The Lost Vanderbilt Triple Palace, 5th Ave and 51st Street

William H. Vanderbilt's mansion (left) shared an entrance vestibule with the home of daughter Margaret Fitch.  Emily Vanderbilt Sloane's home was entered on 52nd Street (right) photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the New York Public Library

In 1878 the Vanderbilt family was busy changing the face of Fifth Avenue.  Cornelius Vanderbilt II began construction of his massive brick and limestone palace at the southwest corner of 57^th Street, plans were underway for three mansions for the William Henry Vanderbilt family between 51^st and 52^ndStreets, and the following year William Kissam Vanderbilt’s wife, Alva, would engage Richard Morris Hunt to start work on the “Petite Chateau” on the northwest corner of 52^nd Street.  By the turn of the century this section of Fifth Avenue would be familiarly known as “Vanderbilt Row” or, with a touch of sarcasm, “Vanderbilt Alley.”

William Henry Vanderbilt’s idea was an interesting one.  He would erect three near-matching homes, one for himself and wife Louisa, and two for his daughters, Margaret and Emily.  (Margaret had married Elliott Fitch and Emily was now Mrs. William Douglass Sloane.)  John Butler Snook is routinely credited with the design of the harmonious mansions, since his name appeared on the plans filed with the Department of Buildings.  He may be getting more credit than is deserved, however.

According to author Wayne Craven in his Gilded Mansions: Grand Architecture and High Society, an executive of Herter Brothers complained to the editors of an architectural journal on April 11, 1886 “It is a matter of record…that Herter Brothers were the architects of [Mr. Vanderbilt’s house]…and are the only persons responsible for the designs, both of the exterior and the interior…We might add that of the two gentlemen named by you, Mr. Atwood was employed by our firm at the time as a draughtsman and Mr. Snook by Mr. Vanderbilt as general superintendent.”

That argument may never be settled; however two years after construction began, the Triple Palace at Nos. 640 and 642 Fifth Avenue, and No. 2 West 52^ndStreet, was completed.  Vanderbilt had originally envisioned the grand Italian Renaissance palazzos clad in gleaming white marble.  In the end, the less glamorous brownstone was used instead.  Some historians feel that an aging Vanderbilt changed his mind when he realized that he may not have that many years left to enjoy his house.  Using the easily obtainable brownstone would significantly speed the construction process.

Art and architecture critic Helen W. Henderson had another opinion.  In 1917 she offered that he “stipulated that the material should be white marble, then greatly in vogue; but Vanderbilt owned a quarry of brownstone and the native produce was employed.”

More than 600 construction workers and 60 European sculptors and craftsmen had labored on the triple mansion.  William’s and Margaret’s homes were entered via a common centered courtyard.  Emily’s entrance faced 52^nd Street.  The daughters’ homes, sharing a plot the same size as their father’s, were necessarily about half the size of their parents’ 58-room house.  For occasions of elaborate entertaining, their adjoining mansions were constructed so the drawing rooms could be opened into a single, enormous ballroom.

William K. Vanderbilt's "Petite Chateau" can be seen across 52nd Street to the north (right).  photo by Byron Co. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQ4RZN1&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Unlike William Kissam’s and Cornelius’s chateaus with their towers and turrets and ornamented gables; the houses of the Triple Palace were restrained and dignified in comparison--which is not to say they did not abound with ostentatious decoration.

As the mansions neared completion in 1881 Vanderbilt addressed a potential problem.  He would have no stumbling of dainty feet on the paving stones as high-class visitors moved from their carriages to the entrance.  On August 6 The New York Times reported that “What is claimed to be the largest pavement stone ever quarried in the United States, is now resting upon blocks in front of the main entrance of William H. Vanderbilt’s new house.”  The 25 foot, 2 inch long stone was 15 feet wide and 8 inches thick.  It weighed over 22 tons.  With no seams between his paving stones, Vanderbilt did not have to worry about embarrassing and dangerous tripping.

Tucked away on the 51st Street side was Wm. Henry's glass and metal conservatory.  photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

The families moved into the homes in January 1881; although they would not be totally finished until 1883.  Work on furnishing the mansions and completing the ornamental details would go on around the Vanderbilts’ home life.  By March 1882 Henry and Louisa felt the mansion was guest-worthy and a housewarming party was held.  Two thousand invitations were sent out by liveried messengers.

The guests that night entered through the covered double vestibule with its mosaic-encrusted walls and stained glass ceiling.  They turned left into William’s doorway and entered interiors intended to astound.  Carved woodwork was inlaid with mother-of-pearl ornamentation; the painted ceiling of the 45-foot long dining room was done in Paris by E. V. Luminais; and the Japanese Room was designed by John La Farge.  Herter Brothers, the preeminent furniture and decorating firm of the day, was responsible for the interior design throughout, including the custom furniture and built-in cabinetry.

photo American Architect & Building News, July 5, 1886 (copyright expired)

In December 1883 the art gallery was ready for showing off.  Vanderbilt sent out 3,000 invitations to “an art reception” and on December 21 The Times reported that “More than 2,500 gentlemen promenaded the parlors of William H. Vanderbilt’s house.”  Considering the large number of visitors and the high value of the bric-a-brac in the mansion, Vanderbilt had a crew of 11 detectives roaming the crowd.  It was a good move on the millionaire’s part.

“They recognized one man in the crowd whom they knew came without invitation, and he was shown to the door.  Early in the evening a few ladies made an attempt to join the company.  They were politely ushered out," reported The Times.

An orchestra played while the guests rifled through the Vanderbilt treasures, and in the dining room Delmonico “served up a collation.”  The Times was a bit astonished at the presumptuous free-wheeling of some art students.  “They took down the books from the shelves of the elegant library, poked the blazing logs on the andirons in the private parlors and wandered at will into the richly furnished bed-chambers.  They handled rare and costly specimens of china and bric-a-brac with reckless audacity, looked inquisitively over the photographs and visiting cards, and commented on the collection of family relics in the sealed glass case.”

Vanderbilt had a printed catalog “bound in old gold” prepared for the event and he personally pointed out to guests whom he personally knew the “gems of art in his picture gallery.”  

Vanderbilt's massive fortune of $200 million would amount to about $5 billion today photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

At the time of the entertainment, Vanderbilt’s health had already begun to fail and was under the care of a physician.  “He had no definite conception of what trouble he was suffering from, though his greatest annoyance came from indigestion,” said The New York Times later.  On December 8, 1885 Vanderbilt rose as usual, at 7:00.  He went about his usual business, including a visit to the studio of sculptor J. Q. A. Ward to sit for a bronze bust.  The day continued as normal with Vanderbilt in the best of spirits and seemingly the best of health.

At 2:20 that afternoon he said in his private study chatting with Robert Garrett, President of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company.  “Mr. Vanderbilt was speaking, when suddenly Mr. Garrett perceived indistinctness in his speech.  The next instant the muscles around his mouth began to twitch slightly.  Then they were violently convulsed.  I another moment the great millionaire’s arms bent under his body, he toppled forward, and pitched headlong toward the floor,” related The Times the following day.

“In a moment bells were ringing and feet were flying in every part of the house.  The butler, the footman, and the other servants were hastening breathless from the basement.  Mrs. Vanderbilt and George W. Vanderbilt, her youngest son, were hurrying, pale with terror, from above.  In a minute all were in the study, where Mr. Garrett was bending over his host’s body.  The ruddy firelight did not light up the pallid features now.  The ghastliness of death was upon them.”

Within five minutes of the massive stroke, William Henry Vanderbilt lay dead on his study floor.

Cornelius and Frederick sat overnight in Vanderbilt’s bedroom where the “body of William H. Vanderbilt, the richest man in the world…rested all Tuesday night in an ice box in his bedroom, which is the second story front room of the Fifth avenue mansion.”  Earlier that day undertaker W. H. Billier fastened rosettes of crepe bearing black silk streamers to the electric bells of the Fifth Avenue and 51^st Street entrances.  “The white curtains of all the windows were pulled down, forming a striking contrast to the rain-soaked brownstone walls,” commented The Sun the following morning.

Among the few admitted to the death chamber other than family members was John Quincy Adams Ward.  The sculptor took a cast of Vanderbilt’s face.  “He said it was a very successful one, and that with its aid, and with photographs he would be able to complete the bust without difficulty,” said the newspaper.

As with all up-to-date mansions of the 1880s, there was an Asian-themed room.  In the Vanderbilt house a reeded ceiling and upper walls, Japanese fans and Oriental bric-a-brac created the ambiance.  photo from the collection of the Library of Congress.

On the morning of December 10, while the pall bearers and close friends of Vanderbilt gathered in the parlors, the family assembled in millionaire’s bedroom for a last look and a brief prayer.  Afterward Louisa was assisted to her own suite, too overcome with grief to attend the funeral service at St. Bartholomew’s Church.  The streets had been cleared of traffic and after the coffin was closed and placed in the hearse, “the carriages began to fall in line before the door.”

The order of the 15 carriages that pulled away from the Vanderbilt mansions was directed by social protocol.  “In the carriage first following the hearse were Cornelius Vanderbilt and wife, with George Vanderbilt.  In the second carriage rode William K. Vanderbilt and wife.  The third vehicle contained J. S. Webb and wife, the fourth Mr. and Mrs W. D. Sloane, and the fifth Mr. and Mrs. Twombly.”  And so on.  A detachment of 180 policemen kept the crowds around the church at bay.

Vanderbilt’s will was read two days later.  He had earlier told his family “The care of $200,000,000 is too great a load for any brain or back to bear.  It is enough to kill a man.  I have no son whom I am willing to afflict with the terrible burden…So when I lay down this heavy responsibility, I want my sons to divide it, and share the worry which it will cost to keep it.”  And indeed the will divided Vanderbilt’s massive estate nearly equally among his children.

As for Louisa, she got a life interest in the Fifth Avenue mansion and an annuity of $200,000 and $500,000 “for disposal by will.”  She remained in the house and “At her death the residence and works of art are to go to George W. Vanderbilt, and at his death to his eldest son, or, should he not have a son, to William H.; or Cornelius, sons of Cornelius, according to their survival.”  Vanderbilt was determined that his mansion and its artworks should remain a Vanderbilt house, “it being the purpose of the testator to convey them to a male descendant of the name of Vanderbilt.”  As for the other two mansions, “His daughters are given the houses in which they live,” said The New York Times on December 13.

In 1894 Munsey's Magazine published a charming illustration of the Vanderbilt homes -- copyright expired.

De facto Manhattan royalty, Margaret and Emily entertained lavishly in their abutting mansions.  On March 19, 1892 The Timescommented on a dinner party hosted by Emily.  “One of the most elaborate of the Lenten dinners yet given took place last evening in the oaken dining room of Mrs. Eliott F. Shepard, 2 West Fifty-second Street…In the centre of one [table] was a mound of Madame Cuicine roses, and the embroider of the cloth and the tints of the china and the table settings were pink to match the color of the flowers.  A second table was all in yellow, the flowers being daffodils relieved with some lilies of the valley.  The third table was decorated in deep red, and the flowers used were the rich red meteor roses.  The flowers were from Hodgsons’s conservatories.”

As the marriage of William and Alva’s daughter Consuelo to the Duke of Marlborough in November 1895 neared, the Vanderbilt mansions were thrown open to society.  On November 6 The Times said “Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s residence at 640 Fifth Avenue was opened yesterday afternoon, as were also the houses of Mr. and Mrs. William Douglass Sloane and Mrs. Elliott F. Shepard in the adjoining building.”

The newspaper noted “Mrs. William H. Vanderbilt, the grandmother of the future Duchess of Marlborough, has always made a great pet of Miss Consuelo Vanderbilt, who has also been a favorite with her uncles, aunts, and cousins.  All her relatives desire to make her wedding day as bright as possible.”

It would be among the last great events that Louisa Vanderbilt would see.  Exactly a year later, on November 9, 1896, the Vanderbilt mansion was hung with black crepe.  “The residence of Mrs. Vanderbilt, at the corner of Fifty-first Street and Fifth Avenue, where the body lay, was besieged all day yesterday by friends and acquaintances of Mrs. Vanderbilt, but her sons denied themselves to all except close friends,” said The Times that day.

As intended by his father, George W. Vanderbilt took over the massive mansion.  In the meantime, Margaret shut the doors of No. 642 Fifth Avenue for a long mourning period.  It was not until Valentine’s Day 1898 that she began entertaining again.  It was a cotillion for the Sloane’s second daughter, Lila.  “Mrs. Sloane has only just come out of mourning for the death of her mother, Mrs. William H. Vanderbilt,” remarked The New York Times, “and her function of last night was the first to which she has bidden society for a long time.  It was a dinner dance, and the most notable affair of the kind this season.”

Eighty “well-known and fashionable people” filed into the mosaic-paved inner court.  To ensure that they did not mistakenly turn to George’s mansion, Margaret stationed “a retinue of liveried servants…in the Sloane side of this court.”  The Times said they “formed a human path through whose rows of dark plush breeches the prospective revelers might find their way.”  Emily’s and Margaret’s drawing rooms were thrown open “and a better ballroom was thus secured than the Sloane picture gallery would have made,” said the newspaper.

In 1905 George negotiated a 10-year lease on No. 640 with Henry Frick.  According to The New York Timeslater, Frick “spent thousands of dollars in alterations, eliminating the garden in front and adding a massive entrance.”  The steel man paid $100,000 in rent, “making this Vanderbilt house the most costly private residence under lease in the city,” said The Times.  Frick could afford the rent.  In 1910 he hung Frans Hals’s “Portrait of a Woman” on the wall here.  He paid art dealers Knodler & Co. more than $140,000 for it—about $3.3 million by today’s standards. 

Among Frick's "improvements" was the closing of the open courtyard.  By 1923 when this photograph was taken, soaring business buildings were closing in.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQ4RZN1&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

By now the grand mansions of this section of Fifth Avenue were being converted for business or simply being razed.  When Henry Frick moved into his new white marble mansion further up the avenue, Cornelius III took over No. 640.  By 1927, when his father’s massive chateau at 57^th Street was demolished, there were no Vanderbilt mansions left on Fifth Avenue other than 640.

But Cornelius III and his wife, Grace, stubbornly stayed put.  Cornelius, a brigadier general, was highly interested in military matters while Grace focused on entertaining and charity events.  Eventually surrounded by business buildings, the couple spurned all offers from developers.  And in the meantime, they entertained not only the highest ranks of military and society, but royalty.   

Cornelius "Neily" Vanderbilt was not only a military officer, but an inventor, yachtsman, inventor and engineer.  photo from the Library of Congress

In 1919 the house was crowded with European titles and wealthy socialites as Grace gave a reception with music for the Queen of the Belgians.  In 1927 it was Prince William of Sweden who was the guest of honor at a reception on January 9.  And in 1927 1,000 guests and a “fleet of officers” were entertained in honor of Rear Admiral Charles F. Hughes.

Cornelius Vanderbilt III died on March 1, 1942.  Although he had sold the Fifth Avenue mansion to William Waldorf Astor estate in 1940, he and Grace remained living there until his death.  Now Grace was forced out.  She moved into the William Starr Miller house at No. 1048 Fifth Avenue. 

On November 22, 1945 The New York Times said the mansion “is fast being demolished by wrecking crews preparing for the erection of a commercial building on the site.”  Three weeks earlier the house had been opened for a public auction of the rooms and interior decorations.  Since then buyers had been removing mirrors, paneled walls, chandeliers, inlaid floors, and mantels.

“Paramount Pictures, Inc., paid $3,500 for the carved panels, mirrors and other fixtures of the ballroom, $975 for those of the dining room and $1,250 for those of the study,” reported the newspaper.  Within days the last of the great Vanderbilt houses on Vanderbilt Row was gone.

photo by the author

The Park Avenue (Seventh Regiment) Armory

New York's Seventh Regiment was formed in 1806 when outraged citizens demanded retaliation against the British who blockaded the harbor and fired on American ships, killing a helmsman. 

The city at the time had a population of just over 60,000.  The regiment was called into action just six years later when they marched off to serve in the War of 1812.  It was the Astor Place Riots in 1849, though, that changed the fortunes of the group.

Over 20,000 working class rioters, ostensibly protesting against a British actor appearing at the high class Astor Place Opera House but actually striking out against the upper class, filled Astor Place.  Here, surrounded by the homes of New York's wealthy, they lobbed bricks and rocks, breaking windows and causing panic.

The Seventh Regiment responded, firing into the crowd to quell the disorder and driving away what Harper's Bazaar called "the bleeding rioters, demoralized and defeated."  When it was over 25 were dead and 120 hurt.  The wealthy, however, did not forget their champions.  The Regiment not only became a favorite among New York's elite, they enlisted in force, earning it its nickname "The Silk Stocking Regiment."

Just after a new armory was built for them in 1860 on the Bowery, the Regiment was dispatched to defend Washington DC when it was cut off by rebel forces; it was first volunteer unit called into action in the Civil War.

After the war, it became apparent that the elite group needed a new home.  Not only had the population it guarded migrated north, away from the present armory, but armories had become social clubs as well as drill houses.  The monied members wanted a more impressive space in which to gather.

While the city donated the land at Fourth Avenue (soon to be renamed Park Avenue) between 66th and 67th Streets in 1875, the depression at the time precluded public funding for the building.  Private fund raising was necessary.  Money poured in not only from the likes of Vanderbilt, Lenox and Rhinelander, but from regular citizens and businesses who supported the group they regarded as their protectors.

The money for the building was raised; however there was not enough to pay for the outfitting and decorating of the interior.  As the building was being completed, a lavish indoor fair was organized, opened by President Rutherford B. Hayes on November 17, 1879.  Expensive items were sold such as carriages, organs, boats and even pedigreed house pets.  There were entertainments, an art exhibition, and exotic bazaars.

The New York Times reported that a "peculiarity of the Seventh-Regiment New Armory Fair is that every day the crowd is larger, more enthusiastic, and more liberal in their purchases, and more reckless in their patronage of prize drawings than on any preceding day."



photo NYPL Collection

 The money was raised and the elite Seventh Regiment gained a Park Avenue showplace -- the only armory in the United States ever built with only private funding.

Designed by regiment member Charles William Clinton, the armory set the bar for armories to come.  A forbidding fortress-looking structure in red brick and gray granite, it had all the features of a medieval castle:  narrow slits for archers, battlements and 6-inch thick oak doors, protected by a huge bronze gate, wide enough to accomodate four men marching abreast.  A tall, slender open bell tower rose high over the entrance.

print from the NYPL Collection

James D. McCabe, Jr., in his 1882 New York by Gaslight describes the armory as having "the strength of a fortress and the elegance and comfort of a club-house.  The regimental drill room is 300 by 200 feet in size, and besides this there are ten company drill rooms, an officers' room, a veterans' room, a field and staff room, a gymnasium, and six squad drill rooms."

Clinton's drill room took inspiration from the Grand Central Terminal which had the largest unobstructed interior in the country.  Eleven cast iron trusses -- 127 feet from side to side -- supported the vaulting ceiling.

But the administrative rooms were the hallmark of the armory.  They were designed and furnished by firms like Louis C. Tiffany, Herter Brothers, Pottier and Stymus Manufacturing, Roux and Company, George C. Flint, and A. Kimbel and J. Cabus -- the premier interior design firms of the day.

The interiors were then, and remain today, the pinacle of 19th Century taste and materials.  Stained glass, tilework, exotic carved woods, statuary, custom designed furnishings, wallpapers and stenciling, frescoed ceilings -- the armory had it all.

In 1909 the slender bell tower was removed and a fourth floor added.  In 1931 yet another floor was added, somewhat changing the proportions of the building.

Interior photographs by John Hall

Unbelievably, the Armory was allowed to fall into intense disrepair and neglect.  In 2000, the World Monuments Fund listed the Seventh Regiment Armory as one of the top 100 most endangered historical sites in the world.  The irreplaceable rooms were in a serious state of dilapidation.

In 2006 the Seventh Regiment Armory Conservancy was formed and managed to obtain a 99-year lease from the state.  By 2009 $100 million was raised as part of a planned $150 million restoration to save the historic building and its exquisite interiors.

The 1887 Eldridge Street Synagogue

photo by Alice Lum

When brothers Peter and Francis Herter founded the architectural firm of Herter Brothers (not to be confused with the interior decorating and furniture firm of the same name), they had already been well established in their native Germany. Upon his arrival in New York in 1884 The New York Times called Peter “the richest builder on the banks of the Rhine.”

The Herters set about designing tenement buildings for the waves of immigrants settling on the Lower East Side. A major departure came when they were awarded the commission to design a grand synagogue at No. 12 Eldridge Street.

By the middle of the 1880s, thousands of poor Eastern European Jews were flocking to the neighborhood. The former Head Rabbi of St. Petersburg was one of the founders of the Congregation K’hal Adath Jeshuran and in 1886 he helped plan for a synagogue in which this new population could worship.

In addition to providing a house of worship, the leaders wanted to show the rest of the city that the oft-maligned Jews of the Lower East Side, too, could produce something monumental and beautiful; something in line with the new St. Patrick’s Cathedral or the imposing Gothic churches of Fifth Avenue.

Historians Henry Stolzman and Daniel Stolzman would later point out “The construction of the Eldridge Strreet Synagogue signaled – both to non-Jews, and to the German Jews who were embarrassed by the poverty and ‘Old World’ manner of the new immigrants—that Eastern European Jews, like their predecessors, could also thrive in America.”

Opened just before the High Holy Days in 1887, the synagogue was a show-stopper. The Herters free-handedly melded Gothic, Moorish and Romanesque styles – four horseshoe-arched entrances were reflected by a gallery of similar windows directly above. A mammoth Gothic Rose window dominated the façade and a series of minaret-like towers rose above the roofline.

The highly-carved oak lecture is fitted with a brass handrail -- photo eldridgestreet.org

Inside the space soared 70 feet upwards to colorful stenciled ceilings. The poor congregants, accustomed to dingy tenements and sweatshops, were surrounded by sumptuous brass lighting fixtures, 68 stained glass windows and carved wood. The velvet-lined ark, which could hold 24 Torah scrolls, was constructed in Italy from solid walnut and inlaid with mosaics.

The barrel-vaulted sanctuary with it brass main chandelier holding 75 bulbs -- photo archpaper.com

The officers of the congregation established rules of decorum and ushers were appointed to enforce them. Upon signing the contract for the sale of seats, the congregants acknowledged that they “must adhere strickly to the rules for maintaining peace and order for the service.” Fines were levied for those interrupting the service by loud talking, late arrival, spitting on the floor and “unclean language.”

In order to enforce the spitting rule, dozens of spittoons were scattered about.

Eight months after its opening, the synagogue was the scene of an impressive memorial service for the German Emperor Frederick III. The temple was filled with mourners and the service was conducted in both English and German as Jews, decades away from the Holocaust, grieved the Emperor’s passing.

The synagogue was used not only as a place of worship, but it anchored the Jewish immigrant community – providing food for the poor, small financial loans, care for the sick, and information on finding employment or housing. Turn of the century Jews, however, were constantly faced with discrimination.

photo by Alice Lum

At a meeting in the synagogue on April 22, 1900 intended to protest immorality and vice in the neighborhood, visiting speaker Professor Adler said “I was talking with the Chief of Police recently and he whispered this in my ear: ‘Do you know who is responsible for the bad moral condition of the city? It’s just you Jews.’”

Through it all the Eldridge Street Synagogue thrived. On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur it was necessary to post police on the street to control the throngs who flocked to the temple. By the 1920s the congregation was composed of over 300 families.

The vice and crime in the neighborhood’s that was so strongly derided by the congregation leaders in 1900 continued into the 20th Century. In 1930 thieves broke into the cellar of the synagogue, making off with antique relics and ceremonial silver items valued at over $2,000.

By the middle of the century, however, the synagogue fell on hard times. The Jewish population of the Lower East Side shrank as young members moved away to more affluent neighborhoods and the elderly died. By the late 1950s the beautiful sanctuary was sealed off and congregants conducted services in the basement.

The main synagogue sat unused for 24 years and, with no maintenance, the hand-stenciled walls and ceilings flaked and water seeped into the plaster. The degraded rear rose window was be replaced with glass blocks, rotting interior staircases were no longer safe to use, and pigeons roosted in the balconies.

The remarkable, restored trompe d oeil murals of cloth hangings can be seen on either side of the ark -- photo eldridgestreet.org

The not-for-profit Eldridge Street Project was formed to save the structure. A non-sectarian group, it initiated a 20-year, $18.5 million restoration. With no vintage photographs to document what the rear rose window looked like, a design by Kiki Smith and architect Deborah Gans was chosen to replace the glass block patchwork. The designers drew on the star motif of the stenciled walls and ceilings to create an artwork of spiraling stars.

The replacement rose window by Kiki Smith and Deborah Gans -- photo eldridgestreet.org

When it was re-opened in 2007, the Eldridge Street Synagogue began a new dual life as a house of worship and a museum. The Museum at Eldridge Street offers tours, concerts, lectures, and school programs.

The synagogue, now restored to its former glory, was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1996.

No. 375 Broome Street -- A Tenement with Dignity

photo by Alice Lum

When Peter Herter came to New York from Germany in 1884 he was, according to The New York Times “the richest builder on the banks of the Rhine.” Herter and his brother Francis established an architectural firm, Herter Brothers (not to be confused with the interior decorating firm of the same name), and set about constructing dignified tenement buildings for immigrants in the Lower East Side.

The Herters approached tenement housing differently that most builders and architects of the time. Peter defended the oft-maligned structures saying “flats, apartments, everything of that kind…from the humblest to the grandest, are, legally speaking, tenement houses.” The more acceptable French flats and apartment buildings rented for $20 or more per month; tenements were less expensive, the humble homes of the working class.

Unlike most other tenement buildings, those designed by the Herters were embellished with ambitious ornamentation, their rooms were generally larger and they offered a bit more self-esteem to the lowly renters.

Such a building was 375 Broome Street, erected around 1890. Using red brick, limestone and terra cotta the brothers produced a visually entertaining façade. Four bays wide, each of the six floors is separated by a stone course and the windows treated differently on each story. Rich terra cotta shells within arches cap the third floor windows, pronounced triangular pediments sit above the two outside windows of the fourth floor while shells without the arches ornament those in the center, and most strikingly large Magen David –or stars of David – set in ornate plaques set off the fifth floor.

photo by Alice Lum

The center two bays are recessed slightly for visual appeal. Two slim free standing Corinthian columns stand on carved stone brackets in the shape of classical heads, supporting a robust, deep pressed metal cornice. Within the cornice a large bust of, presumably, Moses looks out onto the passersby.

The Herters designed two other remarkably similar tenement houses around the same time. Historian and author Oscar Israelowitz explains that the Jewish motifs reflected the purpose of housing Jewish immigrants. The AIA Guide to New York City is less sure, offering Jupiter, Michelangelo, Mazzini and Garibaldi as possible alternative identities of the bust and saying that the stars of David are “commonly found in turn-of-the-century architectural ornament with no Jewish connection.”

photo by Alice Lum


The Jewish connection can be argued when one considers that Peter and Francis designed the elaborate Eldridge Street Synagogue around the same time. However the names of the residents reflect a mixture of backgrounds.

In 1896, Elizabeth Orth was living here when, while talking with a neighbor Rocco Bruno, she was insulted by “a tramp” which resulted in a “rough-and-tumble fight on the sidewalk,” according to the press. By 1910 an Italian restaurant occupied the first floor, run by F. Pigniolo, and among the tenants were Mrs. Amelia Morrita with her son Giuseppe and daughter Antonina, and neighbor Angelina Fenadi.

On November 7 of that year Salvatore Ricco was painting the rear of the restaurant when a gas jet ignited his paintbrush, which he dropped into the paint pot causing a conflagration.  The flames swept up the air shaft to the roof and while a passerby ran to nearby Engine Company 55, a policeman worked to evacuate the residents.

The New York Times reported on the problem of getting Angelina Fenadi to safety. She “was so fat that when she tried to get through the fire escape opening on the fifth floor she stuck fast,” said the newspaper. “Policeman Donohue tried to shove her through but the harder he tried the tighter she stuck. He had to remove several of her garments before he could get her through. A fireman took her to the street on an extension ladder.”

The fire damaged the second and third floors, causing an estimated $10,000 worth of damage.

Throughout the 20th century 375 Broome Street carried on the tradition for which it was built – relatively inexpensive apartments for working class renters. Today the ground floor is home to Quan Sushi and Oro Bakery and Bar and while the multi-cultural neighborhood is much changed since the 1890s, the Herter Brothers richly-decorated tenement building remains nearly unaltered.