The 1906 John Wanamaker Annex -- No. 770 Broadway

photo by Alice Lum

Having started business in 1823 as an Irish immigrant with a small lace and linens shop, Alexander Turney Stewart was among the wealthiest men in the United States by 1848.   That year he built a magnificent emporium dubbed the Marble Palace at the corner of Broadway and Chambers Street.  His was the largest such store in the world and he was not done yet.

In 1862 Stewart spent an astronomical $2.5 million dollars—about $45 million today—to erect an uptown branch on Broadway extending back to Fourth Avenue along 10^th Street.  His 6-story cast iron structure, designed by John Kellum, was built to be fireproof and the new technology allowed larger window area and, therefore, increased daylight inside.

The gargantuan store became known as the Iron Palace and The New York Tribune called the two buildings “the proudest monuments of commercial enterprise in the country.”  In 1870 the store was enlarged, now filling the entire block from 10^th to 9^thStreet.

The original, extended building covered the entire block in 1870 -- NYPL Collection

 Stewart died in 1876 but the A. T. Stewart & Co. store on Broadway and 10^th Street continued on for six years.   Hilton, Hughes & Co. took over the operation in 1882 but failed four years later.  In November 1896 Philadelphia retailer John Wanamaker opened his New York operation in the building.    And if Alexander Stewart thought big, John Wanamaker thought bigger.

Almost immediately Wanamaker began buying up lots on the block south of the store.  By the end of 1902 he had successfully obtained the entire block from 8^th to 9^thStreet, Broadway through 4^th Avenue.  The New York Times announced on December 21 “The entire site…is now in Mr. Wanamaker’s control and it is assumed that the erection of the new building will not be deferred for any length of time.”

The newspaper noted that the proposed, block-encompassing structure, would require the demolition of multiple buildings, including the Germania Theatre on 8^th Street.  “Some of these buildings are modern, substantially built structures, notably the one at the northeast corner of Broadway and Eighth Street.”

The Annex doubled the height of the original Stewart store in the foreground -- Wanamaker's The Store of New York, 1916 - copyright expired

A year later construction started on the immense 12-story emporium designed by the Chicago architectural firm D. H. Burnham & Co.  It would take three years for the structure to be completed.   The stately Italian Renaissance building clad in terra cotta cost $3.5 million. It was the product of three years of research into department store design throughout the United States and Europe.  The old Stewart building was connected to the “Annex” by an enclosed bridge, called The Bridge of Progress, and a tunnel under 9^th Street. 

The Bridge of Progress linked the two stores -- Wanamaker's The Store of New York, 1916 - copyright expired

The original building was now used for women’s merchandise only; the new building sold menswear, and furnishings and decorations for the home.  The New-York Tribune on April 22, 1906 called the new structure “one of the most elaborately fitted up and furnished department stores in the United States, if not in the world.”  It would be a store like no other.

An enormous rotunda rose through the height of the building with a grand “horseshoe stairway” leading up to the second floor.   On this floor pianos and organs were displayed in period-decorated rooms.  “For instance,” reported The Tribune, “the Emerson room is decorated in Louis XIV style, while the Knabe room is in the Flemish style.  All the decorations are in keeping in each room, even including the chandeliers and furniture.  There are rooms decorated in Louis XV, Louis XVI, Moorish, Renaissance and Empire, as well as Old Dutch.”

The sumptuous Rotunda rose through the center of the store.  The carpeted Horseshoe Stairway accessed the second floor.  Wanamaker's The Store of New York, 1916 - copyright expired

The combined old and new buildings now offered the shopper a full thirty-two acres of floor space.  The store required a staff of 5,000 to 8,000 employees depending on the season.  But the additional conveniences, not necessarily related to shopping, were even more impressive.   There was a Guides’ Office where confused shoppers could procure a personal guide to “conduct visitors about the store and to serve the shopper in every possible way,” as pointed out in Wanamaker's 1916 New York, Metropolis of the World, brochure.   The booklet added that “The entire Wanamaker store is dotted with quiet places for the comfort and convenience of guests.  Writing desks, rest rooms and retiring rooms are conveniently distributed, and are welcome place for rest when one slightly tires of shopping.”

The restaurant could feed 1,000 tired shoppers -- Wanamaker's The Store of New York, 1916 - copyright expired

For those “slightly tired of shopping,” there was also the auditorium.  With a seating capacity of 1,300 and rising three stories it was one of the largest theaters in New York.   Murals were painted by Frederick K.Frieseke, of the Societe Nationale des Beaux Arts of Paris.  Here the Austin organ not only had 64 stops, but two chimes of bells, a snare drum, kettle drums, cymbals and triangle.  Free, nearly daily concerts were offered for shoppers.

There were also a golf school, a restaurant capable of serving over 1,000, a telegraph service, a post office, theater ticket office, railroad ticket office, Red Cross Headquarters, and hair salon.  To give homeowners ideas on decorating, a two-story house was incorporated into the store.  The Wanamaker booklet described The House Palatial as “containing twenty-four rooms designed in correct period or modern style, and every room in the house obviously different in character, although all help to make up a harmonious whole.  It represents the best of the house designing, furnishing and decorative arts.”  More than a million people every year visited The House Palatial.

A room in The House Palatial in 1916 -- Wanamaker's The Store of New York, 1916 - copyright expired

In the basement was a subway station—a supreme convenience for shoppers.  The Meridien Morning Record said “…the Subway train sets you down in Wanamaker’s.  You may come in a driving rainstorm and not get a drop of water at any point—no need to carry an umbrella or wear a raincoat…It has revolutionized the convenience of shopping.”

The up-to-date features of the building proved themselves when a small fire broke out near the pipe organ in the auditorium on March 16, 1918.  The automatic alarm and sprinkler system were set off and The Times reported that “the fire was out before fire apparatus arrived.”

Three stories high, the Auditorium was decorated with frescoes -- Wanamaker's The Store of New York, 1916 - copyright expired

On April 24, 1928 the section of 9^th Street between Broadway and 4^th Avenue that separated the old and new Wanamaker buildings was renamed by the Board of Aldermen to Wanamaker Place.   The gesture was in honor of the public services of the late Rodman Wanamaker; however it also paid tribute to the gargantuan retail establishment that straddled the street.

By the middle of the 20^th century the shopping district had moved northward.   Rather than move with it, Wanamaker decided in 1954 to simply close the business.  Although 1,500 unionized employees voted unanimously to try to purchase the business as a partnership with the help of investment bankers, the venture did not materialize.

photo by Alice Lum

On closing day, December 18, 1954, a writer for The New York Times reminisced.  “But to some of us at least it seemed more than a store.  It had an air of sober respectability, of gentility, of courtesy, of the leisure of time passed, of spaciousness appropriate to the carriage trade…One did not go down there, in later years, expecting to shop around in other stores also.  It was a trip to Wanamaker’s and nowhere else…The lady of the house never wondered whether anything wrong would be made right at Wanamaker’s…For the customers, for the employes—and today is, of course, a particularly sad day for them—a chapter closes, and with regret.”

The upper floors were lavished with elaborate terra cotta detailing -- photo by Alice Lum

Nine days later crowds of people lined the sidewalks along Union Square as S. Klein’s department store began selling off the Wanamaker goods.   The firm had purchased $2.5 million worth of stock and offered it to the public at discounted prices.  In the meantime, a real estate syndicate purchased the once-proud Wanamaker buildings.  No. 770 Broadway, the Annex, was converted to an office building and quickly filled with occupants.  In 1956 Chase Manhattan Bank leased three full floors and the Atlantic Mutual Insurance Company took the 7^th and half of the 6^th Floor.

As for Alexander Stewarts magnificent Iron Palace of a century earlier, plans were set to demolish it.   But before the wreckers could start, a fire broke out.  John Kellum’s fireproof structure proved to be that.  The flames raged out of control for a full 24-hours before firefighters were able to extinguish it.   Afterwards, surrounding the gutted remains, the noble cast iron façade still stood. 

After the ruins were removed an uninspiring white-brick apartment building was constructed in its place in 1960.   The 21-story structure was named with a nod to the original store—the Stewart House.

The terra cotta-clad annex survives as an office building -- photo by Alice Lum

The Wanamaker “Annex” survives today as 770 Broadway.   The subway station that unloaded shoppers into one of the nation’s most renowned retail establishments now deposits them into a K-Mart.   Among its many tenants are the corporate headquarters of AOL, Vornado and J. Crew.

Today all the thoughts of organ concerts in a splendid auditorium, an Oriental Shop that sold “mandarin embroideries and fascinating bronzes,” and the Burlington Arcade that reproduced the arcade in Piccadilly, London are gone.  The lone reminder of the once-magnificent department store is the green-and-white street sign on the corner:  Wanamaker Place.

The Lost New York Club -- No. 370 5th Avenue

Shortly after the New York Club purchased the mansion, the Caswell family erected a small building (left) for a commercial art gallery on the site of the former gardens--photographer C. C. Langill from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York -- http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GHZECLN&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GHZECLN&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603&PN=3

In 1859 the Fifth Avenue Hotel was among the most fashionable in the city.  Its rooms and restaurants saw the comings and goings of foreign heads of state, U.S. Presidents, famous writers, artists and actors.  The wealthiest and most powerful New Yorkers met here to draft deals, nominate candidates for office and—in today’s terms--network.  Merchants fortunate enough to lease space in the upscale hotel were assured a most lucrative business.

That year Philip and John Rose Caswell opened their pharmacy in the hotel; the same year that John built his magnificent mansion at No. 370 Fifth Avenue.  The house sat in the most prestigious residential neighborhood of Manhattan; a block north of the brownstone residences of John Jacob and William Astor.   The New York Times described it as “of brick, with brownstone facings, four stories high, and a piazza at the rear.”

The southern half of the block was developed in 1870 when the magnificent Alexander Turney Stewart house was completed.  The white marble palace, the showplace of Fifth Avenue at the time, gleamed among the brownstone mansions around it.  The two houses were separated by thirty-three feet of lush lawns and gardens owned by Caswell.

The Caswell brothers’ highly successful drugstore would stay in the Fifth Avenue Hotel until 1876, when the partnership was dissolved.  Within three years John teamed with William R. Massey to take over the apothecary business started by Scottish doctor William Hunter in Newport in 1752, a New York branch of which had already been established in 1833.  The pair agreed that Caswell would oversee the Newport store while Massey ran the New York branch.

The new operation, Caswell-Massey, flourished and the already-wealthy druggists became even more so.   With John Caswell now living in Newport, the Fifth Avenue mansion was superfluous.  The pharmacist struck a deal with the exclusive University Club to convert his residence into its newest clubhouse.

The University Club had been organized in 1861 when a group of wealthy college alumni sought to form a social club that would keep old school friends intact.  Now, in April 1879, it listed 325 members on its rolls and fully expected to expand that number to 400 before moving into the Caswell mansion a month later.

In 1879 the Caswell mansion retained its brick and brownstone exterior and classical Fifth Avenue entrance.  Next door, separated by a wide garden, is the white marble Stewart mansion.  One block south are the brownstone residences of William and John Jacob Astor.  A horse-drawn omnibus heads south down the quiet avenue.  -- photographer unknown; from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York -- http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GHZECLN&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GHZECLN&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603&PN=3

The club would be the first incursion of a non-private residence into the area.  But the upscale organization and its pedigreed members posed little threat to its surrounding neighbors.   The New York Times made note of the mansion’s excellent adaptability to its new function.  It “is considered a admirable location as a rendezvous for the gentlemen composing the club,” it said on April 11, 1879.  The newspaper mentioned that the piazza in the rear “affords space for a promenade and an after-dinner smoke.  The grounds are in good order, and allow sufficient room for croquet, tennis, or, as one of the members suggested yesterday, a game of ‘I spy.’”

Club officials told reporters that very few alterations would need to be made.  “There are stairways at the front and rear, extending from the first floor to the attic.  The halls are wide and roomy, and a good wine-cellar occupies part of the basement.  The heating apparatus is in a good condition, and the kitchen, while being well-adapted for culinary purposes, affords room for an additional range.”

The club would stay on in the house for less than a decade.  The Caswell family more than doubled the rent in 1886, causing no small amount of ill-will and a search for a new location.  The following year the club moved on to the old Union League clubhouse on Madison Square. 

While the Caswell family and the University Club were bickering,  fire swept through another prestigious clubhouse—the New York Club at West 25^th Street and Fifth Avenue.  Chartered in 1845, it was the oldest men’s club in the city.  The club had moved several times in its three decades of existence, the last time only a year earlier to its present location.  A day after the fire, on April 3, 1876, The Times said “The building burned last night was one of the most prominent in the City.  It is a brown-stone five-story edifice filling the delta formed by the junction of Broadway and Fifth avenue.  In former years it was known as the Worth House, a first-class family hotel, and a favorite resort for Southerners, and the private residence of Edward S. Stokes.”

The blaze had started below ground in the kitchen “by the overboiling of some fat on the range,” reported newspapers.  The Times reported that “As in the case of the Fifth Avenue Hotel fire, the mischief was done by a dumb-waiter or elevator running from the kitchen to the top of the house.  Up this wooden shaft the fire sped with startling rapidity, and seized upon the servants’ quarters in the attic of the building.” 

The frescoed ceilings, the fine furnishings and paintings, everything on the upper floors were all destroyed. A day after the fire damages were estimated at $30,000—a hefty $600,000 by today’s standards.

The New York Club, perhaps not wanting to fall victim to suddenly-ballooning rents as had the University Club, negotiated the purchase of the old mansion.  A price of $242,000 was arrived at; but the cagey Caswells did not include the surrounding L-shaped gardens—only the building was included in the sale.

Before moving in, the club extensively updated the old pre-Civil War mansion.  The renovations would nearly double the cost of the property.  "King’s Handbook of New York City" wrote of the resultant transformation.  “The club-house is the Caswell house, the former home of the University Club, remodeled into a graceful building of the Queen Anne style.”   Red brick and white limestone were used to create an entertaining façade with a balcony above clustered windows on the Fifth Avenue side, and a split entrance staircase at the new main entrance on 35^th Street.  Inside detailing was updated with the latest in Eastlake and Queen Anne influences.

The interiors were outfitted in the latest taste.  Show above is the main staircase--Harper's Weekly, March 15, 1890, NYPL Collection

The sale on behalf of the club was handled by attorney and club member Edward Gebhard.  But trouble soon arose.  In the fall of 1886 Gebhard submitted his bill of $1,022.50 covering his legal services; an amount he asserted was “about one-third what he would have charged any other client,” as reported in The Sun.

Just prior to this, Nathaniel Whitman was appointed to fill a vacancy on the Board of Directors.  Whitman and Gebhard had long been personal enemies because Gebhard “had detected and exposed him (Whitman) for cheating at cards,” reported The Sun.  Whitman retaliated by inducing the board to turn down a gentleman whom Gebhard had proposed for membership.

Enraged, Edward Gebhard tendered his resignation from the club on October 26, shortly after his invoice had been paid.  The lawyer was infuriated when six months later he received a letter demanding that he return the $1,022.50 “paid by this Board under a misapprehension.”  The ugly matter resulted in a public court battle and much unwanted press.

As the old mansion was being renovated, Fifth Avenue homeowners were concerned that the Caswell family might have unfriendly plans for the garden plot between the club and the Stewart mansion--ample space for  commercial structure.  On May 17, 1887 Charles S. Smith, the executor of the Caswell estate, was questions regarding the report that a business building might be erected on the lot.

“The report is not without foundation,” he replied smugly.  “My wife, who is a Caswell, and myself think of putting up a building that will be a credit to the location.  Our plans have not yet materialized.  When they do it will give me pleasure to make public the details.  We have obtained a permit to erect a building, and in all probability will carry out the idea some day.”

The idea of a commercial building in the midst of their respectable mansions did not sit well with the likes of Caroline Astor and other millionaires on the avenue.  But The New York Times said flatly “Fifth-avenue residents in the vicinity look with intense disfavor upon the idea of the Caswell heirs, but however disagreeable a business building in that neighborhood would be to them they have no power to prevent its erection except by purchasing the plot.”  The plot was not purchased and, indeed, before long the L-shaped garden was filled with a small, tasteful commercial building that housed an upscale art gallery.

The renovated mansion bore little resemblance to its former brownstone embodiment -- photographer unknown; from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York -- http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GHZECLN&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GHZECLN&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603&PN=3

The club finally occupied the house in May 1888 and by November the clubhouse was ready for public inspection.  On November 10 a day-long reception was held and “hundreds” of guests filed through the newly-refurbished halls.  “The result, judging from the exclamations of admiration and congratulation which escaped from the visitors after an inspection of the various apartments, must have been highly satisfactory to the promoters of the reception and an ample reward for all their trouble and pains,” reported The New York Times.  It was a rare opportunity for New York’s female population to see inside the male-only domain.

“Probably more than 1,000 people, a large number of whom were ladies, were the club’s guests between 3 o’clock in the afternoon and 10 o’clock at night.  By far the larger number attended in the evening, when ladies in full costume and gentlemen in evening dress presented a brilliant sight as they promenaded to the enlivening music of Lander over softly carpeted floors, through spacious rooms made doubly beautiful by rich hangings and profuse floral decorations.”

The first floor contained the main sitting room paneled in cherry wainscoting.  The furniture here was cherry to match and the “curtains in this room are very beautiful, being of silk grand Italian tapestry, having a rich copper hue.”  Also on the first floor were the office, a small reception room “richly furnished,” and a billiard room.

The second floor dining room offered “delicacies of a most tempting nature prepared solely by the club chef.”  The room was paneled in dark oak and featured a large fireplace opposite the entrance doors.  The costly interior decoration included Axminister carpets and Italian draperies.  Also on this floor was a card room and a library, both paneled in antique oak, and a private drawing room.  The upper floors were relegated to sleeping rooms for members.

By the turn of the century, the Astor mansions had been replaced with the hulking Waldorf-Astoria Hotel--commerce was creeping up Fifth Avenue.-- photo NYPL Collection

New members paid an entrance fee of $300 and yearly dues of $75 for the privilege of using the clubhouse and claiming its prestige.  Out-of-towners, called “non resident members,” enjoyed fees and dues of exactly one-half that amount. 

One of the “non-resident members” in 1901 was millionaire Bostonian Frederick A. Gilbert.  Gilbert was the President and General Manager of the Boston Electric Light Company.  He often traveled to New York on business, and was well-known at the Waldorf-Astoria where he always stayed (that hotel by now occupied the former site of the Astor mansions between 33^rdand 34^th Streets).

In January that year Gilbert arrived in New York to attempt to consolidate the Edison Company, New York City’s major electric concern, with his own.  On the 18^th of January he spent most of the day in the Wall Street area then returned to the hotel before going to the New York Club where he was to dine with friends.

The 54-year old Gilbert, whom The New York Times described as “very corpulent,” was seated at his table in the main dining room around 8:45.  The newspaper said “The room was well filled.  Mr. Gilbert was quite jovial and was telling a story to his companions when he suddenly paled and, clutching his throat and his breast at the same time, exclaimed, ‘I am ill!’”

Staff ran to summon doctors, but before they had even left the room, Gilbert lurched forward “and in a few moments life was extinct,” said The Times.  Polite dinner conversation was over among the other members in the room.  “The incident created much excitement, and the diners gathered about the table at which Mr. Gilbert had been eating.”

The newspaper somewhat bluntly ran the headline “Dropped Dead At A Club.”

Later that year the glorious marble A. T. Stewart mansion was razed.  The New York Club was little-by-little being engulfed by commerce.  In February 1905 club members were embroiled in heated discussions; not about whether to leave the clubhouse, but where to go.  In January the club had sold the old mansion to Boehm & Coon for $1,100,000.  The developers simultaneously bought the L-shaped Caswell property that embraced it.  There was little doubt now that the end of the road for the venerable Caswell mansion was near.

In 1890 the clubhouse and the Silo Gallery building next door are festooned with patriotic flags and bunting; possibly to celebrate the end of the Spanish-American War -- photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York -- http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GHZECLN&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GHZECLN&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=603&PN=3

In March 1907 the New York Club moved into its new nine-story home on West 40^th Street.  The New York Times called it “a bachelor’s heaven.”   Within months the Caswell mansion was demolished and in its place was rising the eleven-story commercial building designed by Clinton & Russell, with George A. Boehm as associate architect.  The building survives today.

The view down 5th Avenue today is unrecognizable from the days when the Caswell, Stewart and Astor mansions lined up along its western side.  photograph taken by the author

The passing of New York Club building was indeed the end of an era--the last vestige of the elite residential neighborhood in this section of Fifth Avenue.

Remnants of Elegance -- No. 264 Fifth Avenue

Although sorely abused and barely recognizable as a former mansion, the massive scale of the house is staggering.

By the decade prior to the outbreak of civil, war brownstone mansions had crept far north of Washington Square.  At the southwest corner of 29^th Street stood a massive house that rose four stories above a high English basement. Its 30-foot width was about one-and-a-half times that of the normal residential lot, and stretched 100 feet down West 29^th Street.  A broad stone stoop would have risen to the parlor floor, and the hipped roof was interrupted by circular French dormers which announced this mansion was of the latest architectural fashion.

According to The New York Times about a century later, the house “at one time was the home of A. T. Stewart.”  The immensely wealthy merchant could definitely have afforded such accommodations.  His personal fortune in 1855 was estimated to be $2.25 million.  Although he lived in the fashionable Depau Row in the 1840s it is quite possible he moved into this Fifth Avenue mansion prior to building his white marble palace five blocks north in 1870—directly across from the William Backhouse Astor house.

Alexander Stewart and his wife, the former Cornelia Mitchel Clinch, would have entertained lavishly in the immense brownstone mansion at No. 264 Fifth Avenue.  In 1869 his yearly income made him one of the 20 richest men in history.  His fortune by now would translate to about $90 billion by today's standards.

Stewart’s limitless wealth came from his dry goods business, the A. T. Stewart & Co.  He essentially invented the concept of the department store, recognized the value of customer service rather than overcharging the buyer, and developed in 1876 the idea of mail order business.

But even as the finishing touches to Stewart’s new block-wide marble mansion were being completed in 1870; Fifth Avenue was under siege.  Hotels rose around Madison Square just three blocks below No. 264, high-end retailers were creeping into the residential neighborhood, and 23^rd Street was destined to be New York’s entertainment district in just over a decade.

By 1878 commerce had made its way north to 29^th Street.  No. 264, once the scene of brilliant balls and refined receptions, was converted to lavish apartments on the upper floors; just one or two per floor.  Called the Knickerbocker Flats they were mostly occupied by wealthy bachelors.  At street level was an upscale jewelry store, Howard & Co.  On reporting on the store’s March 26, 1878 opening The New York Times said “Their stock, which is composed of gold and silver watches, jewelry, and bric-a-brac, made a glittering display.”  A year earlier the newspaper had offhandedly mentioned “It would be absurd to expect that the cheaper kinds should be kept at a store which is frequented only by the wealthy.”

The renovations to the mansion can be seen in this turn-of-the-century photograph by Robert L. Bracklow.  A handsome cast iron store front has replaced the basement and parlor levels; but the carved window surrounds and cast iron balcony remain intact.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQY5TB0&SMLS=1&RW=1366&RH=631

The newspaper emphasized that fact in describing some of the “bric-a-brac” now offered, including “a handsome cabinet which once belonged to Charles Jacques, the artist.  Upon an antique cushion was a large silver helmet and visor, which was made in the sixteenth century by Giocami Cellini for Francis I…A wealth of bronzes, statuettes, clocks, and vases was displayed upon tables running down the centre of the room.”

Howard & Co. would stay in the former mansion for decades and its clientele consisted of the wealthiest of New York’s carriage trade.  A few days before Christmas in 1899 Howard & Co. advertised “A remarkable large Marquise shape pink diamond with a superb Canary Diamond Drop.  Exquisite contrasting colors.  Set together as Brooch or pendant.”  The gentleman who purchased that piece of jewelry for some lucky lady’s Christmas present would pay $18,000.  Or, if that was not extravagant enough, he might choose the pearl necklace advertised on the same page of The Jewelers’ Circular and Horological Review.  Howard & Co. promised that “every pearl is perfectly round, free from imperfections, all the same color and that the best, is most difficult to obtain, especially if of any large size.”  The necklace was priced at $36,000—about $976,000 today.

In the meantime, the suites upstairs were taken by moneyed residents.  One was S. S. Sondheim who shared the third floor with P. A. Fachiri.  He left the apartment for the summer of 1882; possibly headed to a fashionable resort.  The temporary vacancy ended in a messy matter when Sondheim entrusted his furniture and other property with Captain Thomas Collum.  The Victorian term “captain” in this instance is what we would call a “superintendant” today. 

With Sondheim out of town, Collum helped himself to the man’s wardrobe and personal effects.  As his trial approached on May 30, 1886, The New York Times reported that his defense was “the articles in the trunk which was found were given to him, he said, by Mr. Sondheim” and that he was a “victim of persecution.”

Sondheim returned to his apartment despite the affair and the Knickerbocker Flats got a new super, John Cave (who as part of his employment received the entire fifth floor where he lived with his father and mother).  Other tenants in the building in 1885 were Mrs. A. M. Roberts, who occupied the entire second floor; and G. W. Ulshoefer and J. S. Inglis on the fourth.

On June 21, 1885 at around 3 a.m. fire broke out in the workrooms of Mathesius Brothers & Co., manufacturers of “artistic furniture and interior decorations” next door at No. 262 Fifth Avenue.  The Times described that building as “a five-story brownstone structure, one door south of Twenty-ninth-street, and was formerly a private dwelling.”  Mathesius Brothers occupied the entire building and “It was filled with fine furniture and tapestry.”

By 4:00 the top three floors of the building were engulfed and “Through an open window in the southerly wall of the building at No. 264 Fifth-avenue, on the southwest corner of Twenty-ninth-street, the flames entered that building.”  The terrorized residents watched as fire fighters worked to keep the blaze from destroying their homes.

When the fire was extinguished, Howard & Co. sustained no damage and Mrs. Roberts, one floor above, had just “a trifling loss.”  Others were not so lucky.  Water damage to the Fachiri and Sondheim apartments was about $500, the same amount suffered by John Cave and his family; but Inglis and Ulshoefer lost a combined $2,000 in property, nearly $47,000 in today’s money.

The necessary repairs were made on No. 264 to restore the handsome apartments.  Among the upscale tenants in 1893 was L. Vaughn Clark, whom The New York Times said “comes from St. Louis, but he is well known in business and club circles here, being a member of the Union Club, New-York Yacht Club, and the Racquet Club.”  On April 11 that year his engagement to Edith Draper was announced by the young woman’s widowed mother, Victorine Wetmore Draper.  “Both Miss Draper and Mr. Clark are familiar figures in fashionable drawing rooms,” noted The Times.

While the well-dressed residents came and went, liveried doormen at Howard & Co. welcomed Livingstons, Vanderbilts and Belmonts.  Only families with names and fortunes like theirs could afford to shop here.  On November 3, 1899, for instance, Howard & Co. advertised in the New-York Tribunethat it had for sale an “absolutely perfect oriental pear shape drop” pearl.  “Weight over 85 grains.”  The jeweler priced the single pearl at $27,000.

As the turn of the century came and went the high-end retailers inched further up Fifth Avenue, following the northern flow of the residential district.  In 1905 Tiffany & Co. opened its opulent headquarters between 36^th and 37^thStreets; joined by the nearby stores of Gorham, Dreicer & Co., Alvin silversmiths and others; all within one or two blocks of one another and all completed within a year.

But Howard & Co. stayed on south of 34^th Street at No. 264.  It was perhaps a bad business decision.  The financial depression of 1907 forced the company to borrow heavily and in 1908 a trustee was appointed to handle its affairs.  In December 1909, Joseph P. Howard died and his son, Montague Howard, took over the business.  But the end of the line for Howard & Co. was on the horizon.  On January 7, 1914 The New York Times reported “The climax came during the recent holiday season, it was said, when a great falling of sales from the average maintained in other years was experienced.  The reduced earnings of the last month, it was said, had convinced the officers of the corporation that it would be fruitless to continue the business longer.”

With the loss of the elegant jewelry store, the retail space at No. 264 became a bit less glamorous.  It was taken over by the ticket office of the Southern Railway.  In the meantime, however, the spacious apartments upstairs continued to be leased to well-to-do residents.  In 1917 attorney Henry Nickman shared a floor with wealthy merchant Edward J. Milliken.

Milliken was a partner in the firm of Stuart, Milliken & Co., wholesale jobbers and dealers in hosiery and lingerie.  In 1919 Milliken’s respectable bachelor pad would become less so when it was publicized as a pivotal point in the divorce case of his partner Harry P. Stuart.  Stuart, who was 46 years old, was married to 26-year old Rose Edith Stuart. 

Rose had little complaint about her marriage.  She told the judge that Stuart “lavished presents upon her, including an expensive motor car, and that he allowed her $100 a month for ‘pin money,’ besides paying all her bills and the household expenses,” said The Evening World on July 28, 1919.  But then another woman came into the picture.

The unnamed woman was married to a soldier who was off fighting the war in 1917.  According to her, she was seduced by Stuart.  “I lived happy with my first husband for two years until Stuart came along, followed me all over town, pestering the life out of me, telling me what a rich man he was, that I would run away and get a divorce from my husband, and that he would pay for it.”

Rose Stuart had little compassion for the woman’s sad story of victimization.  She told of the many times her husband invited the women to their home without her consent and “while I would be in another room or with my back turned I would see them caressing each other.  In fact, I caught her openly with her arms around my husband.”

Rose turned the other woman’s indiscretions into a breach of patriotism.  “Such was this woman’s conduct while her husband was in France as an officer, fighting for his country, and he is still in France, in the belief that, here in this wonderful land of liberty he left a loving and true little wife, when, instead, she proved to be not only unfaithful but disloyal to her country.”

Unbeknownst to Rose, the pair had gone to Reading, Pennsylvania, where Stuart paid for a hotel, a lawyer and the divorce.  But her strong suspicions prompted her to hire a private investigator; who was led directly to No. 264 Fifth Avenue.

“On July 17 I had my husband shadowed from the time he left my house in the morning until we forced our way into Milliken’s bachelor apartment located at No. 264 Fifth Avenue, New York.  This was apartment No. 5 and consisted of one bedroom, a sitting room, and a bathroom.  It was 10:30 at night.  My husband was there with the co-respondent alone.”

Despite the overwhelming evidence based on testimonies from both women, The Evening World reported “Mr. Stuart denies all his wife’s charges.”

By mid-century the once proud neighborhood showed little evidence of its former glory.  In 1946 No. 264 was home to businesses like the Costume Jewelry Supply House which promised to “double your investment with these $25, $50, $100 to $500 bargain assortments.”  Cleopatra Pearls offered “an unusual opportunity to start business with small capital.”

The opulent interiors where Manhattan’s wealthiest citizens were once entertained had long ago been gutted.  When T. Victor Searing purchased the property that same year, it was described as a “five-story store and loft building.”

Only the French dormers survive to provide passersby a hint of the structure's former glory.

Another half century was no kinder to the old structure.  Today only the wonderful circular dormers hint that this was once a grand residence.  All the architectural elements have been stripped away and the brownstone has been painted the color of hot chocolate.  Nevertheless, it is one of the last residential vestiges of this stretch of Fifth Avenue for blocks; a fascinating and abused relic.

photographs by the author