The 1902 Robt. Davis Mansion -- No. 330 Riverside Drive

photo by Alice Lum

As the 19^th century became the 20^th, Riverside Drive saw the erection of mansions that rivaled those along Fifth and Madison Avenues.  Millionaires were lured by fresh area and the breathtaking views of the Hudson River from the high cliffs.  Builder Joseph A. Farley got in on the action.

The son of Terence Farley, a well-known builder for many years, Joseph went into business for himself around 1895 focusing on the rapidly developing Riverside Drive area.  By 1900 he had erected more than 25 houses in the neighborhood between 105^th to 108^th Streets, and on West End Avenue.  In 1901 he began construction on four magnificent houses designed by James & Leo on Riverside Drive between 105^th and 106^th Streets.  They would be his undoing.

Farley paid the staggering amount of $160,000 for the building lots alone—about $3.5 million in today’s dollars.  The total cost of the project would rise to around $430,000.  But the results, completed in 1902, were magnificent.  The three mansions facing Riverside Drive were nearly identical—French-inspired townhouses fit for New York’s wealthy upper crust.  But the corner house was the show-stopper. 

photo by Alice Lum

Although the entrance was squarely on West 105^thStreet, the residence took the more prestigious address of No. 330 Riverside Drive.  A grand Parisian mansion, it stretched eastward along West 105^th Street and turned a shoulder to its less impressive neighbors.  The architects blended exquisitely carved limestone with buff colored brick to produce a restrained and elegant design.   Ornamentation was reserved, on the whole, for the window openings while large areas of façade were purposefully left blank.

On October 4, 1902 the Real Estate Record and Builder’s Guide praised the homes.  “These houses…represent all that is latest in fashionable dwelling construction, and are furnished with all the devices for insuring the convenience and comfort of their occupants, besides being designed with artistic correctness and finished with taste.”

The Real Estate Record & Builder's Guide published this photograph on October 4, 1902 (copyright expired)

The writer made note of the pleasant location.   The houses were “on the summit of a hill, from which the Drive slopes away both north and south.  It commands magnificent views of the Hudson River and the Riverside Drive, and is, therefore, airy, cheerful and salubrious.”

Financially Farley had stretched himself to the limit to construct the lavish homes.  And by the end of the year, when none of them had sold, he was in trouble.  On Christmas Eve 1902 The Sun ran the headline “Builder Jos. A. Farley Fails.”  The blame for his bankruptcy was placed squarely on the new Riverside Drive houses.  “Inability to sell the houses is given as the principal cause of the assignment,” said the newspaper.

The mansions, of course, would eventually sell and No. 330 became home to Robert Benson Davis—founder of the Davis Baking Powder Company—and his wife and daughter.  When the fabulously wealthy Davis was in his 40s, he had married the teenaged Jennie Weed.  The couple had one child, Lucretia, born in 1886.   In 1905, a few years after the family moved into the 25-room Riverside Drive mansion, Davis purchased their sprawling country estate “Hillcrest” in Cazenovia, New York.

photo by Alice Lum

By now Robert Davis was aging.  The Civil War veteran was 62 years old in 1905 and his wife was 30 years younger.  Jennie Weed Davis’s focus was turning away from her husband and to his money.  In 1908 Jennie tried to have Davis ruled “of unsound mind.”  She had three doctors examine him and she spread rumors to the Davis Baking Powder Company executives that he was mentally incompetent.  The New York Times reported that “He objected to that step, and the trouble ensuing resulted in divorce proceedings.”

Divorce was not on the agenda of Jennie Weed Davis.  When her husband became ill that year, she grasped the opportunity to control him.   According to newspaper reports in 1911, he told a judge that “when he was taken sick she ‘usurped’ his business in Hoboken and surrounded him with spies that made of his home a prison.”  Jennie intercepted the mail and kept Davis locked in the bedroom on the fourth floor until September 1910.

Jennie found Davis’s will and discovered he had amended the terms.  She and Lucretia were allotted a yearly stipend from the estate and she was not pleased with the amount.  She told Davis “Unless you change this I shall be compelled to allow Lucretia to go on the stage, and you will be responsible if she falls into the many pitfalls of that career and becomes a low woman.  It costs $40,000 a year to run the New York house.  You must let us have more money after you are gone.”

Davis devised an escape plan by dropping a letter addressed to a friend from the bedroom window.  As luck would have it, it was found by a passerby and, remarkably, delivered.  The ally positioned a motorcar outside the residence and when the servants were taking the dinner dishes out of his room, Davis made his escape.  Later The New York Times printed a more dramatic version of the escape.  “Disguised as a physician and accompanied by two nurses in uniform, he eluded the hired caretakers.”

Jennie initiated a search for her husband, whom she still maintained was incompetent.   A special report to The New York Times on September 26, 1910, said “It is understood here that Robert M. Davis, a wealthy baking powder manufacturer, 70 years old, has eluded the efforts of relatives to detain him at his New York home, 330 Riverside Drive, but he has not appeared here [i.e., the country estate]."

Davis had fled on a train to Los Angeles and immediately began divorce proceedings based on “cruelty.”  On June 13, 1911 Robert Benson Davis took the stand.  The Times wrote “Mrs. Davis, appearing at least thirty years younger than her husband, was in the court room.  She has a daughter, Lucretia, aged 26.  Mrs. Davis’s head wagged in indignant denial at several of her husband’s statements.”

Two days after the shocking testimony of imprisonment, guards, spies and threats of his daughter losing her virtue, Davis was denied his plea for divorce because he was not a California resident and the court had no authority.   Jennie, almost immediately, filed a suit for “separate maintenance.”  She received a monthly allowance of $1,500 as well as $1,500 for costs.

That was not enough for Jennie Weed Davis.  She countered, asking instead for a $5,000 monthly allowance.  An unsympathetic Judge Walter Bordwell, on September 27, 1912 ruled “that Mrs. Davis’s action in driving her husband from his Riverside Drive home…while he was ill, showed conclusively that she was not entitled to any allowance.”

Somewhat unexpectedly, with everyone disappointed at their own rulings the family traveled back to New York and continued life in the Riverside Drive mansion.  The Davises were seen at their customary box—Box H—at the Metropolitan Opera during Saturday matinees despite the many lorgnettes one might imagine were focused on Jennie.

On September 8, 1915 Lucretia Weed Davis was married to George Shipman Jephson in St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Cazenovia.  The newlyweds lived on in the Riverside Drive house and George was given a job at the R. B. Davis Company—as President.

Ironically three months later Jennie Weed Davis died.  The scheming wife of the millionaire—three decades his junior--did not live to inherit the estate.  Her funeral was held in the Riverside Drive mansion on Tuesday, December 28 at 2:30 in the afternoon.

Robert Benson Davis lived another five years.  On Thursday, February 19, 1920 his funeral, too, took place in the house.  Lucretia and George maintained the Davis lifestyle.  They lived on in the Riverside Drive and Cazenovia mansions and kept Box H at the Opera.

At the time of Robert B. Davis' funeral, the neighborhood was only slightly changed -- photograph NYPL Collection

With the coming of the Great Depression the grand mansions of Riverside Drive began being divided into multifamily homes or razed for modern apartment buildings.  Perhaps to protect the exclusive nature of his block, George Jephson bought the adjoining mansions on Riverside Drive as they became available.   At the beginning of 1933 he already owned No. 331 next door (where, by the way, film actress Marion Davies had lived) and in February that year he purchased No. 332.  “Mr. Jephson now controls a frontage of 78 feet in a block containing several private homes,” reported The Times on February 8.

Lucretia and George Jephson on the porch of Hillcrest -- photo http://www.cazenovialakerealestate.com/history.htm

On September 30, 1951 George S. Jephson died in the summer house at Cazenovia.  Four years later, deciding to live solely in Hillcrest, the aging Lucretia sold the three Riverside Drive mansions to Fred H. Hill.  If New Yorkers were concerned that the large parcel would mean the end of the lovely mansions, they heaved a sigh of relief when No. 330 was quickly resold in January 1955 to the Brothers of the La Salle Provincialate.  The group, parochial school teachers, planned “to occupy the house for a residence in place of their present living quarters at 112 West Seventy-seventh Street,” reported The Times.

photo by Alice Lum

Lucretia Davis Jephson lived on in Hillcrest until her death in April 1979 at the age of 93.  Meanwhile, the Provincialate remained on at No. 330 Riverside Drive until 1978.  Unlike many of its neighbors, the Davis mansion has never been broken up into apartments.  Its stately presence is a reminder of a time when millionaires rebuffed Fifth Avenue for the vistas of the Hudson River.

Janes & Leo's 1899 Row at Nos. 301-307 W 105th St.

Along with the commission to design The Alimar, an exuberant seven-story apartment house on West End Avenue, developer Hamilton M. Weed gave architects Janes & Leo the job of designing four abutting homes around the corner at Nos. 301 to 307 West 105^th Street.  By 1898 the Upper West Side vied with the most fashionable neighborhoods of Manhattan as upscale homes rose on its streets and massive mansions were built on its avenues.

As was The Alimar, the houses were completed in 1899.  The architects created an ensemble of high-end American basement homes which were unafraid to announce they were intended for the wealthy.  The stone bases of all four extended to the property line; but only No. 301 continued straight upward—possibly because of the party wall of the Alimar next door.  Nos. 303 to 307 stepped back, allowing for bay windows, balconies and a bowed front on No. 307.  Perhaps for visual balance, Janes & Leo perfectly matched the center homes while treating the end structures individually but harmoniously.

Within a year the upscale homes began to sell.  When Weed sold No. 301 on March 21, 1901, The New York Times mentioned “This is the second house sold out of a row of four recently completed.”  James R. Thomson was the buyer; but he resold it less than a year later, on January 17, 1902, to Thomas M. Turner.  Turner’s mortgage was $30,000—around $785,000 today.

No. 301 was the odd man out design-wise.

The following summer the Turners had a house guest, 23-year old Helen Blair of Kentucky.  Helen’s father was “very rich,” as reported in The Sun, and she was stopping on her way home from Paris.  One of the souvenirs the young woman had picked up in France was an automobile, “an electric phaeton.”  It arrived in New York on the ship with Helen.

What Helen Blair was unaware of was the newly enacted Bailey Law which required all private vehicles to exhibit “the proper tag for identification.”  And so on June 25, 1903 as she was care-freely motoring along 72^nd Street between Amsterdam and Columbus Avenues, Mounted Policeman McKenna stopped and arrested her.

“The policeman insisted on getting into the machine with Mrs. [sic] Blair and leading his horse after it to the West Sixty-eighth Street Station,” reported The New York Times the following day.  She was the first woman arrested for violating the new law and newspapers eagerly reported the incident.

Helen’s automobile was impounded pending her getting license plates; but there was a problem.  None of the police officers at the station knew how to drive a car.  Sergeant Tierney asked if she would mind driving it to the police stables and she politely consented.  “The spectacle of a uniformed policeman sitting in an automobile with a woman driving aroused much interest,” reported The Times.

When Helen Blair appeared in the West Side Court the following day, she pleaded innocence of the law and told the judge she had already applied for a license.  Magistrate Zeller discharged her, prompting The Evening World to run the headline “Fair Chauffeuse Freed.”

No. 301 continued to experience rapid turnover in ownership.  In September 1904 Thomas Turner sold it to Moses Harlam, who resold it to Julius C. Landon in 1905.  In the meantime real estate operator Albert Brod bought up the remainder of the row in 1901.

Of them, only No. 305 would have a long-term owner thoughout their early years.  In May 1901 Brod sold No. 305 to Albert Goldman, the Director of the Mutual Chemical Company of Jersey City and a Director of the Tartar Chemical Co.  The Goldman family consisted of wife, Augusta, and three children, Harry, Sophie and Lillian.

The Goldmans lived at No. 305 for at least 14 years.

It was apparently a forward-thinking family, for nine years later daughter Lillian was attending the Woman’s Law Class at New York University.  In 1910 the very concept of a female lawyer was shocking to most.  Augusta Goldman died in the house on August 10, 1914 and the family would not remain here many years longer.

Wealthy families continued, for years, to inhabit the row.  Until 1913 Jose R. Barrios lived at No. 303.  He was a wealthy, retired exporter of coal to Cuba and a veteran of the Cuban army.  He died of a heart attack while riding the Third Avenue streetcar on September 27, that year.  And on May 10, 1920 the owners of No. 307 made preparations to close the house for the summer.  An advertisement in The New York Herald that day read “A lady closing her house in June would like to secure country position for her chambermaid—assist waiting—whom she can highly recommend.”

By now No. 303 was home to retired broker Edward B. Stearns and his wife.  Early in December 1921 the couple traveled to Stamford, Connecticut to spend the weekend.  Edward Stearns would not return home.

No. 303 was a match to the Goldman mansion next door.

The 44-year old left the Taylor home with another house guest, 30-year old James D. Robbins, “to make some purchases.”  As Stearns’ roadster was traveling along Cove Road, it came across a couple walking alongside the road.  Joseph H. Luboky and his 19-year old wife were returning home from a movie.

According to the New-York Tribune on December 5, Stearns was “traveling at high speed.”  When Luboky heard the roar of the motor coming from behind, he tried to pull his wife further away from the pavement.  But the automobile struck the woman, throwing her 20 feet, killing her.  Both Stearns and Robbins were thrown from the car.  Edward Stearns suffered a fatal skull fracture and Robbins’ neck was broken.

The Stearns mansion was purchased by cotton broker Layden Harriss.  He was a member of the Firm Harriss-Irby & Vose.  No. 303 West 105^th Street became the scene of a violent struggle on June 5, 1924 when around 1:00 in the morning Harris heard a noise and “trailed a burglar whose progress from room to room and floor to floor was indicated by occasional flashes of an electric torch,” reported The Times.

In the living room, the broker sprang upon the burglar in the dark.  He may have thought better of it after the battle was on, however.  John Bernauer had been out of Sing Sing prison for only three weeks and the newspaper said “Particular note was taken of his powerful hands and bulging shoulder muscles…Bernauer admitted, according to the detectives, that by working on the coal pile at Sing Sing and by constantly chinning himself and performing all the gymnastics that his small cell would permit, he had kept himself fit.”

Nevertheless Harriss held his own and the commotion of the fight “aroused the house and neighborhood and attracted many policemen.”  When Bernauer appeared in a line up regarding earlier burglaries, it was noted that his “right eye had been badly blacked in the fight with the cotton broker.”

Following Harriss’ death on Sunday, September 27 the following year, a requiem high mass was celebrated and his funeral held in St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

The homes would not survive into the second half of the century as private mansions.  No. 301 was the first to be converted.  On July 25, 1935 The New York Times reported that Mrs. Grace E. Gumbiner had leased “for five years a former private house at 301 West 105^th Street, now being remodeled into one and two room apartments.”  The newspaper added “She has operated various furnished apartment houses.”

Five years later Nos. 305 and 307 were converted to apartments—two per floor.  And in 1946 No. 303 was given the same make-over.

Interior details have been gutted in No. 305 and the brick walls exposed--the antithesis of turn-of-the-century taste.  photo http://www.corcoran.com/nyc/Listings/Display/3113930

Outwardly little has changed to the especially handsome row of homes.  Inside, misguided modernization has brutalized some of the spaces.  But Janes & Leo’s wonderful group survives as a striking reminder of the fashionable lifestyles of the Upper West Side at the turn of the last century.

A quaint Juliette balcony distinguishes No. 307.

 photographs taken by the author

The 1899 Alimar Apts -- No. 925 West End Avenue

In 2014 sidewalk bridges still partially obscure the facade after a two year restoration.

By the turn of the last century, apartment living for upper class residents had become acceptable.  To distance high-end apartment buildings from tenements, their developers marketed them as French Flats.  Well-to-do residents enjoyed spacious apartments on a par with private dwellings as well as luxuries and amenities not found in most houses.

Apartment builders vied with one another to lure high class clientele with new technology like telephone service, elevators and electric refrigeration.  Nowhere in the city was the trend more evident than the booming Upper West Side.

Hamilton M. Weed saw the opportunity in the rapidly-expanding neighborhood and commissioned architects Janes & Leo to design an ambitious project of four row houses along West 105^thStreet and an adjoining, elegant Parisian apartment building on the corner at No. 925 West End Avenue.

The architects’ energetic design of The Alimar exploded in Beaux Arts decoration—the height of fashion of the day.  A two-story rusticated limestone base supported four stories of deep red brick, capped by a sloping copper mansard roof.  Frothy-topped dormers, oriel windows exuberant carvings created a slice of Paris on West End Avenue.  High above the corner, at the base of the mansard, a chubby carved cherub watched the foot traffic below.

Guests and residents enter through an exuberantly-carved entranceway -- photograph by Edmund V. Gillon, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQT6633&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=631

In March 1899, months before the building’s completion, The Evening Post Record of Real Estate Sales noted that “The Alimar, a seven-story apartment-house” had been sold by Hamilton M. Weed to E. G. Theiry.  But the deal apparently fell through and Weed retained possession until March 1900.  Nevertheless Thiery would live in The Alimar for decades. 

There were two apartment per floor in The Alimar, each with eleven rooms.  Included were a library, parlor, servant’s room connected to the kitchen, and multiple bedrooms.   Guests entered into “charming and picturesque reception-room” with a “Colonial” fireplace and seat.  The dining rooms, with the oriel windows, were paneled in mahogany, as were the libraries.  Throughout the floors were hardwood parquet.

An advertisement in The World’s New York Apartment House Album boasted “Every known device of comfort, luxury and convenience was adopted in the construction, and in the decorative scheme nothing that superior skill and refined taste can achieve is left undone.”

The ad stressed the conveniences for making the completion of life’s mundane chores less onerous.  “The butlers’ pantries contain improved patent refrigerators.  In the basement there are laundries, with patent steam driers, servants’ baths, bicycle and store rooms.  A telephone is placed in each apartment.  In short, every comfort and convenience known to modern architecture is provided, affording each tenant the luxury and exclusiveness of a private residence.”  Another advertisement in the New-York Tribune boasted “A Cold Air Refrigerating system [does] away with the use of ice.”

Two large apartments shared a floor -- The World's New York Apartment House Album 1901  (copyright expired)

The Alimar was built around a central landscaped courtyard with “graveled walks, shrubbery and exotic plants.”  An advertisement in the New-York Tribune on November 12, 1899 called it “A New House With New Ideas—Built Around a Garden.”  Weed impressed upon his potential residents the safety of the building and the neighborhood, saying that “the best of uniformed hall service is always assured.  The neighborhood is the choicest and most select of the upper West Side, being almost entirely built up with fine private residences.”

The Tribune gushed on about the new apartment house on October 26, 1899 calling it “A perfect model of the fin de siècle apartment.”  Saying that “nothing could be more charming,” the article praised the low ceilings, calling them “agreeable.”  “The reception hall is a feature that must bring gladness to the housewifely soul,” it said.  “The pretty fireplace, the picturesque oriel window, with seat below, the polished floor, on which rich rugs look their best, produce an effect of hospitality that puts the guest at ease even before a word of welcome has been spoken.”

The frothy carved limestone continued throughout the upper floors.

The newspaper commented on the Colonial Revival interiors--quite the fashion in 1899.  “All [rooms] have handsome fireplaces and mantels in the Colonial style—the entire scheme of the interior is carefully studied Colonial.”  The writer was also impressed with the storage space.  “There is an amplitude of closets, and every window is provided with a box seat which, as every one knows, is an invaluable adjunct of any room.”  The bathrooms, said the article, had “the latest appliances for showers, and is as dainty as anything can be with its pretty tiling.”

The Cold Air Refrigerating system caught the writer’s attention.  “A new feature is the large refrigerating closet that dispenses once and forever with the autocratic iceman.  The temperature may be made freezing if desired.”

At the end of November 1899 The Alimar was officially completed.  In fewer than three months Weed had rented all but two apartments.  Among the first residents was the building’s designer, architect E. Harris Names.

Canvas awnings shade the interiors from the summer heat -- The World's New York Apartment House Album 1901  (copyright expired)

Other respected tenants followed.  In 1902 Dr. S. Olin Hardy announced through The North American Journal of Homeopathy that he “has removed to ‘The Alimar,’” and a year later William Hill Hunt, President of the International Bank and Trust Company of America was living here.

Young Richard S. Hunter lived in The Alimar with his parents when, on January 17, 1908, he took his father’s touring car for a spin with his friend, Leon Sherburne, an electrician. Before long there were three young women in the car with the boys—a situation that possibly contributed to Hunter’s distraction that ended tragically.

The New York Times reported the following day that Hunter’s “machine was going south” on 7^th Avenue near 15^th Street.   Six-year old John Miller of No. 24 West 13^thStreet stepped into the street and the automobile struck him."  The newspaper listed his injuries as three fractured ribs and a broken collarbone, possible internal injuries; adding that he was “probably fatally injured.” 

Back home at The Alimar the Hunters were no doubt traumatized to hear that both their son and Sherburne were arrested, charged with felonious assault.

A chubby cherub teeters on the corner of the cornice. -- Architectural Digest, 1910 (copyright expired)

Happier times in the building occurred when Mrs. Le Roy Brewster returned from her tour of Japan in February of 1912.   The New York Times society section called the Japanese luncheon and bridge party she hosted “One of the most delightful parties of the week.”   Mrs. Brewster greeted her guests in a Japanese robe with obi, and each received a kimono to wear for the afternoon.  “Wisteria and cherry blossoms trailed around the walls of the dining room, where the party was held, and over the ceiling to the centre, where American and Japanese flags and a huge paper umbrella covered the chandelier,” said the article.

Proper New York socialites may have been a bit taken aback when they realized they would be sitting on cushions “and chopsticks were the only table implements provided.”

The sumptuous bowed windows steal the show.

While Ruby Brewster was serving green tea and sake a domestic scandal was brewing in another apartment.  The wealthy John Craig Havemeyer lived here with his wife, the former Adah Bryant, whom The New York Times said “was noted for her beauty.”   While outward appearances were blissful, there was trouble in the Havemeyer home.  In April 1912 Havemeyer quietly sued his wife for divorce.  ”Secrecy surrounded the divorce proceedings from the start,” noted The Times.

Then in October of the following year the secret became scandalously public.   Havemeyer’s friends, said The Times, “were surprised to learn yesterday that not only had Mr. Havemeyer obtained a divorce from his wife…but that there was to be a wedding sequel to his secret divorce proceedings.

“Report has it that he is to marry Mrs. Maude Thorburn Backus, widow of Foster L. Backus, former District Attorney of Kings County, within the next five weeks.”

“Few, if any of Mr. Havemeyer’s friends knew that any differences had existed between him and his wife,” said the article.

The affair smacked of adulterous behavior and Havemeyer tiptoed around the issue.  “While freely admitting that he had obtained the divorce, Mr. Havemeyer yesterday evaded committing himself as to his approaching marriage to Mrs. Backus, declaring that as she was out of town at present, it would be indelicate of him to say anything positive about it.”

Architectural details include fierce, snarling lions within the keystones of the lower openings.

On the whole, however, life at The Alimar was refined and proper.  Mrs. Charles L. Dwenger, niece of millionaire James E. Nichols was here in 1914 and in 1922 the quiet wedding of Louise Meyer and John Kenneth Porter took place in the apartment of Louise’s parents.

But that briefly changed in February 1940.  Thirty-nine-year old soprano Nina Tal, who performed as Nina Palini, arrived in New York that January in preparation for a concert tour.   With her was her husband, Osip, a former wallpaper manufacturer, and their 8-year old son, Ilja.  The family took a furnished apartment in The Alimar.

The opera singer’s hopes were dashed when the plans for the concert tour fell through.  On the morning of February 28 a maid found her here, hanging from a noose made from four scarves knotted together.

Times and neighborhoods change and by January 23, 1943 the spacious flats where society teas and weddings had been held were divided.  There were now eight, rather than two, apartments on each floor.

Perhaps the Alimar's most notorious resident was Bess Bernard who lived here during the 1940s.  The quiet housewife was part of a sensational and nationally-publicized trial in June 1950.  On June 14, the St. Petersburg Times said “Two lawyers and a housewife, accused of running a New York and Florida “systematic black market in babies,” went on trial yesterday.

The prosecutor alleged that the black market baby-selling ring was so profitable that “Mrs. Bernard had a $50 a week secretary and made weekly trips to Florida.”  Witnesses told of selling their newborns.  One was a 17-year old girl “who described how in May, 1949, she received $100 for her illegitimate baby,” reported The New York Times.

On June 29 Bess Bernard was found guilty of running a “black market” in baby adoption deals.

The second half of the 20^th century was not kind to the once-grand Alimar.  By the mid-70s the mansard roof had been removed, along with much of the decoration.   In 1997 the building’s owners commissioned Fernando Didal to renovate the crumbling structure.   Didal replaced the mansard level with a vertical façade that, like the limestone base, contrasted nicely with the red brick.  A convincing turn-of-the-century façade was fabricated.  The completed project dared unknowing passersby to notice the deception—an ingenious and well-done solution.

The 1997 upper floor successfully pretended to be designed a century earlier.

Although lesser-known than his later Dorilton apartments, Hamilton Weed's Alimar invokes memories of the days when West End Avenue lured moneyed families from the East Side of Manhattan.

non-historic photographs taken by the author

The 1900 No. 320 West 105th Street

Subtle differences distinguished No. 320 (to the right) from its neighbor.

Once development got going on the Upper West Side, it steamrolled.  Beginning in the 1880s developers filled entire block fronts in a single sweep with harmonious homes designed by a single architect.

Unlike the East Side with its prim, correct homes, the West Side erupted with Queen Anne, neo-Tudor, Flemish Revival and other expressive styles complete with gargoyles, dog-legged stoops and stained glass windows.  The mansions of the Upper West Side were not your East Side palaces.

Except, perhaps, on West 105^th Street.

Developer-builder John C. Umberfield joined in the building boom and purchased the block front of 105^th Street between the newly-completed Riverside Drive and West End Avenue.  He commissioned the architectural firm of Janes & Leo to design a striking row of high-end residences that would stretch from No. 302 to 320.   The firm had just completed The Alimar around the corner at No. 925 West End Avenue, an exuberant high class apartment building in the Beaux Arts style.

For Umberfield’s string of homes, the firm would turn to the highly popular style again, creating a row of French-influenced mansions much more akin to their across-the-park cousins than their brick-and-stone West Side neighbors.  Construction began in 1899 and the row was completed a year later.  The homes were all highly similar, but discreetly individual.  The mansions were grouped in twos with each pair being nearly identical.  By arranging the row this way, the architects accomplished an harmonious flow and a sense of balance.

The architects designed the row in pairs, affording continuity and variety at the same time.

The homes were offered for sale in 1900 for between $42,500 and $50,000—just over $1 million today.

The closest to River Side Drive was No. 320.  Five stories tall, it was entered at street level.  A two story slightly-angled bay was flanked by shallow pilasters and decorated with ironwork and carved garlands.  A slate-tiled mansard was punctured by two hooded dormers.

Banker Robert E. Tod purchased the house.  He and his brother John Kennedy Tod ran the firm of J. S. Kennedy & Company founded by their uncle.   When not banking, Tod was yachting.  He was Commodore of the Atlantic Yacht Club and was instrumental in organizing an international yacht race involving the German Emperor in 1903.  He was put in the awkward position of deciding between the cup offered as grand prize by Sir Thomas Lipton and the imperial cup offered by the Emperor.  He chose the latter.

That same year Tod was somewhat of a hero when he was motoring home along Broadway at 65^th Street on September 4.  Ellen Walsh, a young mother carrying her baby, stepped off an electric trolley car and started to cross the street.  While Tod watched, she was run down by a hansom cab.  The shaft of the cab knocked her and her baby to the ground.  “The horse’s hoofs also struck her, and one of the wheels of the cab passed over her body,” reported the New York Times.

The cabbie, Frank Woods, whipped his horse and drove quickly away.  Robert Tod went into action. He sped after the cab, calling for him to stop.  “Woods paid no attention to the banker,” said The Times.  “At Sixtieth Street Mr. Tod overtook Woods and upbraided him for running away.”  When the cabbie exhibited his resentment at the interference, Tod told him that if he did not come to the station house with him, “he would arrest him himself.”

The cabbie realized he was caught and went to the police station with Tod, where he was charged with assault and jailed.  Both Mrs. Walsh and the baby were treated for their wounds and a policeman drove them home.

In 1906 Tod moved to No. 323 West 74^th Street and No. 320 became home to attorney Walter M. Goldsmith and his wife, Hennie.  Like Tod, Goldsmith had a motor car (his was a Hupp), a reflection of his financial status.   The Goldsmiths would stay on in the house until July 1919 when it was sold to “a builder who plans to alter the premises.”

The builder was Richard A. Henrique and alter it he did.  He converted the mansion to bachelor apartments.  The building filled with a variety of tenants--none, perhaps, so rich but by no means any less colorful than their predecessors.

Charles D. Lowe was one of the first young men to live here.  On January 10, 1922 he parked his automobile at 109^th Street and Fort Washington Avenue, only to find it gone when he returned.   A little over a month later, on February 15, police noticed it parked in front of a hotel in Smithtown, Long Island.  When the driver, 22-year old Samuel Schultz, started to drive it away, they arrested him.  Schultz had just completed a term of two and a half years in Sing Sing for an earlier automobile theft.

In 1927 Herman Bloom lived here.  He was a waiter in the swanky nightclub at No. 154 West 54th Street owned by singer Helen Morgan.  On the night before New Year’s Eve Chez Helen Morgan was the scene of “one of the most spectacular night club raids in the history of metropolitan prohibition enforcement,” according to The Times. 

At around 1:30 in the morning, 25 agents crashed into the club.  They not only arrested Helen Morgan and eight employees, they “completely wrecked the club,” said The Times, causing $75,000 in damages.  Among those behind bars that New Year’s Eve was Herman Bloom.

Actress, singer and cabaret owner Helen Morgan found herself behind bars with her waiter, Herman Bloom -- photo Library of Congress

Another resident to find himself behind bars was Alvin G. Davis, a 45-year old real estate salesman.  Davis supplemented his real estate commissions with forgery and swindling.  In September 1928 he advertised that he wished by buy a three-carat diamond ring.  Jeweler Irving Robinowitz of No. 562 Fifth Avenue responded.

When Davis (who formerly went by the name Albert Davis) wrote out a check for the $1,650 price tag, Robinowitz refused to accept it.  So Davis suggested they go to his bank and have the check certified.   While the jeweler looked on, Davis presented a check to the teller who certified it.  The check, however, was for $25.  Davis then handed Robinowitz a $1650 check with an artificial certification.

Although he protested his innocence, Davis had already served time in Sing Sing Prison for forgery in 1914, returned in 1921 for four years on three charges of forgery; and received a suspended sentence in 1926 for attempted grand larceny.  Alvin Davis had a hard time learning a lesson.

The “bachelors only” rule was no longer observed by 1933 when Doris W. Hopkins lived here with her Pekinese.  She was no doubt highly pleased her pampered pet took home “best dog of the day” at Bloomingdale’s department store’s second annual dog show in January of that year.  The store was compassionate to the mongrels as well; for besides the pure-bred competition The New York Times noted “Friday, January 13, has been set aside for dogs whose ancestry is at best vague.”

In 1937 the house was sold, assessed at $37,000.  It was converted to apartments, two to a floor.  Today the former mansion looks much as it did in 1900; although the entrance door has a rather unfortunate replacement.  It anchors the wonderful string of well-maintained residences that brought a little bit of the East Side across the park in 1900.

photographs taken by the author

The 1901 Wm. Colgate Mansion -- No. 5 East 82nd Street

photo by Alice Lum

At the turn of the last century Joseph A. Farley was busy building mansions.  The son of Terence Farley, a well-known builder, Joseph started his own business around 1895.  He focused on high-end residences in the Riverside Drive and Fifth Avenue neighborhoods, sparing no expense on the opulence his customers would not only expect, but demand.

In 1900 he began work on two abutting homes at Nos. 3 and 5 East 82^nd Street.  Although the pair shared the same building permit; the architects, Janes & Leo, treated the design of each separately.  The lavish Beaux Arts homes were completed a year later.  No. 3 was almost immediately sold to millionaire banker Solomon Loeb, who presented it to his daughter and son-and-law, Nina and Paul Warburg.

Nos. 3 and 5 (right) East 82nd just after completion in 1901.  The undeveloped plot next door is protected by a rather primitive, in comparison, picket fence.  photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

No. 5 sold just as quickly.  The five-story limestone bowed façade featured Parisian-style elements like the elegant French windows with arched transoms at the second floor, the elaborate stone-and-iron balcony with carved cherubs, and the slate-covered mansard roof set between high chimneys. 

On April 5, 1901 The New York Times reported on its sale to William G. Park for $150,000 – about $3.2 million in today’s dollars.  Park had recently relocated to New York from Pittsburgh and a few days later The Times mentioned that the sale, along with Park's other recent purchases, “showed his liking for New York realty for speculative and investment, as well as residential, purposes.”

Although there was some speculation that Park may move into the new house, it would not be.  Two weeks later The Times said the purchase was “for resale and not for occupancy.”  On July 21 Park sold the house to Marion Graham Knapp, the wealthy widow of Henry C. Knapp.

photo by Alice Lum

But the socialite would not reside in her elegant new home long.  Readers of the society pages read with interest on July 12, 1904 the announcement from London that Marion was engaged to Lord Bateman of Shobdon Court.   The 48-year old William Spencer Bateman-Hanbury had been a Captain in the Second Life Guards and the marriage would bring to Marion what New York socialites coveted most—an aristocratic title.

Twelve days later the couple was married in St. George’s Church on London's Hanover Square.  Marion was given away by John R. Carter, Second Secretary of the American Embassy.

The new Lady Bateman did not hurry to sell her New York home.  Not until November 19, 1905 was the sale announced.  The buyer was William Colgate, whose grandfather’s soap and candle business had developed into the Colgate-Palmolive-Peet company.  Now 65 years old, the millionaire had retired thirteen years earlier.

Residing with Colgate in the house were his unmarried sister, Hannah, and cousin Harriet C. Abbe.  Hannah had a personal fortune of her own and she invested heavily in railroad stocks and New York real estate.  The spinster heiress owned no fewer than a dozen Manhattan properties.

Just four years after moving into the 82^nd Street mansion, Hannah died here on Sunday March 28, 1909.  The funeral services were held in the house three days later.  The aging William and his spinster cousin continued living in the house with their staff of servants.  Hannah left her brother over $1.3 million.  With no immediate relatives, the remainder of her estate went to charities, and about $62,000 to her cousins, including Harriet.

Harriet was the sister of the esteemed Dr. Robert Abbe who had revolutionized the treatment of cancer in America.  He had brought radium from the laboratory of Madam Curie to New York and introduced radium treatments to cancer patients.  When he died on March 7, 1928 the bulk of his estate went to Harriet as his sole survivor.

The two elderly cousins, William Colgate and Harriet Abbe, lived quiet lives in the 82^nd Street mansion, supporting charities but otherwise participating little in society’s glittering events.  The Great Depression had little effect on the lifestyles of the two millionaires in the hushed rooms behind the elegant French windows.

On March 7, 1932 William Colgate died at the age of 92.  His estate, which included 32 parcels of Manhattan real estate and 1,300 shares of Colgate-Palmolive-Peet stock, went mainly to charity.  Twenty-two public institutions shared nearly $2 million.  Colgate University received about 30 percent of the residuary estate.  Harriet Abbe received $500,000 in cash and “personal bequests” worth $8,516.  Her share of the estate would equal about $7 million today.

At the time of his death the 82^nd Street house was valued at $135,000.  How long Harriet remained in the house is unclear; however The New York Times would later say it was “occupied by [Colgate’s] family up to the time of his death.”

On May 15, 1941 the newspaper reported that the house, “long the residence of William Colgate” was sold by the Central Hanover Bank and Trust.  “The new owner will remodel the mansion into ten small suites, retaining many of the interesting features of the structure, including a recreation room for the tenants.”

Among the “interesting features” were “fireplaces of rare marble, a library paneled in mahogany, an oak-paneled recreation room in the basement, an automatic elevator and a limestone façade.”  Architect James E. Casale was commissioned to execute the conversion which resulted in two spacious apartments per floor.

The caliber of tenants in the newly-renovated apartments was, expectedly, high.  So no one would suspect that the 67-year old stamp dealer, John Von Vorst, would bring unwanted publicity to the address.  But he did.

The German-born Vorst married wealthy Mathilda Grameis of No. 940 Park Avenue on March 8, 1943 and the newlyweds moved into the 82^ndStreet house.  Vorst embellished his occupation a bit, telling his bride that he was a diplomatic agent of the Argentine Government.

A more serious problem than fibbing about his profession, however, was that Vorst (who also went by the names Frederick Von Stolberg and John Lorenz Von Vorst) was already married.  Three times.

On February 28, 1936 Louise Borho of No 150 West 87^th Street had married Vorst, who had been in the country since 1914.   When Louise discovered his philandering, she went to the police.  An investigation revealed that when he came to America he left behind a German wife.   Then he married Leda Saynisch.  Then came Louise Borho and finally Mathilda Grameis.

On June 4, 1943 John Von Vorst stood before a judge in General Sessions with three of his four wives present.   Louise and Mathilda “sat together in court, enjoying von Vorst’s discomfiture,” said The Times.  Leda was more forgiving.  The newspaper said she “tearfully pleaded he be freed on a suspended sentence ‘because I’ll be lonely without him.’”

Judge John J. Sullivan was unmoved by Leda’s tears.  Von Vorst was sentenced to up to three years in the penitentiary.  As the polygamist was led out of the courtroom, the judge agreed to initiate annulment proceedings “started by the two smiling wives” immediately.

The mansion underwent another conversion in 1989 resulting in medical offices in the basement and first floor, one apartment each on the second and third floors, and a lavish duplex above.  None of the interior alterations significantly altered the wonderful Beaux Arts façade.  The Colgate mansion remains an elegant relic of the Belle Epoque in New York.