The Magificent 1913 Woolworth Building -- Broadway at Park Place

print from the Library of Congress

Frank Winfield Woolworth worked on his parents’ farm in Great Bend, New York until he was 21 years old.  During his last two winters on the farm, when chores were fewer, he worked in a grocery store in town for free, telling the owner he simply wanted the experience.

When he finally left home he ventured off to Watertown, New York, where he convinced the owner of the dry goods store Augsbury & Moore to allow him to work free for three months, after which he received $3.50 a week; the exact amount he was paying for his room at a boarding house.   By 1878 the 26-year old was earning $10 a week.

It was that year that the store in Watertown where he was working installed a revolutionary marketing concept:  a five-cent counter.  Woolworth took the idea farther.

A year later he opened his first store in Utica, New York with $350 worth of goods purchased on a note endorsed by his father.  The store failed, but Woolworth was undaunted.  By 1911 there were 596 F. W. Woolworth stores and Woolworth had become an extremely wealthy man by selling goods priced at five or ten cents.

In 1910 Woolworth began planning a new headquarters building.   His initial thoughts of a typical 12- to 16-story office building gradually changed until it would become the tallest building in the world.    In the summer of 1911, for about $2.5 million, Woolworth acquired the corner lot at Broadway and Park Place and commissioned Cass Gilbert – known for monumental public buildings like the Minnesota State Capitol building—to design his new headquarters. 

Initial plans called for a 55-story building.  Even before the addition of five more stories, not everyone was pleased.  One reader of The New York Times who signed his letter simply H. P wrote “But is it wise, or even safe, for the city to longer neglect the subject of limiting the height of buildings?  Fifty-five stories now—what next?  And yet, it seems I have already heard mention of a ‘next.’”

Woolworth was fond of the London’s Gothic Houses of Parliament and this admiration probably played an important part in the style of the new skyscraper.   Referring to Woolworth’s input, Gilbert later said “Mr. Woolworth loved beautiful architecture and earnestly desired that his building should be noted for its beauty as well as for its practical convenience and substantial construction.”

Mr. Woolworth would get from Cass Gilbert both beautiful architecture and substantial construction.

To support the immense structure, estimated to weigh 136,000 tons, 69 concrete piers extended 100 feet down to bedrock.  The construction of the foundation alone cost $1.2 million.

A billboard announces the coming skyscraper as caissons are driven deep into the earth for the foundation in 1911.

On the night of April 24, 1913 President Wilson pressed a button in the White House and 80,000 electric lights in the Woolworth Building flashed on.  The building was completed.   In the 27^th-floor dining room Woolworth hosted a banquet for journalists, business moguls and politicians.   Outside, the tower was bathed in light; an early example of architectural illumination.

The six-story tower had dozens of gargoyles -- photo "The Cathedral of Commerce" 1913

The 60-story skyscraper, which cost Woolworth $13 million, was a marvel.  It was clad in gleaming white terra cotta, cast in elaborate Gothic shapes – finials, gargoyles, spires and intricate tracery.   Two decades later the WPA’s “New York City Guide” would say “Crisp and delicate terra-cotta surface ornament drops over the building like a veil.  All the details are Gothic, even to the tourelles that surround the peak, the finial that surmounts it, and the flying buttresses.”

The main entrance doors on Broadway are dwarfed within the enormous Gothic arch -- photo "The Cathedral of Commerce" 1913

The architectural details of the tower, 792 feet and one inch above the sidewalk, were over-sized so as to be visible from the street and to maintain proportions.  Edwin Cochran noted later that year “the proportions have been executed with such studious care and fidelity to detail that its enormous height is not realized from the street.”

Not all of Gilbert's details were traditionally Gothic.  Here he gives a nod to American history -- photo Library of Congress

Inside, Gilbert lavished the lobby with creamy marble quarried on the Isle of Skyros in Greece.  The Gothic curves and arches of the grand corridor rose to the glass-mosaic domed ceiling.  The glass was illuminated by concealed lights in the lacy carved marble cornice.  Gilbert playfully represented real people in the grotesques below the cornice—the architect himself was represented holding a model of the building, Woolworth has a bag of nickels, engineer Aus holds a steel beam, and rental agent Frank Hogan, building Louis Horowitz and banker Lewis Pierson were also portrayed.

The architect portrayed himself holding a model of the building in a marble grotesque -- photo Library of Congress

 Woolworth leased out much of the building, where 12,000 workers would come and go every day.  The Irving National Bank and the Broadway Trust Company occupied the first floor.  In the basement were the “Postkeller,” a restaurant with frescoed, vaulted ceilings; an enormous barber shop; a Turkish bath and swimming pool.  

In the basement was The Postkeller, where patrons dined beneath frescoed ceilings -- "The Cathedral of Commerce" 1913

But the Woolworth offices were dazzling.

Frank Woolworth’s private office was decorated in the Renaissance period.  A Flemish Renaissance tapestry woven around 1650 hung over a velvet-covered bench raised on a platform a step higher than the floor.  A carved stone Italian Renaissance mantelpiece filled the height of the room at one end and an elaborate coffered ceiling hung over Woolworth’s centuries-old desk.

Frank Woolworth's private office is still intact today -- photo "The Cathedral of Commerce" 1913

The President’s office was referred to as “The Empire Room.”  The walls were executed in various colors of marble.  Period French furniture was complemented by an enormous portrait of Napoleon.

The walls of the office of the President of the firm were of several types of marble -- "The Cathedral of Commerce" 1913

The Otis Elevator Company quickly used the building in its marketing scheme.  Ads boasted of “The marvelous vertical railways in the new Woolworth Building that are to ‘whiz’ the army of workers up with lightning speed 726 feet in the sky in absolute safety and comfort.”  In fact, safety was a major consideration of Woolworth when planning the elevators and he was personally involved.  Two of the elevators, which ran from the lobby to the 54^th floor, were the fastest elevators in the world, traveling at 700 feet per minute.

Astonishing detail went into the facade -- photo NYC-Architecture.com

A messy law suit was filed two months after the building opened.  The building managers, Broadway-Park Place Company, had given a monopoly to the Virginia Bear Water Company to supply drinking water to the tenants.  When some tenants like the Friesdedt Underpinning Company chose to buy from the Pine Hill Crystal Spring Company instead they were forbidden to use the elevators to transport the five-gallon bottles.   Office workers were forced to carry the bottles from two to thirty-seven flights of stairs.

F. W. Woolworth died on April 8, 1919, one of the wealthiest men in the country.  His obituary stated “The Woolworth fortune, which was built out of nickels and dimes, is estimated at $65,000,000.”

Because Woolworth owned the building outright, his heirs were assessed inheritance tax of $3 million on the property.  In June 1920 they obtained a mortgage in that amount—the first mortgage carried on the building—from the Prudential Life Insurance Company of Newark.  Four years later the F. W. Woolworth Company obtained ownership.

It was not until January 16, 1931 that Cass Gilbert received the gold medal of the Society of Arts and Sciences for designing the Woolworth Building.  During the awards dinner, he was recognized as “the prophet of a new and great movement in architecture.”  President of the society, artist Walter Russell said “He forever destroyed the groveling power of the horizontal line and replaced it with the spiritual uplift of the perpendicular…He was the forerunner of the new space-time, air-conscious age in which architecture took the lead.”

The WPA “New York City Guide” in 1939 would echo the sentiment.  “The Woolworth Building was a genuine contribution to the development of the American skyscraper style.  It represents one of the earliest attempts to express the steel-frame structure—a departure from the ‘immobility of mass and weight of masonry’ that characterized the classic type of building.”

Thomas E. Dewey established his offices here and, when he began his investigation into racketeering and organized crime in Manhattan, things got lively.   Dewey’s offices housed extensive files on mobsters as well as the identities of informants and witnesses.   Other office workers on the floor became accustomed to seeing police officers assigned to the hallway outside Dewey’s offices 24 hours a day.

In April 1970 the Landmarks Preservation Commission held a hearing in an attempt to designate the Woolworth Building a landmark.   The Woolworth Company’s attorney, Kenneth W. Greenawait, attacked the proposed designation saying that the landmark law was “onerous and discriminatory.”   The owner, he said, is “discriminated against, effectively deprived of rights of possession without compensation, and thus denied equal protection of the law.”

Still, in 1977 the Woolworth Company initiated a restoration program to repair the badly weathered and deteriorating terra cotta.  A detailed inspection revealed that there were no structural problems and that only the cladding needed attention.    In the course of restoration, all 4,400 windows were replaced with aluminum, energy efficient ones. 

Terra cotta elements were duplicated in cast stone and fiberglass; upwards of one-third of the original material.

A stained glass ceiling panel can be seen in the corridor just past the masterful glass mosaic dome in the lobby -- photo by PAT M IN NYC

The magnificent Woolworth Building was finally designated a New York City landmark in April 1983.  Seventy years earlier, upon the building’s completion, Edwin Cochran said of it “The Woolworth Building has been called ‘A Cathedral of Commerce’—a monument to small things, but it is even more—it is the colossal and enduring gift to civilization of a true-born, patriotic American, Frank W. Woolworth, and it stands unique in the history of great buildings through the world.”

Cass Gilbert's 1907 West Street Building -- No. 90 West St.

photo by Alice Lum

At the turn of the 20^th century, Howard Carroll was a man of many talents and interests.  Having been a reporter for The New York Times, he dramatically changed career paths when he joined his father-in-law’s Starin Transportation Company.    By 1905 he had risen to vice-president of that firm and was president of the Sicilian Asphalt Paving Company and the Asphalt Company of Canada.

That year he conceived of a first-class high rise building near the banks of the Hudson River to serve the shipping and railway industries.   He formed a syndicate of businessmen called the West Street Improvement Company to execute the project.  Included in the group was contractor John Peirce who also controlled much of the Maine granite industry.  He not only supplied the granite for some of the most monumental buildings along the East Coast, but was responsible for their construction.

The new syndicate took offices in the new Broadway-Chambers Building, completed in 1900 and designed by Cass Gilbert who had come to New York specifically to for that project.   The upper floors of the office building burst forth in brilliant colored terra cotta ornamentation and its won five awards at the 1900 Paris Exposition.

Howard Carroll’s group turned to Gilbert to design its proposed structure.

On July 22, 1906 the New York Tribune announced that the syndicate would erect the new West Street Buildling on West Street from Albany Street to Cedar Street.  “It is to be twenty-three stories high and finished on the uppermost stories in beautiful colored terra cotta, harmonizing with the copper sheathed mansard roof.  Its unobstructed frontage on the river will make it one of the landmarks to those who use the North River ferries.”

The building shortly after completion -- King's Views of New York City (copyright expired)

Gilbert encased the entire building from sidewalk to the copper mansard in Gothic-inspired terra cotta—a foreshadowing of his magnificent Woolworth Building begun five years later.   The ornamentation rose to a crescendo at the upper floors where tracery, gargoyles and grotesques, and finials of molded terra cotta frosted the structure like a wedding cake.

The upper floors burst forth with an explosion of terra cotta ornamentation -- photo by Alice Lum

John Peirce served as contractor for the building which was designed to be completely fireproof.  Working with structural engineer Gunvald Aus, Gilbert used state-of-the-art construction methods specifically aimed at preventing the spread of fire.

The double-layer terra cotta of the façade was more than a foot thick.  Inside, the steel support columns were encased in 4-inch thick clay pottery tiles and the fire stairwells were walled in heavy tiles ranging from four to six inches thick.   Arched tiles, a foot thick, were installed within the floors to halt the spread of fire between floors.

photo by Alice Lum

On Valentine’s Day 1907 the building was nearly completed.  The West Street Improvement Company placed a glowing advertisement in The Sun announcing it would be ready for occupancy on April 1.  As expected, the Syndicate’s members relocated into the building.  Peirce moved his company in and Carroll reserved space for his Sicilian Asphalt Paving Company.   Two months before the doors opened the building was largely rented.

As envisioned, transportation firms made up the majority of tenants.  The Delaware, Lackawanna & Western Railroad Company took three floors.   Others included the Standard Railway Equipment Company, the Railway Equipment, National Railway Materials Co., and Railway supplies.  Construction firms like Dodge & Bliss Lumber; Young & Co., engineers; Empire City Marble Company, Empire Crushed Stone Company; and contractors such as John B. McDonald; Sundstrom & Stratton Co., The T. A. Gillespie Co., and George B. Spearin all vied for space.

photo by Alice LUm

The Syndicate unashamedly called The West Street Building “Architecturally the most beautiful office structure in the world.  One of the sights of the Metropolis.”  Critics tended to agree.   Fellow architect John Carrere said “if my opinion counts for anything I think it is the most successful building of its class.”  The Architectural Record’s Claude Bragdon wrote “the building is the work of a master mind, the last word in New York skyscraper architecture.”

Decades before landfill would extend the shoreline, the new building sat close to the banks of the Hudson River.   The breathtaking vista of the harbor and city from the top floor inspired a relatively novel concept: a rooftop restaurant.

Garret’s Restaurant would deem itself the “world’s highest restaurant,” and the advertisement in The Sun in February 1907 noted “Grand restaurant on 24^th floor, connecting in summer with beautiful roof garden.  Magnificent views of the city, bay, harbor and rivers.”

Highly polished red granite columns soar two stories, creating a pleasing contrast with the white terra cotta -- photo by Alice Lum

The owners marketed the modern conveniences.  “Nine standard plunger elevators.  No dust or noise of sweeping; vacuum cleaners throughout,” boasted the ads.

The West Street Building was an instant success.   Along with the contracting and transportation firms were tenants as diverse as the National Electric Lamp Co., Neptune Meter Company and John R. Waters, insurance.  The International Acheson Graphite Company would market its engine lubricants here.  “Plain oil and plain grease are the ‘yesterday’ in lubrication,” its ads read.  “Oilidag and Gredag are the ‘Today,’ as is the modern gas engine.”

Before the World Trade Centers would dwarf No. 90 West Street, it dominated the neighborhood -- NYPL Collection

The real estate market took notice when The West Street Building which had been constructed at a cost of around $2 million, sold in December 1913 for $4.5 million.   At the time of the sale to the American Sugar Refining Company, the building was assessed at $2.3 million. 

Ten years later it was sold to Brady Security and Realty Corp. which renamed it the Brady Building.  It continued to be filled with tenants involved in the transportation industry, and others like the Western Electric a variety of tenants, including the offices of Western Electric Company.

photo by Alice Lum

By 1933 the owners decided that the 26-year old building was in need of updating.   The mechanical systems were upgraded, office space renovated and the elevators replaced.  They now turned to the lobby.

Cass Gilbert had carried his Gothic theme inside with groin-vaulted ceilings and terra cotta decoration.   Surprisingly, the owners who felt that the lobby was outdated, turned to its designer to bring it up to date.  The 74-year old Gilbert was commissioned to modernize his own first floor interiors.

As the century progressed, things changed around the No. 90 West Street.  Landfill that extended the shoreline placed the building blocks from the river.  Across the street, in 1973, the World Trade Center complex was completed, dwarfing the building that once dominated the skyline.   Like Garret’s Restaurant decades earlier, Windows on the World in the north tower now claimed bragging rights as the highest restaurant in the world.

Then on the morning of September 11, 2001 terrorists flew airliners into the twin towers. 

Pieces of the airplanes and fiery chunks of the buildings rained down onto No. 90 West Street, piercing the roof.    Burning debris started fires inside.  As the south tower of the World Trade Center collapsed, giant columns ripped through the façade.  Later structural engineer Derek Trelstad would compare it to “as if a giant claw had run down the front of the building.”

At least one employee in the building, a female executive assistant, died while trapped in an elevator as the building burned.    While attention was understandably focused on digging through the pile that had been the World Trade Towers, No. 90 West Street burned for nearly two days.

When the flames finally died, much of the interior of the building had been gutted.  Yet to the amazement of modern architects and engineers, Cass Gilbert’s 1907 fireproof structure survived intact.  The tiled stairwells were untouched by the flames and the ingenious arched tiles between the floors had worked as intended.

Almost immediately the building’s owners talked of restoration.  By 2005 a $148 million project was nearing completion.   The damaged façade was given nearly 7,000 pieces of recreated terra cotta fabricated by the Boston Valley Terra Cotta company of Orchard Park, New York.  Among those were over 100 replacement gargoyles and grotesques—seven of which wore the faces of the building’s current owners and contractors involved in the project.

Some of the damage from 9/11 was purposely left unrestored as a reminder -- photo by Alice Lum

A new copper-sheathed mansard gleamed in the sunlight while the original metal balustrade which had melted and contorted in the fire was recreated in fiberglass.   When completed the former office building housed 410 residential units.

From the smoldering ashes of tragedy born of a despicable act of terrorism, the No. 90 West Street reemerged.  Cass Gilbert’s West Street Building, specifically designed to survive fire, more than passed the test.

photo by Alice Lum

The 1930 New York County Lawyers' Association Buildling -- No. 41 Vesey Street

Stone urns atop massive fence posts and a graceful wrought iron arch with lantern add to the 18th Century feel of the design -- photo by Americasroof

In 1908 a group of Manhattan lawyers met to form what they called the New York County Lawyers’ Association. While, like other such clubs, the purpose was ostensibly to “serve the public interest” and the legal profession, the association was ahead of its time.

At a time when social and racial divisions were clearly defined, this was the first major bar association in the United States to welcome members regardless of race, ethnicity, gender or religion. The liberal views on membership were innovative and, perhaps, a little shocking.

For two decades the group held its meetings at the Hotel Astor on Broadway at the north corner of Vesey Street, across from St. Paul’s Chapel. In 1923 President William Nelson Cromwell had initiated plans for a permanent clubhouse, making an initial gift of $125,000 to jump-start the project.

By 1928 the membership had increased to 5,802. Cromwell purchased the buildings as Nos. 12 through 26 Vesey Street, just behind the Astor House. Within the site, for over 50 years, were the auction rooms of Keeler’s Art Gallery, a familiar spot for many New Yorkers. Everything from a Stuart portrait of George Washington to wooden cigar-store Indians had passed through its doors and frequent clients were William Cullen Bryant and James Gordon Bennett.

The club hired eminent architect Cass Gilbert to design its new building which Cromwell insisted “must reflect an atmosphere similar in dignity to the Inns of Court in London.” Fifteen years earlier Gilbert had designed the magnificent neo-Gothic Woolworth Building nearby, but he often worked in more classic, reserved styles for museums, capitol buildings and libraries.

On October 18, 1928 Gilbert submitted his plans to the association at the Astor Hotel. The architect described the building as “being of a monumental type and design in the manner of the Georgian phase of the Renaissance.”

Projected to cost about $1 million, the structure would be of limestone rather than brick – making it English Georgian rather than American. Four stories high (the fourth floor being disguised by a stone balustrade) it was intended “to express the dignity of the law.”  Bas-relief panels set between two-story pilasters, graceful ironwork, and tall, multi-paned windows at the second floor created a distinguished façade.

In 1929 the old buildings including Keeler’s Art Gallery were demolished and on December 7 the cornerstone was laid. The Association President, William Nelson Cromwell announced “It is my dream that this home of law become an institute, not in the cold sense of lectures and teaching but in the warmth of good fellowship, friendship.”

Judge Frederick E. Crane of the New York Court of Appeals predicted that “this building will represent to the community that the law is meant to be a useful profession; helpful to the people, seeking to lighten, not to increase their burdens, and the building will suggest to our members that the only great danger lurking in our midst is that we imperceptibly are apt to fall behind the times.”

The cornerstone contained gold and silver 1929 coins, a copy of each of the daily newspapers, the Congressional Directory, Legislative manual of the State of New York, Manual of the City of New York and a brochure describing the new building.

St. Paul's neatly trimmed churchyard sits across from the newly-constructed building -- photo NYPL Collection

By the time of the cornerstone laying the construction estimate had grown slightly to $1.1 million. Cromwell personally donated $404,000 toward the project. As the Great Depression spread financial fear across the country, the cost had risen to $1.2 million by April 1930; yet members had already provided over $1 million in paid donations.

The building was dedicated on May 27, 1930. The New York Times pronounced the clubhouse as “of Colonial architecture conforming in design with the historic background of old New York.”

The new, gleaming white limestone Association building stands out next to the Astor Office Building in 1930 -- photo NYPL Collection

The newspaper was impressed with the second floor Auditorium which “in every particular is a replica of Independence Hall in Philadelphia, the meeting place of the Continental Congress.” Also on the second floor was a roomy Georgian-style Lounge with wood-paneled walls and high ceilings. Separating the two areas was a marble, column-lined foyer.

A dark-paneled library of 25,000 books was on the third floor. Two massive fireplaces were at either end. In the basement, another 25,000 books were stored “for use as called for.”

Continuing the association’s tradition of jurisprudence reform, one of the first items of business in the new building regarded the legality of the 18th Amendment – the prohibition of transportation, sale or manufacture of alcohol.  On July 2, 1930 the association considered two resolutions: that the 18th Amendment was illegally ratified in defiance of the 10th Amendment and that the association would take the question of legality before the United States Supreme Court.

Five years before World War II, in June 1934, the building was the scene of an inquiry regarding the conditions in Hitler’s Germany. Testimonies were heard from European witness such as the former Prussian Minister of Justice, Dr. Kurt Rosenfeld; British Labor M. P. Aneurin Bevan; and German journalist and author Johannes Steel.

But it was a rhesus monkey that shattered the serious discussions within the walls of the New York County Lawyers’ Association building on October 21, 1954. The nine-pound monkey was one of 300 delivered to the Trefflich Bird and Animal Company at 228 Fulton Street; but this one yearned for freedom.  After a day on the lam, the monkey was spotted on the ledge of St. Paul’s where Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt was to speak at noon. “It was decided something ought to be done,” reported The New York Times.

While a crowd of about one hundred people slowly gathered, the monkey swung from tree to tree and hopped from building to building with a panting contingent of patrolmen in pursuit. And then he ducked into the open window of the New York Lawyers’ Association conference room.

Someone quickly slammed the window shut and the chase was on within the marble halls of the building. Long-handled nets finally nabbed the fugitive and the excitement came to an end.

Gilbert based the design of the elegant Auditorium on Independence Hall -- photo New York County Lawyers' Association

In May 1961 the Association purchased for $440,000 the land and buildings at Nos. 6, 8 and 10 Barclay that abutted the Vesey Street building in order to expand the facilities. Extensive renovation and modernization including air conditioning and heating systems were initiated in 1990.

Although the AIA Guide to New York City called Gilbert’s design “the wimp of the neighborhood;” the Landmarks Preservation Commission lauded the structure. In its 1965 designation it said that “among its important qualities, this distinguished building has set a very high standard for the planning, design and construction of a small clubhouse and…makes a significant contribution to the architectural beauty of the City.”

The website of the New York County Lawyers’ Association stresses that “Since its inception, [the Association] has pioneered some of the most far-reaching and tangible reforms in American jurisprudence and has continuously played an active role in legal developments and public policy.” And it has done so for over 80 years from its handsome limestone clubhouse on Vesey Street.

Cass Gilbert's 1917 Rodin Studios -- 200 West 57th Street

The newly-finished building in 1917 -- Architecture & Building (copyright expired)

As American art came into its own at the beginning of the 20^th century, artists grappled with the problem of finding proper studio space.   In 1903 artist V. V. Sewell mulled “people have no conception of how difficult it is for one to find a suitable studio in New York.”   One solution was found in the concept of artists’ cooperative studio buildings, like the 1908 Gainsborough Cooperative on Central Park South.  The brainchild of a group of established artists it provided studios and residential spaces custom-made for successful artists.  Among them were painters John Fry, who became vice president of the corporation, and his wife Georgia Timkey Fry.

Like the Frys, painter Lawton S. Parker had lived for a time in Paris.  Together the three conceived of another studio-residence for prosperous artists in 1916.  Like the Gainsborough, theirs would be named after a preeminent artist—Auguste Rodin.   The trio chose West 57th Street in the artistic neighborhood of Carnegie Hall and the American Fine Arts Society Building.  And for their architect they chose Cass Gilbert.

Gilbert had recently completed his tour de force, the white terra cotta Gothic Revival Woolworth Building.    For the Rodin Studios he would again turn to terra cotta and Gothic styling, but with much different results.

The street level was reserved for retail stores and the second and portions of the third floor were leased as business offices—affording extra income for the cooperative.    The rest of the building was a mixture of simplex studios, studios with connected living space, and duplex studio/apartments.  The duplexes were all along the northern façade—maximizing the national light available to the artists.

The two-story studios faced north in order to flood the interiors with natural light -- photo by Alice Lum

Cass used rough, multi-colored brick for the face of the building then embellished it with cast and wrought iron, and terra cotta.   Gothic motifs in terra cotta were complimented by superb iron canopies over each of the duplex spaces.  Based on Gothic choir stall canopies, the slightly-projecting canopies gave the façade visual movement.

photo by Alice Lum

On July 15, 1917 The Sun reported that “The suites are appealing to artists because of the large studios which front on Fifty-seventh street, thereby securing the north light.  These studios are from 21.6 feet to 25 feet wide and are 29 and 30 feet long.  Then there are upper studios or balconies off which are the sleeping chambers and other compartments.”  The newspaper added that “The house is so planned that it is possible for a renter to get almost any amount of space desired and arranged to his satisfaction.”

The largest apartments—eight rooms and a studio—rented for $350 per month.   Along with the Frys and Parker, Russian-born artist Boris Anisfeld moved in.  The widely-known Anisfeld was a modernist who worked in brilliant colors.  But other well-heeled residents were not necessarily inclined to the arts.  The first year a variety of tenants appeared—George J. Sperry, Miss Eva Sullivan, Mrs. Lloyd Williams, Charles L. Cammann, Jr., Miss Josephine C. Mayher and educator E. H. Grasty.

Gilbert added intricate Gothic details--many unseen from street level--like these crouching figures and men reading books -- photo by Alice Lum

Socially prominent Alphonse Jongers and his wife lived here with their daughter Louise McAllister Jongers in 1920 when she married Thomas Ashley Dent, Jr. in St. Thomas Church.  Louise was the grandniece of Ward McAllister—the self-appointed arbiter of all things having to do with high society.  Her new husband was the grandnephew of Mrs. Ulysses S. Grant.

At the same time that Louise Dent was entering wedded bliss, portrait artist Pierre Tartoue and his wife were ending theirs.  When attended a ball at the Ritz-Carlton, he was still working on the painting “The Goddess of Happiness” which would later cost Alfred du Pont $30,000.  There the artist saw the young and lovely Claudia Windsor who was much younger than he.  The New-York Tribune said she was “young and as pretty as the many pictures which have been made of her.”  The California society girl was in New York studying music.

Before long Claudia’s eyes became the models for those of “The Goddess of Happiness” and the two were smitten.   Tartoue divorced his wife and shortly afterward, in October 1919, the couple was married by Magistrate William A. Sweetser in Tartoue’s apartment in the Rodin.  For a while things went smoothly.   The new Madame Tartoue told a reporter for The New York Tribune “I was very happy.  I had the dear little home that I had longed for and I loved Pierre and I am sure he loved me.”

Things fell apart when the artist traveled to California in January 1921 and dug into his bride's background.  The Tribune reported on January 25 that he was “speeding home from the West armed with statements regarding ‘the past life’ of his bride of a little more than a year and ‘data regarding her relatives.’”

The past life included two former husbands.

The separation of Tartoue and his young bride was not, apparently without incident.  Claudia Tartoue’s misfortune continued when, after she moved to 180 Fifth Avenue, the Pierce Arrow Renting Company sought to recoup the $1,054 she owed.  When the firm learned that she owned valuable porcelain that was still at the Rodin Studios, they moved quickly.

Sheriff Fitzsimmons knocked on Pierre Tartoue’s door on April 20, 1921 with an order to remove two sets of porcelain—both of 100 pieces—a green set valued at $1,000 and a rose colored set valued at $2,000.  The artist explained to the officer “My wife never owned these porcelain sets.  They were mine.”

When the deputy asked Tartoue what he meant by “they were” Tartoue responded “Ah, they are no more.  My wife she break them all on my head.”

Atop each of the tall, thin pinnacles of the canopies perches a fantastic winged creature -- photo by Alice Lum

1921 was not a good year for Tartoue.  Art dealer Rene M. Van Lennet also lived in the Rodin.  On February 21 the two friends were walking along 57^th Street at 3^rd Avenue when they attracted the attention of two barbers, James O’Connor and Patrick Lynch.   For some reason the barbers began hurling insults at Tartoue and Van Lennet, then beat them.

The Irishmen were sentenced to five days in the workhouse on charges of disorderly conduct.

Five years later author Theodore Dreiser moved into a duplex on the 13^th floor with Helen Richardson and their white Russian wolfhound named Nick.    The couple decorated the soaring two-story main room with Dreiser’s immense writing desk that had been made from the piano of his songwriter brother, Paul.   There was a long sofa with high arms that caused a guest once to remark “To sit on it is to lose your personality,” and portraits of the author.  One, a full-length portrait, was painted by Wayman Adams and another, a caricature, depicted him as a seated Japanese feudal baron.

Dreiser was already a celebrity and he and Richardson held well-known Thursday evening receptions here.  The apartment, which cost the novelist $488 a month, would fill week after week with the chatter of a diverse group of guests.   Here financial moguls would meet movie stars, playwrights and authors would talk with editors and critics.   Austrian psychoanalysist Abraham Brill was a regular guest as were Mariam Hopkins, Otto Kahn, Sherwood Anderson, Max Eastman, Alexander Woollcott, Ernest Boyd, Claude Bowers and British novelist John Cowper Powys.

After the middle of the century the apartments that were once home to artists and authors (as well as less glamorous types) were converted to office space.  Floors now divided the duplexes in half and Cass Gilbert’s interiors were obliterated. 

By 2006 chunks of the decorative terra cotta were falling to the pavement below and the structural steel was corroding.   Architects Zaskorski & Notaro spearheaded a restoration, working with engineers Robert Silman Associates and restoration contractor Nicholson & Galloway, Inc.   The entire 8-foot tall cornice was removed; replaced with new structural steel and Glass Fiber Reinforced Concrete replicas.  Around 400 pieces of damaged terra cotta were replaced with new cast stone units.  Six terra cotta balconies were disassembled and restored with salvaged, original materials.  The twenty cast iron balconies were stripped and repainted, and 175 pieces of damaged cast iron were either reproduced or repaired.

The entire cornice was removed and replaced -- photo http://www.nicholsonandgalloway.com/projects_rodin_studios.asp

The year-long project also included the restoration of 235 historic wood window units.  When completed the restoration was awarded the NYC Lucy G. Moses Landmarks Award.

Although the astounding interiors, other than the barrel-vaulted lobby, have been lost; the façade of the Rodin Studios has been lovingly preserved.  The building was designated a New York City landmark in February 1988.

The Lost 1903 Union Club -- 5th Avenue at 51st Street

photo NYPL Collection

Stretching from 51^st Street to 52^ndStreet on the east side of Fifth Avenue in 1899 was the Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum.  Surrounded by a lush lawn and cast iron fence it faced Vanderbilt Row—the mansions of the Vanderbilt family that lined the west side of the avenue.

Further down the avenue a troublesome trend had caught the attention of the millionaire family: the invasion of commerce.   Six years earlier William Waldorf Astor had demolished his father’s mansion at the corner of 33^rd Street to erect the hulking Waldorf Hotel.   Already, in the blocks just below, grand residences were either being razed or converted to commercial structures.

When the Orphan Asylum decided to relocate and the full block of valuable real estate was put on the market, George W. Vanderbilt went into motion, snatching up lots to prevent businesses from intruding on the exclusive residential neighborhood.    Vanderbilt did not need to worry about five of the lots, however.  On December 21, 1899 the exclusive Union Club announced its intentions to purchase the three lots facing 5^thAvenue at the corner of 51^st Street, and the two adjoining lots behind. 

After nearly half a century in a grand mansion at the corner of 5^th Avenue and 21^st Street, club members had become dissatisfied with the changes in the once-exclusively residential neighborhood.   In announcing the contemplated purchase a New York Times headline read, “Union Club Goes Up Town.”

Steeped in tradition, the Union Club was not only the oldest but the most exclusive men’s social club in New York.  Founded in 1836 at No. 343 Broadway, it moved northward rather quickly—to No. 376 Broadway in 1842 and to No. 691 Broadway in 1850.   When the club moved into its quarters at the northwest corner of 5^th Avenue and 21^st Street in April, 1855, members felt they had a permanent home.

The Union Club's home at 5th Avenue and 21st Street was a large, impressive mansion. -- NYPL Collection

A month after announcing interest in relocating, the contracts were signed.  On January 18, 1900 the club agreed to the $700,000 price of the land—about $16 million by today’s standards.     A competition among the architect members of the Union Club was initiated for the design of the new clubhouse.  Crusty older members, rooted in tradition and uncomfortable with change, insisted that the old mansion at 21^st Street be replicated.   

“It was generally known that the older members strongly favored a duplication of the Twenty-first Street house,” reported The Times, “where they had felt at home for years, and that any marked departure from the general plan of the old structure would meet with their opposition.”

But even these powerful and wealthy men would not get their way.  “The environment of the new site, however,” said the article “was not considered suitable for a new clubhouse similar to the old one.”

Nevertheless, the plans fell into two categories:  a variation of the old clubhouse with changes made to the proportions to fit the new lot; and new, up-to-date designs with no nod at all to the old structure.  In the end the Building Committee was deadlocked on its decision between two plans.  One was a near-match of the old house, the other an Italian Renaissance palazzo.

To break the tie, a disinterested party was called in.  Charles F. McKim, of the esteemed architectural firm McKim, Mead & White, was not a member of the Union Club.  He was shown the two plans and asked to make a judgment.  He was clear in his preference.  He chose the duplication of the old house.

“Mr. McKim stated that there were faults of the plan which must be amended to make the structure suitable for its intended uses; but that its exterior was faultless,” reported The Times.

Astoundingly, however, the Building Committee discarded his report and chose the palazzo design.   McKim told reporters later “But my recommendations were not followed.”   On March 23, 1901 The Engineering Record noted “Plans have been filed by Cass Gilbert and John Du Fais, architects, for the Union Club’s new building to be erected on 5^th Avenue and 51^stStreet to cost about $450,000.”

Who, exactly, was responsible for the design is unclear.  Cass Gilbert is widely given credit; however upon the death of Du Fais in 1935 The Times gave him full credit for the structure.   Whichever architect was responsible—or perhaps it was a joint effort—the result was a dignified brick and limestone clubhouse that reflected the wealth and propriety of its members.

At the far end of the block stands the Morton Plant mansion (later Cartier jewelers) and in between sit the twin marble mansions built by George Vanderbilt -- photo NYPL Collectio

In the meantime, the block filled with mansions.  In 1901 John T. Farley began building a house “of the highest class” abutting the Union Club on 51^st Street.  A year later the magnificent home of Morton F. Plant would rise at the opposite corner, at 52^nd Street.  And in between George Vanderbilt erected two matching white marble houses.  The New York Timesremarked that the new homes were “built by the family in an effort to keep business away from their front doors.”

From the moment the millionaire members walked through the front door of the new clubhouse, however, they were dissatisfied.  The lots had been chosen primarily for the location across from the Cathedral.  The committee had envisioned grand vistas down 5^th Avenue from the windows of the lounges or club rooms for the members.     Instead, the gentlemen had a view of the alley.

Charles McKim, no doubt feeling a bit of retribution, chimed in.  “No one denies that the Union Club is a monumental structure of symmetrical dignity.  But equally no one who knows attempts to deny that the interior is decidedly faulty.”

The first floor facing the Cathedral was devoted to “the entrance, a strangers’ room, coatrooms, a cab stand, and the office,” he noted.  The window of the lounging room where the members sat in leather chairs, smoked cigars and discussed business faced a ten-foot alley.

“So far as they will commit themselves,” reported The Times,“the members seem to agree generally that the most important feature of the building, its potential view down Fifth Avenue, has been spoiled by the existing arrangement.”   Some members fought for an additional appropriation of funds to completely reconfigure the interiors.

Eventually the members became used to the new clubhouse and talks of remodeling died off.  

photo NYPL Collection

The Union Club prided itself on its exclusivity.   The Evening World reported that the club “is the most exclusive in the city.  It is the club in which proud and happy fathers of the aristocracy enter their sons for prospective membership when the sons are but a few hours—or, in some instances, it is said—a few minutes old.  The large membership is made up of the males of the most exclusive of the wealthy families of New York controlling the social run of affairs.”

Names of potential new members were presented by existing members.   Stringent investigation was conducted and voting was held.   Membership was limited to no more than 1,500.   Upon acceptance a membership fee of $300 was paid and annual dues of $75 were due every May 1^st.

The male-only stronghold hired only men to work in positions visible to the members—doormen, coat check attendants, waiters and butlers, for instance.  The few women who were employed at the clubhouse worked in the kitchens or cleaned the rooms when members were not around.

One of these was Annie O’Connell.  On the night of February 19, 1905 the 45-year old woman approached the clubhouse around midnight to report to work.   Lurking in the shadows was 21-year old Paul Heil who was quite drunk and mistook the Union Club for one of the great mansions of the neighborhood.  When Annie O’Connell stepped towards the entrance, he grabbed her around the throat and attempted to throw her to the ground.  He had chosen the wrong victim, however.

The New York Times reported “She is strong and plucky.”  After struggling for a few minutes, the Irishwoman was able to force his hands from her throat and screamed.

Fifth Avenue was lined with coachmen sitting in the carriages of club members awaiting their owners.  The drivers rushed to the sound of the screams and, although Heil pretended to have a gun and threatened to shoot, they overpowered the intended thief.   Millionaires in evening clothes rushed out into the cold February air to assist the woman.

Heil was arrested and Annie O’Connell, bearing the marks of her attacker’s fingers on her throat, promised to appear in the Yorkville Court in the morning to press charges.  The Times noted that “In dress and appearance the man seemed to be the laborer he said he was.”

Wealth and pedigree were not enough to guarantee a candidate’s acceptance into the Union Club.  Hint of scandal or a stain on one’s reputation would result in rejection.  To avoid the embarrassment of rebuff, a hint of the potential rejection would be leaked to the man to give him the opportunity of recalling his nomination.

Such was the case with H. H. Rogers in 1912.  The only son and chief heir of Henry Huttleston Rogers, the Standard Oil financier, he had an impressive family lineage.  The Evening World reported on April 27 that “there are many members who cannot boast of the family descent of Mr. Rogers, which goes away back into the Puritan days in New England.”

The socially-popular young millionaire was also a captain in the New York National Guard.  His name was presented for membership by several other members.  “His friends in the Union Club could not imagine any reason why he should not be an acceptable member and had no hesitation in setting the machinery in motion looking to his election,” reported The Evening World.

But then, the article continued, “Soon the machinery began to creak.  Then it came to a dead stop.”

Club etiquette demanded that no questions were asked regarding why a candidate should be refused.  However Rogers had been involved in an ugly scandal in the Guard.  When he and several other officers preferred charges again Colonel George R. Dyer a Court of Inquiry investigated.  Dyer was exonerated and the accusing officers all transferred to different regiments; each one offering his apology to the Colonel.

All except Captain Rogers.

The breach in military and social etiquette was too much for the proper Union Club members and the socially eminent young man would not be admitted. 

A breach of etiquette would prevent the handsome millionaire Captain H. H. Rogers from being accepted as a member -- photo The Evening World April 27, 1912 (copyright expired)

To the socialists and communists of the early 20th century, the Union Club represented wealth and capitalism.  On June 23, 1916 a mob of thousands marched up 5^th Avenue to protest outside the clubhouse.   The angry crowd “among whom were many anarchists,” said The World, filled the street outside.

One unsympathetic club member stuck his head out of an open window and shouted “Go back to work!” and commanded the mob to disperse.  He quickly ducked back inside as a derby hat flew past his head.

The inflamed crowd shouted back “Go back to work yourself!”

A patrolman called in a riot call to the precinct.  The World reported that “while the club members were peeping out the sides of their windows, expecting an attack in force, the police reserves dashed into sight from the East 51^stStreet station.”

In 1918 the club contributed to the war effort by making a startling change.  It hired women as waitresses for the dining room.   The male waiters were now eligible for “war work.”

The New York Times reported that “The employment of women has released from twelve to fifteen men for war work…As far as is known the Union Club is the first uptown club to use waitresses in the dining room.” The article admitted that “It was said that the women are proving satisfactory, and it is expected that other clubs will follow the example of the Union Club.”

For members of the Union Club, wealth and social position were essential.   The threat of losing one’s fortune and esteem were often too much to bear. 

Member Otto Zurcher lived just down the block at No. 33 West 51^st Street in January 1919.  Born in Switzerland, he had made his fortune in African and South American sugar plantations.  With the war, however, he sustained heavy losses.

On the morning of January 14 he entered the library of the Union Club and stabbed himself five times in the neck and twice below the heart with a kitchen knife.   A waiter discovered the bleeding man on the floor.  Zurcher made motions asking for a pad and pencil.  He wrote “Let them give me morphine.  Let me die.  I want to die.”

Before the ambulance arrived, the former millionaire was dead.

Throughout the war the Union Club flew the flags of the country’s allies, France and England, alongside the American flag.   A year after the end of the conflict, the flags were still displayed.  This caused a problem in November 1920.

A mass was celebrated in St. Patrick’s Cathedral for the deceased Lord Mayor of Cork, Terence MacSwiney.  Hundreds of members of Sinn Fein filled the cathedral and the British flag caught their attention.  Before long 5^th Avenue was filled with angry Irishmen who pelted the building with stones and bricks, shattering windows.

The flag was taken down and police dispersed the mob, arresting several of the vandals.  But later Arthur W. Weeks, Chairman of the House Committee, arrived and ordered the flags put back “as a matter of principle.”

Sinn Fein’s violent protest was balanced by another, more peaceful one, soon thereafter.   Shortly after traffic resumed on 5^th Avenue an automobile pulled up to the curb by the clubhouse.  General George Robert Nivelle, at one time the Commander of the Legions of France, stepped out.   The soldier stood at attention and saluted the flags of the United States, France and Britain.

“Whatever recollections the evidences of destruction at the club aroused in the breast of the General were kept to himself, as he made no comment, and, after one brief survey, the automobile sped on,” said The New York Tribune.

By now the Vanderbilt family’s valiant attempts to keep business out of the neighborhood had proved fruitless.  The Times would later note “They finally abandoned their efforts in 1910 when they came to the conclusion that their stand was hopeless.”

George Vanderbilt’s twin marble mansions had been converted to an art gallery and Morton Plant’s grand mansion was now the home of Cartier jewelers.   As it had done on 21^stStreet, the Union Club decided to remove itself from the now-commercial district.

On June 20, 1927 The New York Times reported that “the northward course of trade along midtown Fifth Avenue is driving another landmark off the famous thoroughfare.  The Union Club is to move from its present quarters at Fifty-first Street, deserting the avenue already forsaken by the homes of many of the socially noteworthy.”

The Club had purchased land on Park Avenue at 69^thStreet “which is in a strictly residential district” said the article.     In 1933 the Union Club prepared to move into its new headquarters.  On May 29 a farewell dinner was held, attended by 400 members.  As the men sang “Auld Lang Syne” on the third floor and the 22^nd Regiment Band played, “the rooms and halls on the ground floor were being stripped of some of the rugs and furnishings.”

Members pasted bids on the huge leather chairs and other upholstered pieces they hoped to purchase as mementoes.   One member placed a $300 bid on the marble fountain at the foot of the staircase in the entrance hall.  Other historic pieces—portraits of club presidents dating back to 1836, silver desk sets, candlesticks and a seal—that had come from the 21^st Street clubhouse were to be transferred to the new building.

New Yorkers held their breath as the vacant Union Club was threatened with demolition to save taxes.  Then in June it was announced that the Grand Central Art Galleries would take over the building as its new home.   The gallery stayed on in the building for many years; but by 1944 it sat empty.

Also vacant were the abutting marble mansion erected by George Vanderbilt and John Farley’s residence on 51^st Street .   On May 4, 1944 The Times reported “The imposing old Union Club building and the adjoining Vanderbilt mansion—landmarks at the northeast corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-first Street opposite St. Patrick’s Cathedral—will come down along with the house at 3 East Fifth-first Street to make way for ‘an imposing edifice’ of undisclosed type which is expected to be one of the major post-war projects of private enterprise in that district.”

That “imposing edifice” lasted until 1975 when the 51-story glass-and-steel Olympic Tower was built.  The soaring building makes it difficult to imagine a time when millionaires alighted from carriages to enter an Italian palazzo surrounded by the mansions of New York’s wealthiest citizens.