R. Guastivino's No. 129 W. 78th Street

In 1881, when Rafael Guastavino arrived in New York City from Spain, the great thrust of development on Manhattan’s Upper West Side was underway.   An accomplished architect trained in Barcelona, he was fascinated with the Catalan vault—a curved structure constructed or veneered with brick or tile that created not only a tremendously strong ceiling, but the floor above it.

As Guastavino perfected his process—what would famously become known as the Guastavino Arch—he accepted architectural commissions.   In 1885, the same year he patented his “Tile Arch System,” he started work on a row of townhouses stretching from No. 121 through 131 West 78^th Street for developer Bernard S. Levy.

The architect’s Spanish background shone through and the resulting row, completed in 1886, was a delight of Moorish Revival confections.   Each of the homes flowed harmoniously from one to the other; yet a second glance revealed that no two houses were exactly alike.  Guastavino used red brick and  sand-colored stone on the three upper stories which sat on a rough-cut brownstone base.  Moorish motifs (a snarling Syrian-style lion separated each building at the third floor) blended with Romanesque and a touch of Queen Anne to create the up-to-the-minute residential designs.

Each of the exotic houses was slightly different from its neighbor.  Sadly, all were painted in the 20th century and only 129 has been restored.

Among the completed row was No. 129.  Like those of its neighbors, its stoop cascaded directly from the doorway towards the sidewalk; then spilled slightly to one side for visual interest.  For this façade Guastavino used intricate terra cotta panels, stained class, creative brickwork and an eye-catching second floor stone oriel.

The new Queen Anne style joined in in the form of terra cotta panels, the oriel, and the textured brickwork.

The handsome house was home to Randolph Reinhart in the 1890s; then after the turn of the century was owned by Charles E. Harrington and his wife, Josephine.    Harrington had long been a newspaperman, first in Chicago and then, almost directly after his marriage to Chicago debutante Josephine Glassbrook, in New York.

In 1881 he was still working for The Chicago Times as a correspondent.  He received a message from his managing editor shortly after midnight on April 13 that read “Sail on the first steamer.  Get the Revised Testament.  If you succeed, a fortune is yours.”  The “Revised Testament” was the revised edition of the Bible’s New Testament which had been worked on for years by scholars and theologians.  Every newspaper in the Western world desperately wanted to break the story.

On December 29, 1907 the Washington D. C. Evening Star recalled “The whole world was anxious to know what radical changes had been made in the sacred book; and a Chicago newspaper determined to get the book in advance of regular publication and issue it in its regular daily edition as the biggest piece of news of the day.”

The English and American publications of the “English Revised Version” were to hit the bookstores simultaneously on May 12.  Harrington had little time to cross the Atlantic, somehow get his hands on a pre-publication copy, and get back to the United States.   After a nearly-miraculous series of events, Harrington beat out all the other journalists, providing his newspaper the revised text and the international scoop.

It was perhaps this outstanding journalistic achievement that landed Harrington his job as correspondent with The New York Times.   He rose to Assistant City Editor, and by 1910 was Exchange Editor on The Wall Street Journal.

That was the year that Josephine Glassbrook Harrington died in the house in February after a long illness.  The title of the residence was in her name, as was common practice.  It passed to a relative “K. Glassbrook.”

Intricate, crisp terra cotta forms swirl below the parlor openings.

Charles E. Huntington soon moved to No. 109 West 90^thStreet.  The 78^th Street house was leased by the Glassbrooks.  In 1912 the well-to-do family of James B. Shaw was living here.  On October 20 that year The New York Timesmentioned that Mrs. Shaw “will return from a long Western trip in about a fortnight.”

When Grace Gruber leased the house “for a term of years” it was still in the possession of K. Glassbrook.  It appears that, although no serious internal alterations were made, there would soon be several renters in the house simultaneously.  “Madame Florin” listed the house as her address in 1918, and in 1922 Dr. Duncan Mactavish Fuller was living here when attorney C. W. Zaring rented an “apartment suite.”

That would all change by 1928 when Madame Giuseppe Gaudenzi purchased the house.  Born Edith Watkins in 1881 in St. Thomas, Ontario, she sang opera internationally.   In the first decade of the 20^th century she was married.  No longer performing, she was a well-known operatic coach.  On December 18, 1910 The Buffalo Courier noted “Signor Giuseppe Gaudenzi, the young Italian tenor, who has been spending the summer in Buffalo coaching with his teacher, Mrs. Edith Watkins Griswold…has been enthusiastically received in the South.”   A Florida newspaper agreed, and mentioned Edith as well.  “Everywhere this artist has met with the most flattering reception which is of course a gratification to his teacher, Mrs. Griswold, whose pupil he was in Italy during her residence there of several years.”

Perhaps not surprisingly, the tenor with what The Buffalo Courier said was a “handsome presence” and his operatic coach were married on June 10, 1916.  What became of Mr. Griswold is unclear.

Referring to herself now as Mme. Giuseppe Gaudenzi, Edith ensconced herself in No. 129 West 78^th Street.  Her Italian tenor husband came and went.  On July 29, 1928 an upstate newspaper mentioned “Mme. Gaudenzi has a beautiful studio in New York and is a noted vocal teacher and operatic coach.  Mr. Gaudenzi divides his time between America and his home in Bologna, Italy, and comes from a distinguished family in the latter city.”

It would seem that Gaudenzi eventually did not return.  The census of 1938-1940 shows Edith living here—and using her maiden name—along with her sister-in-law, Edith Simpson Dunn (Marie V. Watkins had married Thomas Warren Dunn in 1925), and a maid.  There were also two male roomers in the house.

It was the last year that Edith would live on West 78^thStreet.   She moved to Plainfield, New Jersey to live with her sister, where she died on October 24, 1942.  On September 28, 1940 The New York Times reported that she had sold No. 129 West 78^th Street to real estate operator M. C. Berg.  The newspaper noted that it “contains ten rooms and three baths” and was assessed at $19,000—about $300,000 today.

In 1983 the house was converted to apartments—one spacious triplex and a single apartment on the top floor.  It would be a short-lived conversion.  In 2004 it was returned to a single family home; at which time the façade was restored and the grisly coating of red and white paint that defiled the other five homes in the row was removed.

The exceptional restoration of the exterior was not matched inside.  Although the renovation was upscale, the 21^st century obsession with “an open floor plan” resulted in the loss of original walls and details.  The house and its five neighbors, however, represent rare examples of Rafael Guastivino designs.  After 1885 he focused on his Guastavino Fireproof Construction Company; working with preeminent architects on projects and rarely acting as principal architect.

Stained glass details survive at the parlor level and the third floor.

 photographs by the author

The Lush 1893 Decker Building -- 33 Union Square West

Potted palms wave below the fanciful minaret in this 1893 print. -- author's collection

When the German-born John Jacob Decker left his job with the Bradbury piano manufacturing company in 1856, he and his brother invested their life savings of $4000 to set up a new firm. Before long Decker Brothers’ square pianos were ranked among the best in the industry.

By the end of the Civil War the firm’s business was such that they required a building of their own and in 1869 commissioned Leopold Eidlitz to design an elaborate building on Union Square. Here the fashionable residential area was just beginning to give was to commercial interests.

Sitting among the brownstone residences, Eidlitz’s four-story building stood out in stark contrast. Its multi-colored façade with Venetian arcades and fanciful Victorian Gothic detailing was, at the very least, nonconformist.

Pianos at the time were highly popular parlor fixtures. Well-bred young girls were necessarily schooled in piano and after-dinner recitals were de rigueur. Every household that could afford a piano had one; and the absence of the instrument mutely spoke of the family’s financial condition.

Years later in 1919 Music Trades magazine would remember that Decker Brothers “was always included in the first five or six manufacturers of pianos of distinction.” That reputation and success necessitated a larger building and in 1892 the brothers hired the architectural firm of Alfred Zucker to design a new headquarters.

Colorful and controversial John Edelmann was given the project. Edelmann was an outspoken anarchist whose radical viewpoint resulted in his expulsion from the Socialist Labor Party. He was not only a friend, but a mentor to the fledgling Chicago architect Louis Sullivan.

Working with a narrow plot – the 30 foot width of the original brownstone house that the Deckers razed for their first building – Edelmann’s design outdid the Venetian fantasy he replaced. Completed in 1883, it was an amalgamation of Venetian and Moorish elements with balconies, exuberant terra cotta panels of Islamic motifs, cast iron filigree and, topping it all, a domed minaret.

A year after its completion J. S. Johnson captured the Decker Building, clearly dwarfing its neighbors, on film. -- nypl collection

Decker Brothers occupied the first two floors with the great expanse of glass for their “piano rooms.” Alfred Zucker moved his offices into the top level and the intermediate floors were leased out. The building rose 11 floors, making it the tallest building on the Square.

Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly was quick to review the new building. “The most beautiful of recent high and narrow structures, and representing in its latest development terra-cotta walls and skeleton construction, is the Decker Building, on Union Square,” it said in its July 1893 issue. “It has the advantage of facing a broad public square, which few of the high structures of Perpendicular New York have, and excites unusual attention because of its appearance and its height.”

Pitman’s Journal of Commercial Education, whose offices moved into the building shortly after its completion, chimed in. “The Decker Building is furnished throughout with every modern invention for saving time and trouble.” The article described the latest and best elevators, including a freight elevator “for raising supplies of every description” and a “mail shoot” that made possible dispatching letters without leaving one’s office. The essence of modernity, “the building is lighted by the electric light.”

Union Square was the epicenter, by now, of fashionable commerce. The year the Decker Building opened, a special correspondent from The Daily Chronicle compared it to London’s Trafalgar Square saying “Imagine a large square with buildings of all shape and sizes, from a squat three-story old-fashioned house to a slender pile which towers up thirteen stories into mid air – offices, shops, hotels, restaurants, theatre, all round; the whole having a much more continental than English aspect reminding you now of Brussels and then of Munich, with elements distinctively American.”

George W. Shiebler & Co., silversmiths took over the third floor, which The Jewelers’ Circular and Horological Review called “one of the most perfect business lofts to be found in that section of the metropolis.” The sales room was fitted out in mahogany, in the rear were offices and counting rooms and a “hotel room” for visiting wholesale buyers. Behind these were the packing and polishing departments.

Not everyone was thrilled with Edelmann’s ebullient façade. In the April 1894 issue of The Engineering Magazine Barr Ferree called it “a building afflicted with the smallpox.” The critic felt that eleven stories were quite enough, “a fact which must be obvious to everyone save the maker of the design, who has stretched it out at the top by means of an absurd tower that is rendered more absurd by the hipped roof pinned on on either side of it.”

Ferree went on to insult Edelmann personally, saying his design “succeeds only in telling how little the man who made it knew what he was about. This is not unimportant in itself, but it is a pity the information had to be given in so permanent and visible a form”  He summed up his review saying “The raising of the other buildings will not improve it, though it will lessen its aggressiveness. Fortunately the cable cars go pretty fast here.”

Ferree’s scathing opinion of the Decker Building was in the minority and Edelmann’s elaborate façade was highly praised; even the often-irascible Real Estate Record and Guide called it “highly artistic.”

Other early tenants included The Globe Review, a quarterly review of “literature, society, religion, art and politics” – in short everything. In 1894 the National School of Electricity established its headquarters here and in 1897 theatrical manager Joseph Arthur had his offices in the building.

In 1902 the advertising agency George Ethridge Co. started business in one room on the 7th Floor. Business boomed and two years later the firm took nearly the entire 9th Floor. The Women’s Municipal League set up its headquarters here in 1903 and architect Arnold W. Brunner moved in a year later.

A threat came to the Decker Building in 1902 when ground was broken for the foundation for architect Bruce Price’s Bank of the Metropolis. The deep foundation necessary to uphold the new bank building meant that the Decker foundations would be undermined. If remedial actions were not taken, the Decker Building could face collapse.

photo by Alice Lum

The entire south wall – weighting 76,000 pounds per foot – was lifted 1/8 of an inch and placed on double tiers of massive steel beams. The shallow foundations were then blasted out and deeper ones were build on the bedrock. It was, at the turn of the century, an engineering marvel.

Renowned artist Isabel Bishop had her studio on the 4th Floor beginning in 1934, remaining here until 1978 painting and drawing inspiration from the much-changed Union Square below.

More notable than Bishop, however, was Andy Warhol who moved his studio, called the “Factory,” to the 6th Floor in 1968. It was here on June 3 that same year that playwright Valerie Solanas waited patiently for Warhol and art critic Mario Amaya to return. When they did, Solanas shot them both, hitting Warhol three times.

Solanas, who felt Warhol was attempting to wrest a screenplay from her, surrendered to police shortly after. She was sentenced to three years in prison. Warhol remained in the Decker Building until 1974.

By the time the Windsor Construction company purchased the building through foreclosure in 1994 it had been sorely abused. The elaborate storefront had been obliterated, the fanciful minaret had long ago disappeared and the balconies had been stripped away.

Joseph Pell Lombardi's restoration replaced the missing balconies -- photo by Alice Lum

While they planned a conversion to residential use, the firm commissioned well-known preservation architect Joseph Pell Lombardi to restore the façade. Lombardi replicated the first floor where Decker’s pianos were once proudly on display and reconstructed the missing balconies and other details.

photo by Alice Lum

Although it was part of restoration discussions, the minaret did not make the final plans.

The only Edelmannn structure to survive in New York City, the Decker Building now has commercial space on the first floor and 18 residential units above. It stands as a remarkable example of fanciful Victorian architecture, a true gem on Union Square.

An 1893 Moorish Fantasy -- No. 256 Fifth Avenue

photo by Alice Lum

In the 1870s West 23rd Street from Fifth Avenue to Eighth Avenue had taken over as the entertainment district of Manhattan. Opera houses, theatres and music halls dotted the thoroughfare, promoting the construction of hotels and commercial buildings in the area.

Charles A. Baudouine purchased the plot at 256 Fifth Avenue, between 28th and 29th Street and began construction of a retail store and loft building in 1892. Baudouine had been an important furniture maker whose high-end Rococo-style furniture graced the parlors of New York’s wealthy and rivaled that of cabinet makers like John Henry Belter.

He retired in 1856 and turned his interests to real estate. For this project he commissioned architects Alfred Zucker and John H. Edelman. The six-story building, completed in 1893, would be one of the most interesting and unusual in the entire area.

Intricate pressed terra cotta encases the facade -- photo by Alice Lum

With fanciful abandon, the architects combined historic styles into a conglomeration loosely termed Moorish Revival today. The light colored brick façade is slathered in matching terra cotta. Two-story columns are banded and laced, intricate arabesques twine around the second story windows and rounded arches are capped with Gothic points. The face of the structure was broken by an ornate projecting balcony at the sixth floor.

Among the first tenants were apparel merchants. In its February 1894 issue, The Clothier and Furnisher reported “E. A. Newell will move from his old store, where he has been for many years…to his new store at 256 Fifth Avenue, in the handsome, new white-stone building recently erected.”

Rupert A. Ryler Co., tailors, also moved in, advertising “all the latest novelties in fine special cloths, golf suits, knickerbockers, mufti, tattersalls, vestings, and a host of others.”

Terra cotta blends with brick to form texture and dimension -- photo by Alice Lum

The building’s prestige was heightened when esteemed portrait photographer Napoleon Sarony established his studio here. Many of the popular “cabinet cards” featuring theatrical stars were shot by Sarony and the building’s proximity to the theatre district was ideal.

In February 1905 Braun, Clement & Co., leased the store along with the basement and second floor. The firm sold “carbon prints,” reproductions of “old and modern masters in the leading public and private art galleries of Europe.” The store offered over 100,000 different images.

Harry Rapp ran his Market Representative Company here in 1916--buyers of dress goods and designs for apparel manufacturers most of which were in the West.  Yet the 45-year old Rapp was discouraged about his business and his wife had recently separated from him.

The defeated executive’s body was found on the shore of Block Island, Rhode Island after he failed to appear at his office for several days.

By this time the theatre district had shifted northward to Times Square and upscale manufacturers like Royal Copenhagen Porcelain made their home here.

photo by Alice Lum

Unfortunately, in the latter part of the 20th Century the unique storefront designed by Zucker and Edelman was ripped off, replaced by a flat polished stone façade identical to hundreds of others. Sometime before 2001 the sixth-story balcony was removed, leaving vacant slots in the decoration where the supporting brackets had been.

Voids remain where the brackets and sides of the sixth floor balcony once met the facade -- photo by Alice Lum

Despite this architectural vandalism, almost all of 256 Fifth Avenue remains intact; what the AIA Guide to New York City calls “a Venetian-Gothic phantasmagoria in terra cotta,”

The Lost 1882 Casino Theatre -- 39th Street and Broadway

Postcard from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York  http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

In 1882 New York City’s entertainment and theater district was firmly rooted along 23^rd Street.  But that year Rudolph Aronson made a daring and risky move.  He built a grandiose theater sixteen blocks to the north—far too remote to be successful, according to common opinion.

Aronson, who was a prolific composer, had been the manager of the Metropolitan Concert Hall.  Now he sought to create a venue for mostly light musicals and operetta.   He convinced influential Manhattan businessmen—among them Jay Gould, Louis C. Tiffany, Cornelius Vanderbilt and J. P. Morgan—to finance the precarious project.   Architects Francis Kimball and Thomas Wisedell were given the commission to design the uptown theater.  And if the location did not draw patrons, the architecture certainly did.

The fantastic structure sat at the southeast corner of Broadway and 39^th Street and was called by some “the best example of Moorish architecture in the country.”  The description was a bit overstated, but the brick and terra cotta building was indeed eye-catching.

In 1896, when this photograph was taken, the roof garden had been added -- Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York, http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

Horseshoe arches, arcades and a soaring corner tower combined to make the theater unlike any other of the time.  The architects compounded the Moorish theme inside with brilliant metallic colors, a jewel-laced velvet stage curtain, boxes encrusted with carved arabesque patterns, and an intricate auditorium ceiling of fans, arches and filigree details.

The ornate plasterwork was studded with artificial jewels -- Byron Company, photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York, http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

Aronson’s forward thinking resulted in firsts for New Yorkers.  The 1,300 seat theater would become the first in to be lit by electricity.  It boasted an attractive café; it too smothered in Moorish detailing.

Opening night was on October 21, 1882 with the Strauss operetta Queen’s Lace Handkerchief.    Unfortunately, it was a stormy night and construction had not been completed.  Well-dressed patrons sat below a dripping ceiling.  Despite the less-its less than perfect debut, the theater endured.

Fancy wicker furniture (albeit non-matching) furnished the orchestra boxes.  An electric fan provided air circulation -- Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

Aronson’s initial productions were lavish adaptations of European and British comic operas.   The gamble paid off.  Later The New York Times would remark that “The Casino became the recognized home of light and comic opera in New York.”  Aronson scored tremendous hits with Nell Gwynn and the enormously successful Erminie which ran some 1,200 performances.

The Moorish motif spread into the cafe -- Byron Company, p hoto from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York  http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

Throughout the years the Casino would be responsible for the stardom of entertainers like Lillian Russell, De Wolf Hopper, Jefferson De Angelis, Marie Dressler and Francis Wilson.  In 1890 Aronson introduced another first—the first roof garden in the country.  The breeze-cooled roof venue meant that Aronson could operate year-round.

The roof garden audience stands to get a glimpse of the performance -- 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=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

That same year unknown Italian composer Pietro Mascagni took Rome by storm when his Cavalleria Rusticana won a competition staged by publisher Edoardo Sonzogno.  The one-act opera premiered on May 17, 1890 in the Teatro Costanzi and was a phenomenal triumph.  It was just the sort of production Aronson looked for.

photo by Bryan Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

On October 1, 1891 The Casino premiered Cavalleria Rusticana in America with a matinee performance.  That evening Oscar Hammerstein opened his house with a production of the same opera.  It created what The New York Times would gently describe as “a famous incident.”

The mosaic floor of the lobby imitated an Oriental carpet -- Kurtz Brothers, photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

In 1894 came another first.  The Passing Show was the first American revue.  Then four years later the roof garden staged the premier of The Origin of the Cake Walk; or Clorindy.  It was the first African-American musical to be presented before a white audience.

The Casino would break ground again in 1899 when it staged the English musical Floradora.  It introduced the chorus line to America and became one of the most famous productions in Broadway history.  The “Floradora Girls” ignited the trend of chorus girl revues that lasted throughout the 20^thcentury.

Floradora would become on of Broadway's greatest hits -- Byron Company, photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

So popular was the beautiful chorus line that a musical, The Casino Girl, was written in 1900, based on the fictitious exploits of one of the girls.

Early in February that year the curtain caught fire from the footlights during a performance.  One patron described the scene.  “The house was packed, with seats all full and hundreds standing in the rear.  As the flames spread and crackled it was almost beyond human sense to hope for safety.” 

Cool heads prevailed however.  “The men on the stage acted with the utmost coolness, and must have credit for their share in averting a calamity, but their bravery would have availed little had not their efforts been seconded by the people on the floor.  At the first sign of fire men in all parts of the house stood up on the seats and urged the people to keep cool and not stampede.

“Women, more excitable, as a rule, attempted to make their way to the rear, but men stood in the aisles and prevented a stampede and panic  It was a spectacle to make every one proud of our American type of manhood.”

Disaster was averted; but five years later the theater, now managed by the Shubert organization, would be less lucky.  On February 12, 1905 The New York Timesreported that “Broadway between Herald Square and Times Square was thrown into wild excitement shortly after noon yesterday by a fire in the Casino Theatre, where Lillian Russell has been playing in ‘Lady Teazle.’”

Over one hundred chorus girls were in the house rehearsing, but everyone escaped unharmed.  The theater itself did not fare as well.   Stage hands scrambled to rescue props and expensive sets.

“Seldom has Thirty-ninth Street witnessed such a scene,” said The Times.  “Out of the stage entrance came a line of men, bearing everything, from pink silk slippers to bulky scenery…There were the ancestral portraits which Charles Surface auctions off  in the play and silk goods of every hue.  There were beflowered skirts and powdered wigs, decanters, ribbons, and petticoats, picture hats—and everything else that has any part in the setting of ‘Lady Teazle.’”

Although the magnificent auditorium was not threatened by the fire, it was heavily damaged by water.  “After the firemen turned off their hose it was more like a swimming pool than a theatre,” said the newspaper.  “The red plush seats had become red sponges, the marble floors were three or four inches deep in water, and streams fell from the ceiling to add to the flood.”

The serious damage prompted Fire Chief Croker to tell reporters that “the fire would lead to certain alterations that the Fire Department had long demanded.”  Lillian Russell looked on the bright side.

“Just think of what it would have been two hours later.  Personally, I consider that I got off very light.  Not only was I not in the fire, but my costumes, valued at about $5,000, were all saved. Lillian Spencer, a girl who played with me thirteen years ago, got them out of my dressing room.”

The building was closely examined by the fire department and the main structure was deemed “absolutely perfect.”   Nevertheless it would be ten full months before the renovated theater reopened. 

Over the next two decades the Casino would stage memorable performances like Vagabond King in 1925 and Desert Song the following year.  It was also the highly-anticipated scene every year of the Kiddie Klub Christmas performance.  The management donated the use of theater for free Christmas presentations for New York children. 

The operators of the Kiddie Klub understandably desired to maintain good favor with the Casino.  On December 12, 1922 it reminded its little club members that “There are one or two ways in which we can show our gratitude to Messrs. Shubert for having given us their fine, big playhouse.  The first is to be very quiet and well behaved, another is to keep the theatre clean.”

Ironically, by the time of the Great Depression, the Casino Theatre was again in a remote neighborhood from the entertainment district.  On January 4, 1930 The Timesreported that “The Casino, once the furthest north of the uptown playhouses, has seen the theatrical district march by it, until now, with the passing of the Knickerbocker, only the Garrick, of the so-called Broadway theatres, remains below it.”

The theater, which the newspaper said “has housed some of the biggest musical comedy successes of the American theatre,” was doomed.  “Lee Shubert said yesterday that he understood the theatre would be torn down and a large commercial structure erected on its site.”

photo by Bryon Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1G3M68RH&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1

Two weeks later the final performance was held.  The Times reported “With a performance by the American Opera Company of ‘Faust’ last night at the Casino Theatre, the career of that house was brought to a close after almost fifty years in which it had been devoted principally to musical productions.”

In place of the Casino Theatre rose a soaring modern office building.  Before long the theater that introduced the roof garden, the chorus line, African-American casts and electrically-lit theaters to American audiences was forgotten.

photo by the author

Back from the Ashes -- Central Synagogue

When the little Congregation Ahawath Chesed decided to move from their Ludlow Street synagogue where they had been since 1846, they set out to impress. 

And impress they did.

Numbering only 150 families, the German Reform congregation chose Henry Fernbach to design their new building.  Fernbach was a Jewish German immigrant who had come to the U.S. in 1855 and would go on to make his mark in two widely divergent architectural venues:  cast iron commercial buildings and Moorish Revival synagogues.

The fashionable 19th Century architectural styles had posed a problem for synagogue designers for decades.  Gothic Revival was heavily used for Christian churches, while Greek Revival smacked of a tradition of pagan worship.  Moorish Revival, however, harkened back to the pre-Inquisition days when Jews enjoyed relative freedom in Spain.

Central Synagogue 1892 -- photo NYPL Collection

On the site at Lexington Avenue and 55th Street, Fernbach built for the tiny congregation a grand synagogue inspired by the Dohany Street Synagogue of Budapest.  Twin octagonal towers rose 122 feet, topped by polychromed and gilded onion domes.  A huge central rose window dominated the Lexington facade while two-story arched stained glass windows lined the sides.

Fernbach, reportedly the first Jewish architect in the U.S., used contrasting horizontal bands of stone, Moorish stone arches and exuberant roofline crenellation for dramatic effect.  When it was completed in 1872 with only a few buildings around it, the synagogue was -- as intended -- impressive.

More so, however, was the spacious interior which could accomodate 1000.  Fernbach's High Victorian interpretation of the Moorish theme blanketed the surfaces with colorful and intricate stenciling.  Deep, vivid colors like crimson and cobalt, burst from the walls.  Gold stars against the deep blue ceiling represented the heavens above the worshippers.

Fire damaged the synagogue in 1886; however the interior was restored using the original 1872 plans; reclaiming the inticate stenciling and colors. 

In 1898 Shaar Hashomayim merged with Ahawath Chesed and in 1915 the name was changed to Central Synagogue.

As the middle of the 20th Century neared, the congregation decided to refurbish the aging building.  In 1949 they engaged Ely Jacques Kahn, who designed several skycrapers and simliar commercial structures.  Not a fan of historic preservation, Kahn's plan instead was a make-over. 

His updating called for, among other things, the painting over of the Victorian stencilwork and replacing the Moorish chandeliers with Art Deco fixtures.  Much of Ferbach's lavish ornamentation was stripped away.  The exterior was, happily, relatively untouched save for the removal of the roofline crenellation.  Years later architect Hugh Hardy would explain Kahn's renovation to The New Yorker as "He was embarrassed by all this decoration—you can see how he simplified it."

fire damge 1998 - photo by Central Synagogue

Kahn's mid-century designs would still be in place were it not for the devastating fire that tore through Central Synagogue in 1998.  Started by a welder's torch, the fire destroyed the roof, which collapsed into the interior.  Because of water damage, 85 percent of the decorated surfaces were destroyed.

To many it appeared that Central Synagogue was lost.

But for the intrepid congregation "lost" was not an option.  Hugh Hardy, who had restored several other New York City landmarks like Radio City Music Hall and The Rainbow Room, took up the challenge.  The stained glass windows were in shards.  Shattered pieces of encaustic tiles littered the ashes.  Sunlight streamed through the void where the ceiling had been.

Molds were made of the chunks of decorative plasterwork before they were discarded.  Drawings were done to document the sequence and placement of the ornamentation.  Enough original glass from the windows was salvaged to restore one full window -- which was dedicated to the firemen who saved the building.  The remaining windows were reproduced using the original designs, photographs and matching glass.

Referring to as much pre-Kahn documentation as could be found, Hardy's plan to bring Central Synagogue back to its Victorian splendor took shape.  When completed, the mid-20th Century constraints were gone.  "What we have done is much more exuberant than what people here are used to, but it is original to the building," Hardy told The New Yorker. "Now the building is as raucous as ever."

Craftsmen, using 19th Century methods, painstakingly revived the interior.  More than 5000 stencils were applied to the walls and ceiling by hand, using 69 colors.  The pews were reproduced in walnut and ash to match the originals and they sit on flooring consisting of 4,000 square feet of multi-colored encaustic and quarry tiles.  Of the 40,000 tiles only 10,000 of the originals could be salvaged.  The remaining tiles were hand-made in England.  While the exquisite ark miraculously survived the fire, it required careful cleaning, reguilding, refinishing, and partial repainting.

Today the stars twinkle on a cobalt sky over the heads of the worshippers at Central Synagogue once again.






interior photographs by Central Synagogue

The Lost Hoffman House Hotel -- Broadway and 25th Street

The Hoffman House with its annex on the corner was among the grandest of New York City hotels. -- photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

By the time of the Civil War change was already coming to the Fifth Avenue neighborhood around Madison Square.  The first incursions of commerce into the exclusive residential district were high-end hotels and one of the first was the Hoffman House.

Another hotel, the Brunswick, was already in operation at the northern end of the park in 1864.  That year the Brunswick’s proprietors, Read & Mitchell, left to open the elegant Hoffman House nearby on Broadway between 24^thand 25^th Streets.   Around three years later Mitchell retired, leaving the 35-year old Cassius H. Read as sole proprietor of the hotel.

The stretch of Broadway from 23^rd Street to 25^thwas soon lined with hotels—the grand Fifth Avenue Hotel at the corner of 23^rd, the Albermarle at 24^th with the Hoffman House next door and its “new annex” of about 1870 reaching to the corner.   At the opposite corner of Broadway and 26^th Street was the famous Delmonico’s Restaurant, familiarly known to New Yorkers as “Del’s.”



An 1870 brochure depicted the original 1864 structure (left) and the annex on the corner.

The combined hotel and annex contained 300 “elegant rooms and bath-rooms, with all modern conveniences, at prices ranging from $2 per day and upwards,” boasted an advertisement in 1870.  “The Cusine [sic] is Parisian, and unexcelled.”

The Hoffman House would become internationally known for its “grand salon,” or bar in the 1880s--but prior to that the hotel was remarkable for its lavish decorations, artwork and cuisine.  William Ballantine, in his “The Old World and the New,” noted “Their preparations of ‘beef-steaks’ in different forms, and under different names, are really good, and partake of the character of old English cookery.  Of course everything is expensive, and l’addition proclaims in no unmistakable language that its recipient has been dining in the midst of gilt and looking-glass.”

Eyebrows were no doubt raised when, on January 22, 1870, the New York Herald reported on sisters Victoria C. Woodhull and Tennessee (Tennie) C. Claflin who had taken Parlors No. 25 and 26.  The women were newsworthy because they had ventured bravely into a male-only domain: that of stockbrokers.

The Herald described Parlor No. 25 as “profusely decorated with oil paintings and statuary and…furnished with a sofa, chairs, a piano and the various other articles, useful and ornamental, which go to the make up of a ladies’ drawing room.”

Feminists before their time, the sisters undauntedly responded to the reporter’s questions.

“It is a novel sign to see a woman go on the street as a stock operator, and I presume you find it rather awkward?” he asked.

Tennie Claflin fired back “Were I to notice what is said by what they call ‘society,’ I would never leave my apartments except in fantastic walking dress or in my ballroom costume; but I despise what squeamy, crying girls or powdered counter-jumping dandies say of me.  I think a woman is just as capable of making a living as a man.”

The stock broker sisters would set the tone for decades to come.

In the meantime, the Hoffman was the favorite rendezvous for Democratic politicians, while the Fifth Avenue Hotel was popular among Republicans.  The Sun would later comment “But it was more than that.  It was the centre of a large sporting interest.  On the eve of every important election, every college football game or other vital event into which entered some element of chance it was at the Hoffman that one learned just what were the betting odds, and it was there large sums were staked on the issue…After the great football games the ‘rah-rah boys’ flocked to the Hoffman House bar to celebrate, and the brawny staff had their work cut out to restrain the celebrants within bounds.”

The hotel lured celebrities, politicians and writers.  Sarah Bernhardt took suites here when in New York and noted guests would include Grover Cleveland, Buffalo Bill Code, Tony Pastor, John L. Sullivan, General Winfield Scott and others.

Famed actress Sarah Bernhardt strikes a post at the Hoffman House in 1888 -- photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

In 1883 Read took on Edward S. Stokes as partner.  It was a move her would regret.   

Stokes had been a guest at the Hoffman House in 1872 when he was arrested for the murder of James Fisk, Jr. on January 6.    While being held in The Tombs, he sent for Read and asked him to take care of his affairs.

Although the first jury sentenced Stokes to hang; he obtained a second trial.  When he was again convicted of first degree murder he was granted yet a third trial.  This time he was found guilty of murder in the second degree and spent four years at Sing Sing prison.

During his absence, Read diligently stored his personal property and looked after his Wall Street interests.  In addition, he gave the murderer a personal loan of $1,500.  Immediately upon his release from prison, Stokes went to Read “who supplied him with all the money he needed,” said The New York Times.

Although Stokes’s name would forever be linked to the infamous murder, Read stood by him.  The pair were involved with several business ventures until finally Read offered him a one-third partnership in the hotel.

Soon thereafter the hotel would acquire a single piece of artwork that would make its barroom internationally known.   In 1873 artist Willilam-Adolphe Bouguereau had painted what he considered to be one of his most important works, “Nymphs and Satyr.”   The large painting was exhibited that year in Paris and purchased by the American art collector John Wolfe.  Considered scandalous by many for its depiction of naked nymphs frolicking with an equally-naked satyr, it was later sold at auction and hung in the Hoffman House barroom.

A stereopticon view discreetly blurred the painting under the red velvet canopy -- Library of Congress

William Ballantine wrote in 1884 “A magnificent entrance hall contains many very exquisite works of art—amongst others, a large picture of modern date by a native artist, representing a mythological old gentleman, who has apparently given offence to a number of nymphs, who are about to execute ‘Lynch Law’ by consigning him to a pool of neighbouring water; really, as far as I am able to judge, it is a very fine work, and is an object of interest both to the citizens and to strangers.”

Intricate tiled floors, a carved and stenciled ceiling, tapestries and "bric-a-brac" take second stage to the Bouguereau painting in the saloon -- photograph from the Collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Indeed it was an object of interest and visitors to New York made a special pilgrimage to gawk that the naked buttocks of the feminine subjects.  A red velvet, gold-fringed canopy sheltered the painting from the glare of gas lights.  It was cleverly positioned directly across from the large plate glass mirror behind the bar so that patrons could discreetly inspect the painting in the reflection.

Bartenders in the café were astonished on Sunday afternoon, July 27, 1885, when a policeman entered the decorous establishment.  Excise laws permitted the sale of alcohol on Sundays only as part of a meal—a point of law that caused a disagreement between police and bartenders.

“The neat, white-aproned bartenders of the Hoffman House were serving liquid nourishment to the gentlemen who sat at the mahogany tables among the bric-a-brac yesterday afternoon, when every one stood aghast at the entrance of Police Officer Samuel Ward, of the Twenty-ninth Precinct.  Bartender William F. Mulhall had just intrusted [sic] a waiter with a vermouth cocktail and a glass of frozen Kummel for a brace of dudes who were sitting at a table under a photograph of Judie, when Officer Ward arrested him.”

Frederick Loud, manager of the bar, protested “We are within the law because we do not sell anything to drink unless the customer has something to eat.”  When Mulhall was released, he returned to the hotel and “sold liquor as usual.”

Despite his having committed murder and despite the scandalous painting hanging in the salon-café, Edward S. Stokes would have no rumor of untoward goings-on in the hotel.  When Lord Lonsdale, manager of the British actress Violet Cameron called on her at the Hoffman House on September 27, 1886, Stokes asked to see him immediately.

Rumors were rampant concerning the married actress and Lord Lonsdale; causing Stokes to insist that the actress change hotels.  The Times reported that he told Lord Lonsdale “that he was running a family hotel, and that he felt sure that in view of all the circumstances of the case the 30 families that were living in the house would be annoyed at Miss Cameron’s presence.  He was compelled to protect his hotel from any breath of scandal that might find its way into it.”

In 1893 Stokes proposed that the old annex at the corner of 25^th Street be replaced with a modern structure.  The new “Moorish” style addition, designed by architect George Edward Harding, opened in 1894—a stark contrast to the old, original hotel.  A picturesque Moorish loggia that wrapped the second floor was echoed along the uppermost story.

An 1889 stereopticon view captured the ornate "parlor" -- Library of Congress

In the meantime, Cassius H. Read who had given Stokes financial help and a job was in trouble.   When he took in Stokes, the hotel became a “stock company,” or corporation.   Read’s personal worth was about $700,000—nearly $15 million today. 

The New York Times would later recount that “gradually Mr. Stokes managed to get control of the majority of the stock and elevate himself to the position of President…A series of unsuccessful business ventures followed and Mr. Read’s fortune kept dwindling.  In 1895 he was forced out of the hotel business and he had lived a life of seclusion ever since.”

Three years later Stokes sold his interest to Graham & Polly; leaving the hotel business as rich as Read was now poor.

In 1895 the hotel had upgraded its kitchens with a modern innovation:  gas ranges.  The novel idea was such that The New York Times felt it was worth reporting.  “One of the pleasantest places in the city to dine during the past Summer was in the eleventh-story dining room of the Hoffman House,” it said.  “Probably, however, many of those who went there to enjoy the coolness and the view and the music did not know that all the food served wa cooked entirely by gas."

In 1888 the annex had been replaced with a "Moorish" addition and the original building had gained three floors on the roof -- photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The newspaper had little patience for those who were cautious about the new technology.  “The Hoffman House standard is well known in the hotel world, and its hearty approval of gas for cooking disposes at once of a great many stupid and ignorant objections that one sometimes hears urged.”

The Democrats continued to use the Hoffman House as their meeting place—sometimes to the disgruntlement of paying guests.   On June 5, 1900 the New-York Tribune reported that “The Bryan Democrats had a field day yesterday.  All morning and afternoon they thronged the corridors of the Hoffman House, packed the barroom, jammed the writing room and café, and overflowed into the street.  They came with a whoop and a howl, and they kept up a flail-like swinging of arms, a tremendous din of argument and a made scrambling to be seen and heard.  They were as noisy and disorderly as the law allowed, and made themselves as objectionable to the regular guests of the hotel as possible.”

On July 14, 1904 the management announced that the original portion of the Hoffman House—filling two thirds of the block—would be razed and a new section built.   The replacement building would be in the “Moorish Renaissance style” more in keeping with the annex, they said.  The Times noted that “An interesting landmark which will go with the ‘old Hoffman’ is the café on the Twenty-fourth Street side of the house, which has been known for years because of its pictures.”

The new building opened in October 1907 and was remarkable for its architecture which, in no way, imitated nor attempted to meld with the architecture of the Moorish-influenced annex. The Times, however, reported that “Built of white limestone, it harmonizes well with the Moorish style of what is now the ‘old’ part of the hotel.”

The 1907 replacement of the original hotel buildling (center) spelled the end of the Hoffman House.  At the left is the Albermarle Hotel.  photo from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Earlier that year, in August, the well-known lecturer, writer, and suffragist Harriot Stanton Blatch and a friend had spent the afternoon in the Women’s University Club.  Upon leaving Blatch invited her companion to dinner.  They entered the Hoffman House, but debated about the advisability of going to the roof garden—they were, after all, unescorted.

A young man at the clerk’s desk assured them they could have supper on the roof, so they took the elevator up.  As they sat, the waiter asked if they had an escort and, when they admitted they did not, he asked them to leave.

Embarrassed and angry, Blatch insisted on seeing “someone in authority,” and was taken to the office.  After hearing the story, the women were told “I am very sorry, but that is the regulation of the house, and we cannot make any exceptions in its application.  We do this for the protection of just such ladies as you are.  We do it to keep out objectionable women; women of the type you would not like to have dining in the same room with you.”

Harriot Stanton Blatch retorted “I have never been bothered by objectionable women.  When I have been annoyed it has been by men.  I do not suppose you make any effort to keep objectionable men out.”

The activist’s subsequent law suit against the hotel’s management caused consternation among some women.  On November 30, 1907 a headline in the New-York Tribune read “Women Fear to Offend Hotel by Discussing Mrs. Blatch’s Case.”

The timing of the upgrading of the hotel could not have been worse.   When the main building was closed for demolition and rebuilding, the operation sustained a great loss of income during a prosperous period in the hotel business.  When the new building opened, the country was suffering the Financial Panic of 1907.   In 1910 the Hoffman House went into bankruptcy.

The hotel staggered along for another four years before finally closing its doors for good in March 1915.  A month earlier the announcement was made that both the Albermarle and Hoffman House would be demolished to be replaced with a sixteen-story store and loft building.

For nearly half a century Bouguereau's "Nymphs and Satyr" was kept in hiding -- Sterling & Francine Clark Art Institute

The scandalous painting “Nymphs and Satyr” was purchased and stored in a warehouse where the buyer hoped to shield the public from its “offensive” content.  It was rediscovered in storage in 1942 by Robert Sterling Clark and exhibited in the Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute in the Berkshire mountains.

In May 2012 it returned to New York City to be displayed on loan at the Metropolitan Museum of Art for two years.  Few viewers will realize that they are viewing a painting once seen only by men, many of whom stole a glimpse of it only as reflected in a barroom mirror.

No trace of the world-class hotels that filled the block remains - http://www.madparknews.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/1107-Broadway.jpg

 Many thanks to reader MjH for requesting this post.