decidedly European; No. 312 West 73^rd Street drew its inspiration from the early 18^th century streets of New England.    Completed in 1898, the house was both somber and grand in its design.   Four stories of the central section bowed forcefully out, creating a spacious balcony at the fifth floor.  Another balcony at the second floor, created by the Doric-columned portico, was accessed by a dramatic arched doorway.  Gilbert used both brownstone and terra cotta for the sparse ornamentation.

In contrast to his severe exterior, Gilbert lavished the interior with heavy plaster ceiling ornamentation in the form of garlands and floral ropes and installed imported marble mantels.  The French-paneled rooms had intricate parquet floors.  Grand spaces designed for lavish entertaining boasted of the owners’ wealth.

Colonel William Lee Trenholm -- New-York Tribune, January 12, 1901 (copyright expired)

Born in Charleston, South Carolina, Trenholm had been Secretary of the Treasury of the Confederate States under Jefferson Davis; as well as serving as a Colonel in the Confederate Army.  Later he was appointed Controller of the Currency under the first Cleveland Administration.

He had moved to New York in 1889, taking the position of President of the American Surety Company.  The same year that he moved his family into the 73^rd Street house, he became President of the North American Trust Company.

Trenholm and his wife, the former Kate Macbeth, had eight children.   The mansion was barely completed by the time of daughter Constance’s marriage to Dr. Russell Bellamy in fashionable St. Thomas’s Church on Fifth Avenue.  The high social caliber of the event was evidenced by names in the wedding party, including J. G. Phelps-Stokes, Joseph Frelinghuysen and Allan Robbins.

Following the ceremony, the Trenholms hosted a “large reception at their new residence,” said The Sun on April 21, 1898.  A long honeymoon for the newlyweds was doubtful.   The U.S.S. Maine had been sunk in Havana Harbor two months earlier; and on the day of the wedding Spain severed diplomatic relations with the U.S. as Congress considered its options.  The Sun wrote “The bridegroom, who is Sergeant of the Hospital Corps of Squadron A, may at any moment have his marching orders.”

 Less than three years later, on New Year’s Day 1901, William Trenholm contracted the grip, which worsened to pneumonia.  The 65-year old’s condition was serious enough to warrant newspaper coverage.  On January 10 The New York Times reported that he was “slightly improved last night.  During the day Col. Trenholm became worse, but rallied during the evening.”   Russell Bellamy, the young doctor who had married his daughter and went off to war attended him along with Drs. Thornley and Gilman W. Thompson.

It was a short-lived rally.  The New-York Tribune reported that “although [his condition] improved slightly…it changed for the worse again Thursday, and all hope was abandoned.”   Early in the morning of the day following The Times article, Trenholm’s wife and children gathered around his bedside.  Only his son, George, who was at school in Charleston and on the way home, was not present as William L. Trenholm died.  The funeral was held in the house the next day, January 11, at 3:00. 

Kate Trenholm left New York and moved back to Charleston into her “fine house at the head of the Battery” as described by The Sun.  The aristocratic Southern woman was highly insulted when her home was raided on April 11, 1903 while other gentlewomen were calling on her.  A South Carolina newspaper said “There was much indignation here to-day when it became known that dispensary constables had invaded the Trenholm home on the hunt for ‘blind tiger’ liquor.”  The newspaper said Kate was “astounded when five rough countrymen called and said they had orders to search the place.  Protests and entreaties were unavailing.”

After their ransacking of the house (The Sun said “They opened wardrobes, scattered clothing and left without finding a trace of whiskey), the constables said that “some grievous mistake had been made in the street number.”   The following day the Chief of the Dispensary made a call on Kate Trenholm with an apology.  The Sun reported “It was not accepted.”

In the meantime the family leased the house on West 73^rdStreet.   On August 17, 1902 The New York Times had mentioned that it had been taken “for a term of years at a gross rental of $35,000.”  Albert Sanders, a receiver for bankrupt firms, and his wife lived in the house through 1907.

The cast iron fanlight and unusual bowed entrance doors survive.

In January 1908 the house was offered at auction, and a year later it was resold by the Mutual Life Insurance Co. to  Sailing Baruch, Jr.  The new owner immediately hired architect J. H. Freedlander to update the residence, “including the installation of elevator service,” as reported in The Sun on September 2, 1909.  The remodeling cost Baruch $15,000.

Sailing was one of four sons of Dr. Simon Baruch, an eminent physician and scientist.   Like the Trenholms, he had Southern roots.  His mother, Isabel Wolfe Baruch, was the daughter of South Carolina cotton planter Sailing Wolfe.  His uncle, financier and political consultant Bernard Baruch, gave his name to Baruch College of City University of New York.   

Sailing and his wife had two sons in the house, Donald and Sailing, Jr.  Following Dr. Baruch’s death in June 1921, Sailing’s 72-year old mother—once highly active in music and philanthropy—deteriorated.  The Quarterly Journal of the New York State Historical Society noted “from that time Mrs. Baruch gradually lost strength.”  On November 24, 1921 she died in the West 73^rd Street house.

Although he would become president of the Wall Street investment house Baruch Brothers & Co., Inc.; Sailing Baruch was more often in the newspapers for his playboy ways than for more serious endeavors.  On August 13, 1922 the New-York Tribunepointed out that the Baruchs were at the fashionable Paul Smith’s resort in New York and had taken up a new-fangled hobby—home movies.

“Motion picture shows of their own are increasing in favor as a means of entertainment among the campers on the St. Regis chain of lakes and the nearby waters,” said the newspaper.  Some of them hav along movie cameras and are giving jolly little exhibitions of the films they make of their friends in action on the links of the St. Regis River Golf Club and on mountain-climbing trips and other expeditions.”   The Tribune said “Mr. and Mrs. Sailing W. Baruch, of New York, who are here for the season with their sons, Donald and Sailing jr., are first among the members of the cottage colony at Paul Smith’s Hotel to adopt private movies.”

Before long newspapers would be more interested in Sailing’s dating than in his home movies.  The now-single Baruch was fodder for gossip on May 29, 1932 when Nancy Randolph, writing in the Chicago Sunday Tribune wrote “Incidentally, they have even rumored Doris Duke as the wife-to-be of Sailing Baruch Jr.  It may be so, but then, knowing Sailing, a plump, genial and not loquacious young man, we can hardly see the tall and sensible Doris enamored of the about town Sailing.” 

The same year that Nancy Randolph circulated the Duke-Baruch rumor, the 73^rd Street house was purchased by Celia Frender and converted to apartments—one on the first floor and two on the upper levels.   Frender would retain ownership of the property for three decades, selling it in April 1966 for $140,000.

The purchaser was the unlikely Institute for Human-Animal Relationship, Inc.   The organization, suspected to be somewhat shady by some officials, was described by Attorney General Louis J. Lefkowitz a year later as “a self-styled charitable organization set up to foster understanding between people and pets.”  But the tax-exempt status which the Institute obtained for itself raised Lefkowitz’s suspicions. 

An investigation showed that although it had collected $350,000 by December 1968, only occasionally had it distributed “birdseed, bird cages and fish tanks.”  The Attorney General alleged that donations were ending up in the pockets of the Institute’s promoters.  Armed with this evidence, Finance Administrator Fioravante g. Perrotta revoked the organization’s tax-exempt status.

Much of the interior detailing survives -- http://www.zillow.com/homedetails/312-W-73rd-St-APT-1A-New-York-NY-10023/2110993857_zpid/

In 1977 the former mansion was converted once again—this time to four apartments on the ground floor and three each on the upper floors.   Charles Pierrepont Henry Gilbert’s highly uncharacteristic structure has undergone some abuse; yet much of the interior detailing survives and the exterior retains its integrity.

non-credited photographs taken by the author

The 1897 Fahys Mansion -- No. 310 W 73rd Street

In 1896 construction began on George E. Fahy’s new home at No. 310 West 73^rd Street.  At a time when the Upper West Side erupted in eccentric residential architecture sprouting gargoyles, turrets and carved grotesques; mansion architect C. P. H. Gilbert had designed a formal Renaissance Revival residence that would have been quite at home on the opposite side of Central Park.

The ever-active George Ernest Fahys was Vice-President of the Fayhs Watch Case Co. at No. 54 Maiden Lane; President of the Brooklyn Watch Case Co.; President of the jewelry firm Alvin Mfg. Co.; Vice-President of the Montauk Steamboat Co.; Treasure of the Sag Harbor Water Co.; and Vice-President of the Jewellers’ Association and Board of Trade.  The Fahys family moved into the 16-room house in 1897.

Unlike Gilbert’s wealthy patrons on the East Side, it would seem that Fahys watched costs closely.  The house was clad in iron-spot Roman brick chosen to closely match the rusticated limestone base.   And elaborate terra cotta embellishments took the place of more costly carved stone.  Nevertheless, Gilbert had produced a striking five-story mansion appropriate to the owner’s wealth and position.

Three stories projected away from the façade not only to create a handsome terrace at the fourth floor, accessed by an elaborate Palladian-style set of openings; but it distinctly separated the main entrance from the service door at the western side.  The shallow stoop and side yard were guarded by limestone walls and iron fencing.

“The entrance is through a door of massive iron grille work into a fine entrance hall paneled in San Domingo mahogany and with ceiling beams of the same wood,” described The New York Times later.  “Back of this are kitchen and pantries large enough to meet the wants of a good-sized hotel.”

The second floor housed the mahogany-paneled library with built in bookcases.  The library engulfed about half of the interior space of that floor.  “Back of this is a daintily furnished drawing room decorated in white,” said the newspaper.  Also on this floor was the nearly-round dining room wainscoted with mahogany interspersed with French vernis Martin-decorated panels.

On the upper three floors were eleven bedrooms and the servants’ rooms.  The New York Times deemed that all of them “except those occupied by the servants, [are] decorated in the most artistic manner.”

George E. Fahys would live in the new mansion only six years.  On February 7, 1903 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide noted that he had sold the house to Mrs. Richard C. Veit.   In reality, it was her husband, who was Superintendent of the Foreign Department of the Standard Oil Company, who was the purchaser.  But in the early days of the 20^th century, high-end homes were most often put in the name of the wives; thereby providing them additional financial security in the case of the breadwinner’s death.

At the time of the sale, the 73^rd Street house had unobstructed views of the Hudson River and the New Jersey palisades.   The Times would later mention “Only one house stands between it and Riverside Drive, and the front is built out in such a manner that the front windows command the sweep of the drive and the river beyond.”

Directly across the street construction of Charles M. Schwab’s gargantuan block-encompassing mansion was ongoing.  It would be another three years before the multi-millionaire’s massive French Renaissance chateau was completed.

Moving into No. 310 with his parents was 19-year old Arthur S. Veit.   The boy managed to publicly embarrass his family two years later when he was involved in a police raid—and then made matters worse.

The district between 23^rd Street and 42^ndStreet, from about Fifth to Seventh Avenues was known as the Tenderloin.  Here brothels, illegal gambling houses, and crime-ridden dives were uncontrolled.  Crime and vice thrived with the help of corrupt local police.   Arthur Veit was in the notorious Cairo on Friday night, January 13, when police rushed in.

Among those taken away to the West 30^th Street station house were young Veit and a woman of ill-repute.  Arthur pledged “his” house at No. 310 West 73^rdStreet as bail to get the two of them out of jail.  It was a bad decision.

On January 15 police interviewed the Standard Oil mogul.  The New York Times reported “In the interview Veit’s father was alleged to have said that he, and not his son, owned the property in Seventy-third Street where they live, and that his son had no right to pledge it for bail.’

Young Veit had not only gotten himself in trouble at home; he was in deeper trouble with the law.  Magistrate Ommen was infuriated at the boy’s insolence.  “I am going up to the Tenderloin Police Station and I am going to investigate this matter thoroughly.  It is very serious,” he told reporters.  “If this man has gone on that bond and did not own the property he has committed a felony, and I shall place the matter in the hands of District Attorney Jerome.  Even though the young man owned the property, he had no legal right to go on the bond, because in the eyes of the law he is a minor at nineteen.”

Later that year, in October, Richard Veit sold the mansion to Congressman Timothy D. Sullivan.  The New York Times said “Mr. Veit is giving up the house because his sons are at college, his daughter was married recently, and only himself and Mrs. Veit, with a corps of servants, remain to occupy it.”

Called by The Times “the original ‘Big Tim’ of New York and ‘Dry Dollar’ of Albany,” Sullivan essentially controlled the Bowery and Lower East Side districts as an important Tammany Hall figure.  His imposing stature led to the “Big Tim” tag.   Born in the infamous Five Points slums, he had risen from a shoeshine boy to a wealthy businessman and influential politician.

Tim Sullivan was a highly-popular Tammany Hall politician among the Bowery and Lower East Side voters. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York   http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWMXY6B2&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Despite Sullivan’s past involvement in criminal activity and electoral fraud, he was serving in the U.S. Congress when he purchased the 73^rdStreet house.   On reporting the sale, The Times said “To make his entry into the upper circles in befitting style Congressman Sullivan has purchased the house at 310 West Seventy-third Street, one of the handsomest residences in the Riverside section.”

Sullivan paid Veit $90,000 for the mansion—about $2.4 million in today’s dollars.  The contract allowed the Veits to stay on in the house until December 14.  The newspaper said “The house is built for entertaining on a large scale…Mr. Veit has in it to-day a fine library and a valuable collection of paintings, said to be one of the best private collections in the city.  These, however, will not pass to the new owner, although it is contemplated that an arrangement will be made by which some of the elaborate furnishings and costly rugs will remain in the house when Mr. Sullivan takes possession.”

The Times poked fun at the man who came from such humble beginnings, saying in a sub-headline “He’ll Now Keep a Butler.”   The article added “While Congressman Sullivan’s new move will no doubt bring dismay to his thousands of friends on the Bowery, it is understood that he will desert them only in the sense of taking up a new abode.”

Like the Veits, however, the Sullivans would remain in the house only three years.  In May 1909 Hannah Sullivan sold the mansion.  It became the home of Henry Zuckerman and his family.   Entertainments in No. 310 West 73^rd Street were once again a bit more upscale than they had been during the Sullivan residency.  Mrs. Zuckerman was actively involved in the charitable causes and events expected of the wives of moneyed businessmen.

In December 1910 she was busy with the special performance at the Metropolitan Opera House for the benefit of the Widowed Mothers’ Fund Association.  Among the stars to appear would be Anna Pavlowa.  With her on the committee were wealthy socialites like Mrs. Randolph Guggenheimer, Mrs. Joseph E. Hoffman and Mrs. Daniel Guggenheim.

The house would be the scene of debutante entertainments for daughter Nellie in 1912.  Nellie graduated from Wellesley in June that year.  On December 9 a marathon of activities included a 4:00 to 7:00 reception a theater party, with 50 guests returning to West 73^rd Street for supper and a dance.

A year later excitement began all over again when Nellie’s engagement to Arthur J. Cohen was announced.

Although they retained ownership of the house, the Zuckeman family, too, moved on.  In June 1914 Henry Zuckerman leased the mansion to H. J. Wallace; then in October 1916 to Joseph E. O’Kelly and his wife Mercedes.  The O’Kelly family was living in the house when the United States entered World War I.  Joseph John O’Kelly entered the Field Artillery Section of the Reserve Corps of the U.S. Army, rising to 2^nd Lieutenant by 1920.

That year, in October, the O’Kellys purchased the house from Henry Zuckerman.   Somewhat unexpectedly the house was soon operated as a high-end boarding house, operated by Mary Lewis.    Leona Jane Hertz was living here in June 1923 when she became engaged to the President of the Chesapeake Export Company, Alfred Ettlinger.   And by 1925 ballerina Princess Caracciolo and her sister conducted a dance studio in the house.

Tragedy would befall another tenant, 23-year old Dorothy Smith, the following year.  Dorothy earned her living as a “cloak model” despite her parents repeated urging “to give up the struggle of trying to earn her own living in the city and return home to stay,” according to The New York Times on September 28, 1926.  The aspiring model insisted on pursuing her dreams, however.  Around the end of June she took an apartment in the former mansion consisting of one room, a kitchenette and a bath.

On September 27 she went to a nightclub, Sophie Tucker’s Playground, on West 52^nd Street where two young stock brokers struck up a conversation.   Francis Murphy was 24 years old and John J. Fitzpatrick was 22.   After a while Murphy, who lived at No. 115 East 89^th Street, convinced Dorothy that the three should go to his apartment.

Once there, Dorothy discovered that the young brokers’ intentions were anything but respectable.   Trapped in the apartment she fought off their unwanted advances.  Neighbors heard screams and protests coming from the apartment for several minutes; then Dorothy Sullivan threw herself from the fourth floor window to escape.

According to police, “After her leap she managed to crawl a few feet.  Fearing she was about to die, she picked up a slip of paper in the yard and scribbled the word ‘Murphy’ on it with a gold pencil suspended from a chain around her neck.”  Later, at the hospital, she gave the police the full names of her attackers.  Detectives went to the apartment and arrested Murphy and Fitzpatrick.

The men protested their innocence, saying the first they learned of her leap was when they walked into the bedroom and she was not there.   Doctors, in the meantime, held out little hope of Dorothy’s survival.

The coming and going of creative, West Side types would continue for the next decade.  Theodora Irvine conducted a theater studio in the house in the 1930s; and at the same time poet Margaret Belle Houston-Probert was a resident.  Painter Raphael Ellender was living here in 1942.

More notorious and no less tragic was the story of Patrice Leary, the 22-year old teacher who moved in after graduating from Smith College in 1970.   The neighborhood had declined and upon taking the apartment Patrice added a second lock to her door.  But it was not precaution enough.

On Thursday afternoon, October 29 neighbors noticed that her door was ajar.  The New York Times reported that she “was beaten, stabbed repeatedly and strangled manually…The police found the 6-inch blade of a kitchen knife in the dead woman’s chest.”  There was no evidence that she had been sexually molested and a medical examination showed that she was a virgin.

Police theorized that Patrice had entered the apartment with bags of groceries.  She left the door unlocked while she put down the groceries, giving the assailant the opportunity to attack.  The condition of the kitchen spoke of the violent struggle.  “Tables and chairs were over-turned and broken in the room,” said The New York Times on November 1.  A hammer was retrieved with which the young woman’s head had been bludgeoned, a telephone cord had been used to strangle her, and the knife wound penetrated her heart.

Despite the description of a white male in his 20s seen rushing from house, police were baffled.   By November 4 there were 75 men working full time to find the killer and six days later a reward of $1,500 was offered.  The police called Patrice “a fine, decent girl, the kind of person you want to help and protect.”

And yet the case finally went cold.  No one was ever arrested in Patrice Leary’s murder and the reason behind it remains a mystery.

In 1997 the former Fahys mansion was converted to two spacious apartments per floor.  Despite a few exterior alterations, it remains a fine example of C. P. H. Gilbert’s residential work on the Upper West Side.

photographs by the author

The Kleeberg Mansion -- No. 3 Riverside Drive

In 1919, two decades after the fact, The Northeastern Reporter explained the rise of a string of lavish mansions at the foot of Riverside Drive, all designed separately by a single architect.

“In 1896 one John S. Sutphen was the owner of the entire block between Seventy-Second and Seventy-Third streets fronting on Riverside Drive.  He formed a general plan to improve and develop the land, and filed in the office of the register a map dividing it into lots.”  The first sale, according to the Reporter was in June, 1896, including a plot “to one Kleeberg.”

Philip Kleeberg’s deed included restrictions similar to the others.  Kleeberg, “his heirs and assigns, shall, within two years from the date hereof, cause to be erected and fully completed upon said lot, a first-class building, adapted for and which shall be used only as a private residence for one family, and which shall conform to the plans made of being made by C. P. H. Gilbert, architect.”

At the time developers intended that Riverside Drive would rival or surpass Fifth Avenue with palatial dwellings.  Its superb views from above the Hudson River and the manicured Riverside Park were its answer to Fifth Avenue’s Central Park.  Sutphen may have been friendly with the mansion architect Gilbert; or perhaps he chose him to do the work simply because he knew and trusted his well-earned reputation.

Philip Kleeberg and his wife, Maria, wasted little time in setting the gears in motion.  Within four months, on October 3, 1896, The American Architect and Building News announced Kleeberg’s plans to build a “four-story brick dwelling to cost $55,000, on Riverside Drive, near 73d St.”  Including the price of the land, $145,000 according to The New York Times, the outlay would be more in the neighborhood of $5 million today.

The Kleebergs were relatively young and the aggressive businessman’s fortune came from a variety of enterprises.  Originally involved in the wholesale lace business, he was by now also President of the Frog Mountain Ore Company, Vice-President of the Colonial Oil Company, and held directorships in the New York Petroleum Company, the William Radam Microbe Killer Company, the Alabama and Georgia Iron Company, and the Empire Steel and Iron Company.  Years later he would invent a calculator and in 1916 become President of the National Calculator Company.

Construction of No. 3 Riverside Drive took two years and as it neared completion, The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide gave a hint at the high-end details when it reported that the Hernsheim Architectural Iron Works was at work on a “bronze vestibule gate for the handsome dwelling No. 3 Riverside Drive, Chas. P. H. Gilbert, architect.”  Construction was completed in 1898 and the Kleebergs, who had lived at No. 56 East 73^rd Street, now defected in a nearly straight line across the park. 

Charles Pierrepont Henry Gilbert had produced a sumptuous confection in a frothy style so nebulous as to put architectural historians at odds.  The AIA Guide to New York City calls it “freely interpreted Dutch Renaissance;” while the Landmarks Preservation Commission argues it is “French Renaissance Revival.”  Late 19^thcentury American architects were not wont to concern themselves with historical purity; and elements of both styles can be detected in Gilbert’s design.

American Architect and Architecture (copyright expired)

The architect set the entrance to the side, allowing for a spacious parlor looking onto the park.  The mansion’s bow-fronted façade stopped at three floors, allowing Gilbert to provide a “terrace” at the fourth floor accessed by a long square-columned gallery to the side.  The elaborate stone gables, ornamented with spiky finials and florid s-shaped brackets, culminated in deeply-carved shells.  In a somewhat tongue-in-cheek gesture, Gilbert perched a stone cherub holding a bowl of fruit at the pinnacle.

High above it all a stone cherub (one has been lost) surveys Riverside Drive.  The "terrace" would be the scene of tragedy.

The Kleebergs’s marriage may have been a bit shaky.  The title to the new mansion was put in Maria’s name, as was expected.  And the family, including three sons, moved in and outside appearances were maintained.  However Philip reportedly acquired a second home on the Upper West Side for his own use. 

Gradually the row of houses around No. 3 was constructed.  By September 7, 1901 the Record & Guide reported “three lots of the plot have been sold, one to Philip Kleeberg, one to Colonel W.L. Trenholm, and one to Mrs. Prentiss, all of which have been improved.”

For years nothing other than the expected entertainments and social functions at No. 3 was the norm.  Then, six years later after moving in, a heart wrenching tragedy would occur.  The Kleebergs participated in the routines of wealthy New Yorkers.  Philip and Maria spent the first two months of the summer of 1903 in Europe and upon their return she left for “the country.”  Society women at the time would summer in resorts or estates like Newport and Bar Harbor, while their working husbands would join them on the weekends.

On August 18 the 48-year old socialite returned to New York, a bit early in the season.  Six days later she hosted a dinner party “and a number of Mr. and Mrs. Kleeberg’s relative and friends were present,” said The Sun on August 24.  Following dinner the party took a drive along Riverside Park, then returned to the terrace of the mansion where they sat and chatted.

At one point Maria Kleeberg excused herself, saying she was going to the bathroom.  When she did not return, her sister became concerned and followed.  The Sun reported “She opened the door just as Mrs. Kleeberg put a bottle to her lips.  Mrs. Sands knocked the bottle, which was filled with carbolic acid, to the floor.”

In doing so, Maria’s sister was badly burned on the hands.  She rushed downstairs and instructed the servants to find a doctor.  Three doctors were sent for, but none of them was at home.

Notoriety was one thing the wealthy desperately attempted to avoid; so it was only through desperation that an ambulance was called for from Roosevelt Hospital.  It caused precisely the attention the family was attempting to avoid.

“The arrival of the ambulance caused great excitement in the neighborhood.  One of the rumors which were circulated had it that some one had been murdered in the Kleeberg house.  At one time there were at least 300 persons in front of the house,” said The Sun.

By the time the ambulance had arrived, Maria Kleeberg was dead.  The police, attracted by the ambulance call and the crowd, attempted to investigate.  In an attempt to avoid even worse publicity and scandal, the doors were barred against the police.  No information was given out until Detective Culhane refused to allow the body to be removed until he was let in.

Forced to face reporters, Philip Kleeberg insisted there was no reason why his wife should have committed suicide.  His only explanation was that she may have had “a fit of the blues.”

Kleeberg soon transferred the title to his son, 21-year old Gordon S. P. Kleeberg.  The young homeowner was possibly a difficult man to work for.  On February 23, 1906 he placed an ad in the New-York Tribune seeking a coachman.  “Good, careful driver; competent; painstaking.”  He asked for the “best written and personal references.”  Later that year another advertisement was placed, for the same position.  Then on September 21, 1906 yet another advertisement appeared.  “Coachman—Thorough horseman; care of horses, carriages, and harness; strictly sober, honest, willing and obliging.”  It would seem that young Kleeberg had unusually bad luck in finding a coachman; or he was simply too difficult to work for.

In the meantime the home life of William Guggenheim, known as “The Smelting King,” had become rocky.  Born into the fabulously wealthy mining family, his domestic differences with his wife, Aimee, became such that the couple separated.  In 1908 he purchased No. 3 Riverside Drive.  But he barely had time to unpack his bags.

On May 3, 1910 the New-York Tribune reported that Guggenheim had sold the house to “a Mr. Hopkins, who will occupy it.”  The development of the block was reflected in the asking price--$200,000, or about $4.75 million today.  The Tribune said that a negotiated price of $165,000 was said to be the actual sale price.  In commenting on the sale, the newspaper said “The house is one of the finest in the lower part of the drive.”

It was not uncommon in the first decades of the 20^thcentury for wealthy purchasers of real estate to play a cat-and-mouse game with the press regarding their identities.  A little over a month later, on June 14, the New-York Tribune said “The new owner is said to be a woman, who by the purchase obtains control of half the block.”

Finally, on July 16, 1910, the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide ended the speculation, naming Mrs. Angie M. Booth as the buyer.  “Mrs. Booth is the owner of the adjoining property on the north, including the southeast corner of 73d st.”

Angie Booth was the wife of Henry P. Booth, and in a surprising turn of events, she resold the property prior to 1915—to William Guggenheim.  Angie Booth would live to regret it.  Rather than move back into the mansion, Guggenheim initially ran it as a boarding house; then rented it to Dr. William H. Wellington Knipe at $4,000 a year for the first year, and $5,000 a year for the next four years.  It was a hefty rental price; but Knipe had income-producing plans for the property.

Dr. Knipe was “one of the first physicians in New York to become interested in twilight sleep,” said The Sun on January 22, 1916.  “Twilight sleep” was a procedure used on women going into labor that was intended to reduce the pain of childbirth.  The Guggenheim mansion became Dr. Knipe’s “twilight sleep sanitarium.”

Angie Booth, who lived next door to the house, and Mary T.Sutphen whose own mansion was at the corner of Riverside Drive and 72^ndStreet, were outraged.  They filed suit to close down the sanitarium.

Recalling the restrictions in the original Kleeberg deed, their lawyer explained “The plaintiffs contend that the block is restricted to residential purposes and barred from trade and business.”  His female clients were a bit more pointed, calling the sanitarium “a menace to the peace and quiet of the neighboring landowners,” and “obnoxious and offensive.”

The Sun said that Knipe felt his neighbors were “needlessly alarmed” and “said he had talked with many of his neighbors and they told him they preferred the proposed sanitarium to the ‘exclusive’ boarding house formerly conducted here.”  One of these was Lydia Prentiss.

The wealthy woman, who lived at No. 1 Riverside Drive, was placed in an uncomfortable position when her neighbors knocked on her door, asking her to join them as a plaintiff.  The stalwart socialite held her ground, however, telling the press she “didn’t think women should lend themselves to opposing the development of any treatment that would alleviate or diminish the pains of childbirth.”  It most likely put an end to Lydia Prentiss’s invitations to tea at either the Sutphen or Booth residences.

Although the courts ruled in Dr. Knipe’s favor; things returned to normal on lower Riverside Drive.  Eventually William Guggenheim moved back in and used the mansion as his private dwelling, restoring peace among the neighbors.  Highly educated and erudite, he was the author of several publications, many of them patriotic.  Among them were Our Republic Triumphant; Peace by Victory at Last, but with a Warning; A Greater America; and What Price Government.  His ardent patriotism was evidenced in 1940 when Italy declared war against Great Britain and France.  In 1920 he had been decorated with the Commendatore dell’ Ordine della Corona d’Italia by the Italian Government.  Now he renounced and returned the title, saying that the declaration of war came as “a profound shock.”

He remained in the Riverside Drive mansion until his death at the age of 72 on June 27, 1941.  The house became the property of the Seamen’s Bank for Savings, which leased it to General Boleslaw Wieniawa-D’Lugoszewski and his wife and daughter.  The Polish Ambassador to Italy at the outbreak of war in 1939, he had also been the aide to Marshal Pilsudski, dictator of Poland.

The 60-year old diplomat was subject to what the Polish Consul General referred to as “dizzy spells.”  On the evening of July 1, 1942, the general received word that he had been appointed as Envoy to Cuba.  Shortly afterward, wearing his pajamas and bedroom slippers, he went to the roof “to get a little fresh air,” according to Sylvyn Strakacz, the Police Consul General.  Moments later he fell to his death.

Despite the Consul’s assertions that the fall was the result of recurrent dizziness; The New York Times said “Police of the West Sixty-eighth Street Station, who helped remove the general to the hospital were uncertain whether the death was an accident or suicide.”

Like William Guggenheim, Gordon Kleeberg could not stay away from No. 3 Riverside Drive.  On New Year’s Day, 1944 The New York Times reported “One of the finest town houses on the West Side figured in the news yesterday when Lieut. Col. Gordon S. P. Kleeberg purchased the building at 3 Riverside Drive which was erected by his father in 1896.”

Although the newspaper got the architect’s name wrong, citing Cass Gilbert rather than C. P. H. Gilbert; it correctly described the interiors.  “Among its features still in a good state of preservation are a marble stairway, solid cherrywood floors and bronze grill entrance doors.”  The article said “Colonel Kleeberg intends to remodel the building into small apartments after the war and occupy the terrace suite.”

As promised, in 1951 the 37-foot wide mansion was divided into two apartments per floor.  Happily, much of C. P. H. Gilbert’s interior detailing was preserved.  In 1995 it was purchased by real estate developer Regina Kislin for $10 million.  She and her husband, photographer Anatoly Siyagine, embarked on a long restoration project to bring the house back to a private home.

Much of the interior detailing survives.  http://streeteasy.com/building/philip-and-maria-kleeberg-house

Included in the renovation were modern touches that Maria Kleeberg would have found shocking—an indoor pool, sauna and gym, for instance.  Seventeen years later she put the 18-room house on the market for $40 million.  Real estate listings noted “six bedrooms, eight and a half bathrooms, a two-room staff suite, four terraces, and an elevator.”  When no buyers appeared, Kislin reduced the price to $30 million in September 2014.  

The magnificent Gilbert-designed mansion survives as a stunning reminder of the first days of the development of Riverside Drive when developers lured millionaires from the east side of Central Park.

uncredited photographs taken by the author