The 1904 Prince George Hotel -- 14 East 28th Street

East 28th Street between 5th and Madison Avenues in 1904 was the perfect location for a posh tourist hotel. Just two blocks north of the Madison Square Garden and close to public transportation it was, as it would be advertised, “convenient but quiet.”

The Prince George Hotel was designed by Howard Greenley who trained under Carrere and Hastings then went on to study at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. His Beaux-Arts training would be reflected in the new hotel.

His 14-story hotel, which would receive a substantial addition to the north in 1912, was built of red brick on a rusticated, two-story limestone base. The terra-cotta and stone façade embellishments were restrained and attractive.

It was on the inside that Greenley pulled out all the stops.

Drawing from a variety of styles and periods, he produced lush public rooms and hallways. The Ladies’ Tea Room, or Palm-Room, featured pastel trellised piers, illuminated glass clusters dripping from faux vines on the arched ceiling, a Rookwood fountain and murals by George Inness, Jr.

The Tap Room

The quaint English Tap Room was rustic and oak-paneled with a beamed ceiling, Windsor chairs and wrought iron light fixtures hanging from chains; while the piece de resistance was the Ballroom. Renaissance-style murals, elaborate plasterwork, herringbone oak floors and 18-foot coffered ceilings exploded in brilliant primary colors touched with gilding.

The Architectural Record of 1905 was impressed.  It used the Prince George to illustrate the proper way to decorate a hotel. Howard Greenley, it said “went about it in the right way.”

“The designers and builders of other apartment hotels in New York City would do well to visit the Prince George Hotel, so as to learn how to combine economy, propriety and good taste in the decoration of such a building,” the Record suggested.

The first hotel in New York City to provide a private bath in every room, the Prince George became a favorite among tourists. While New York society still entertained at the Plaza and the Waldorf-Astoria, the Prince George hosted celebrated names like Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell.

The hotel enjoyed remarkable success throughout most of the 20th Century. Well into the 1960s it was a destination for tourist families attracted by its affordable rates and convenient location. Refurbishing replaced Edwardian furniture with sleek “blonde-modern” pieces and canary-colored upholstered valances matched the draperies.

By the 1970s, however, the hotel had fallen on hard times and the aging building became a welfare hotel in the 1980s -- before long one of the most notorious and dangerous in the city. Prostitution, drug dealings, muggings and other crimes rooted at the hotel forced every business in the area, with the exception of one bank branch, to close.

At one point The New York Times referred to the Prince George as “hell’s embassy in Manhattan.” On July 17, 1988 a three-year old boy was severely beaten at 3:00 am by his guardian, a 44-year old female resident, when he refused to panhandle for her. It was the second time in four months that a child was beaten while involved in panhandling by an adult staying at the hotel

Residents reacted with resignation. “Bad stuff is always happening in there,” one woman told The Times. “They should just shut that place down.”

Another resident then sighed, “Then there’d be a lot of homeless people. Where they going to go? What they going to do? They ain’t got no choice. That’s the problem.”

Children of the 500 homeless families housed there, called “hotel kids,” nicknamed rooms “the crack room” and “the pot room.” The glorious Main Lounge was painted white and used as a basketball court. Graffiti covered the hallways.

Finally, in 1990, the savaged hotel was emptied of its residents, closed down and abandoned.

After it sat empty for seven years, the Prince George was purchased in 1996 by Common Ground Community, a ground-breaking not-for-profit organization bent on restoring dignity and livelihoods to the homeless, mentally ill, and people with AIDS. The hotel had severely suffered.

The on-site project manager, Brian Keenan, compared the former showplace to “a haunted house.” Aside from the cosmetic damage of graffiti misuse, there was substantial water damage. Restoration experts Beyer Blinder Belle were brought in to oversee the restoration of the public rooms and renovation of the hotel to residential units.

At a cost of $39 million in State, Federal, City and private money, and with help from organizations like the Preservation League of New York State and New York Landmarks Conservancy, the Prince George became home to 416 efficiency apartments for low-income workers, earning between $13 and $30 thousand a year, as well as special needs residents. When opened in 2000, it included a computer room, art studio, offices for social workers, a clinic, and common lounges. Job training counselors, health services, psychologists and therapists were provided to “make it easy for people to succeed.”

The restored Ballroom, formerly the Main Lounge - photo courtesy princegeorgeballroom.org

In 2004 restoration of the nearly 5000-square foot Main Lounge -- now called the Ballroom -- began. Staff from the Alpha Workshops employed and trained people with HIV/AIDS to help in the restoration of the severely water-damaged plaster and paint. Students from the Brooklyn High School for the Arts also assisted in return for training.

Meanwhile, students from the Parsons School tackled the former Hunt Room. Here the devastation to Greenley’s robust English-style interior was so complete that restoration was impossible. They group designed and constructed an entry foyer and gallery space, now the World Monuments Fund Gallery for special exhibitions.

The restored Tea Room - photo courtesy princegeorge.org

Howard Greenley’s beautifully-restored public spaces are leased for private and corporate functions, generating revenue for the Common Ground Community’s efforts -- $800,000 in annual rents from the Ballroom, alone. Completed in 2005, the renovation is one of the most remarkable examples of recycling historic properties in the city.

The Windows that Saved a Landmark -- The 1908 Coty Building, 714 Fifth Avenue

Image Emilio Guerra

Fifth Avenue in 1907 was changing. Grand limestone, marble or brownstone mansions still lined the broad avenue; however the northward march of retail establishments was causing millionaires to flee further uptown, erecting chateaux and palaces along Central Park. Mansions were being demolished to be replaced by commercial buildings or transformed upper-class stores.

At 59th Street the Plaza Hotel was being completed, across from the imposing residence of Cornelius Vanderbilt II. This was the year that real estate investor Charles A. Gould commissioned Woodruff Leeming to convert his home at No. 714 5th Avenue to a six story commercial building that purposely blended with the homes of the wealthy who had not yet surrendered the battle.

Retaining its original 1871 proportions, height and style, the converted limestone facade mimicked its neighbors. The mansard roof continued the line of the former parsonage of the 5th Avenue Presbyterian Church to the south and the Zabriskie residence to the north; and the overall French style melded into the environment.

photo NYPL Collection

The design of Gould’s renovation was unique – the first two floors being a single retail unit and the third through fifth floors being treated as a whole -- essentially a wall of glass structurally and architecturally far ahead of its time.

As the building was being completed in 1908, Francois Coty was becoming rich in France with his perfume, La Rose Jacqueminot, introduced in 1904. By 1910 he was expanding and searching for an appropriate New York headquarters. He found it at No. 714 Fifth Avenue.

On August 31 of that year, in what it called “A further addition to the business interests on Fifth Avenue in the vicinity of the Vanderbilt houses,” The New York Times reported on “the leasing of the Charles A. Gould residence, 714 Fifth Avenue, through the Cross & Brown Company to a French perfumery firm. Alterations will be made at once preparatory to opening the house as a retail store.”

The newspaper somewhat nostalgically added, “This entire block, therefore, on the west side of Fifth Avenue, between Fifty-fifth and Fifty-sixth Streets, except the church property on the Fifty-fifth Street corner is now devoted to business.”

Coty signed a 21-year lease for the building paying between $20,000 and $25,000 per year.

Immediately after acquiring the property, Francois Coty commissioned the famous French glassmaker, Rene Lalique, to replace the wall of windows on the central floors. The extraordinary three-story work of art, reminiscent of the Art Nouveau designs that made the artist world-renowned, consists of intertwining vines and flowers climbing up the side windows while leaving the central-most panes clear. The overall effect of the composition could be appreciated only from the street. The windows, while not original to the design of the building, instantly became its most striking feature.

Coty occupied the three floor with the Lalique windows and subleased the first two floors to the Stage Society of New York and the top floor to various tenants.

As American doughboys returned from World War I they brought with them Coty perfumes and powders, creating new demand across the country. Coty’s American business skyrocketed. A factory and laboratory were built on Manhattan’s west side to avoid the importation tariffs. The factory was manufacturing, by 1929, 23 different perfumes and a seemingly unending list of other cosmetics and toiletries.

Coty renewed its lease in 1931; however a year after Francois Coty’s retirement in 1940, the firm moved to 423 West 55th Street. The building, however, would continue to be referred to as The Coty Building.

A heated battle broke out between preservationists and developers when in 1985 a plan was unveiled to erect an L-shaped, 44-story office tower with entrances on West 56th Street and on Fifth Avenue. The plan would necessarily involve the demolition of Nos. 712 and 714 Fifth Avenue.

The Municipal Art Society took up arms and petitioned the New York Landmarks Preservation Commission to landmark the building. When the Lalique windows were brought to the attention of the Commission, it agreed to schedule a hearing.

The Commission designated the Coty Building a landmark; but on May 28, 1985 it also approved a Certificate of Appropriateness for the tower to be built behind them, incorporating the facades of the two former houses.

Between 1989 and 1990, architects Beyer Blinder Belle restored the façade and renovated the interior as the flagship store of Henri Bendel. A four-story atrium replaced the former Coty offices and, for the first time, Rene Lalique’s exquisite windows could be viewed as a whole from an inside perspective.

Jerold S. Kayden, in his “Privately Owned Public Space: The New York City Experience,” wrote, “Although such hybrid preservation efforts disturb some advocates of historic preservation, they enjoy the support of others who believe that a balance between development and preservation is politically and economically essential in modern cities.”

Image Emilio Guerra

The passerby may not notice that nothing is left of the Coty Building other than its façade. The copper-clad roof and dormers, the soaring two-story retail entrance and Rene Lalique’s unique and priceless windows appear much as they did in 1910. Only by entering the threshold does one enter the 21st Century.

The Century Association Building -- No. 109-111 East 15th Street

photo by Alice Lum

In 1847 when The Century club was founded—taking its name from the 100 invited members—Union Square was developing as a most fashionable residential district.  The park was ringed with fine brick homes and churches which spilled onto the side streets; all except for East 15^th Street where five industrial buildings created a stark exception.

The five buildings were faced by two wooden homes across the street to the north, one being No. 42 East 15^th Street.  That two-and-a-half story house was purchased in 1855 by Isaac Lewis, a builder.  Before long the house and the block would change dramatically.

In 1857 The Century club become incorporated as the Century Association; a social organization for authors, artists and dabblers in the fine arts.  The Sun would praise the club as having “a purpose to serve,” unlike those which had for their “principal end the affording to young men of conveniences for idle amusement.”  Instead, the proper Victorian gentlemen set as their goal “plain living and high thinking.”

The club bounced from location to location until that year when it increased its membership to 250.  With a permanent clubhouse now deemed a necessity, the Century purchased No. 42 from Lewis for $24,000.

Club member and architect Joseph C. Wells set about to renovate the wooden house into a proper clubhouse.  The $11,000 renovations resulted in a Cinderella-like transformation.  The frame house became an Italian palazzo with a balustraded staircase and pedimented windows.

Throughout the Civil War years the club continued to grow and expand its activities.  The clubhouse, by 1866, was no longer adequate for its functions and meetings.  A committee was formed to decide whether to move or reconstruct the building again. 

It was a time of financial uncertainty for exclusive men’s clubs.   The eminent Union Club was reported to be “deep in debt” by The Sun and The New York Club had heavily borrowed to keep afloat.   Before long both the Athenaeum and the Eclectic clubs would close due to financial hardship.

Considering its finances, the Century opted to renovate.   The partners in the architectural firm of Gambrill & Post, Charles D. Gambrill and George B. Post, were both club members.  In May of the following year Gambrill submitted his proposal renovations.

For some unexplained reason, part of Gambrill’s design—an extension to the rear of the clubhouse—was quickly completed; but the interior alterations and the new façade sat on the drafting table.  The new extension provided for a billiard room on the main floor and an art gallery above.

During the two years while the plans collected dust, Post left the architectural firm and Gambrill took on Henry Hobson Richardson who, like Post, would go on to be ranked among America’s preeminent 19^thcentury architects.

Finally in 1869 construction began under plans by Gambrill & Richardson.  The amount of input Richardson had in the final designs is undocumented; but whichever architect was responsible, the result was noteworthy.

Gone was the Italian palazzo with its stone balustraded fences and Renaissance-styled windows.  In its place appeared a brick and stone neo-Grec structure with a formal countenance that reflected the propriety of the club members.  The third floor attic was raised to form a full-floor mansard.  Stone courses doubled as structural support and horizontal design elements.  The completed renovations cost $21,000—nearly the full price the club paid for the building originally.

Iron cresting originally lined the slate, fish-scale tiled mansard roof. -- photo by Alice Lum

The renovated clubhouse was deemed by The Sun “a handsome and commodious house…where its members believed it had found a permanent place of abode.”

The Century Association would see America’s brightest literary and artistic figures sign their membership rolls throughout the years.  The unending list included actor Edwin Booth, artists Albert Bierstadt, Frederick Church, Charles C. Tiffany and Augustus Saint Gaudens.  Politicians like Grover Cleveland, Theodore Roosevelt and Hamilton Fish were members, as were William Cullen Bryant, all three members of the architectural firm McKim, Mead and White; and millionaires John Jacob Astor, Jr., Cornelius Vanderbilt and J. Pierpont Morgan.

By 1887 when the guidebook “How to Know New York City” called the Century Association "a literary, artistic, and aesthetic club, with…a large library, and a picture-gallery,” membership had grown to 600. 

That same year sculptor Auguste Bartholdi arrived in New York to help raise money for the pedestal of his “Liberty Enlightening the World.”  The colossal statue had been presented to the United States as a gift from the people of France; however it might well have included a tag “base not included.”  Bartholdi understandably chose the Century Association building for his January 2, 1877 fund raising speech.

As the century entered its last decade Union Square had become a center of commerce, the splendid homes having been razed for business buildings.   Although the Century Association had expected that what was by now numbered No. 109-111 East 15^thStreet would be its “permanent abode;” on January 12, 1890 The Sun reported that “the conservative old club has finally determined to follow the march of things up town.”

One year later, almost to the day, the Century, now with 800 members, took possession of its McKim, Mead & White-designed clubhouse on West 43^rd Street.  Before the end of the year The United States Brewers’ Association had taken over the old building.

The Association had been formed in 1862 and now had a membership of about 1,000 throughout the U.S.  The group, according to "King’s Handbook of New York City" in 1892 sought “protection of its industry from prohibitory and unduly stringent laws, and cooperatives with the Government in the execution of the laws pertaining to malt liquors.”

"King's Handbook of New York City" published the above photograph in 1892 (copyright expired)

The Association put a spin on its product, asserting to Victorian morality that the drinking of beer reduced the indulgence in alcohol.  “It is contended by the Association that the industry it represents is in the interest of temperance and morality, as its effect is to diminish the consumption of intoxicating liquors,” said the handbook.

Unlike the Century Association before it, the Brewers’ Association had political goals on its agenda.  In December 1898 a “congress” of brewers from across the United States was held to call upon Congress to abolish the war tax on beer.  During the Spanish-American War both the saloon keeper and the consumer paid a tax to help offset war expenses.

“Now the peace treaty is about to be signed and the first thing that should be done to relieve the people is the abolishment of this tax,” said a speaker.   “The people” were common Americans, he contended.  “The tax affects the farmer as well as the brewer.”

The Sun was more interested in the members than the purpose of the congress.   When millionaires were mentioned, it was bankers and railroad moguls who came to mind.  But many beer brewers had amassed enormous fortunes.  “This will be the first time in the history of this or any other city where so many millionaires have gathered at one hall at the same time,” the newspaper predicted.  It estimated the aggregate worth of the delegates to be over $400 million.

The ire of dignified socialites and religious leaders was no doubt raised when they read accounts of a meeting here on December 18, 1901.  A resolution was passed that read, in part, “It is the sense of this board that a law permitting in the City of New York the sale of liquors, ales, wine and beer on Sunday, between the hours of 1 P. M. and 11 P. M., is one consonant with the needs of this community.”

Justice William Travers Jerome spoke saying “Once realizing the facts, I do not see how any thinking man can believe that I am not right in my view of this question.  Some 200,000 of the population of this city want to be able to secure liquor on Sunday, and I do not see that it is my province, or any one else’s to prescribe a code of morals for so considerable a body of citizens, whatever may be our personal desires as to drinking on Sundays.”

It was just the sort of added stimulation the Prohibitionists were looking for, and 1901 saw increased activity in the Temperance movement.

In 1915 the Brewers’ Association fired back at the Temperance leaders, publishing an advertisement disguising itself as an educational list in “The World Almanac & Book of Facts.”   Included in the long list were assertions that:

·        A marked decrease in drunkenness has been noted as a result of the increased sales of beer.

·         Prohibition has gained little or no headway in New York State notwithstanding the persistent and continued activities on the part of the various prohibition organizations.

·         The traffic in alcoholic beverages pays an annual direct tax of nearly $20,000,000 to the State of New York in addition to other taxes; more than one-third of the entire State Budget.

The advertisement did not work.

In September 1918 the Fuel Administration issued an order prohibiting the brewing of beer after December 1.  A meeting at the United States Brewers’ Association building was immediately called.  The ramifications of the order were far-reaching.

There were 9.673 saloons in the five boroughs.  Their closing would mean tens of thousands of New Yorkers would lose their employment--there were at the time around 25,000 bartenders alone.  The breweries had enormous reserve stocks of grain and other ingredients; not to mention the thousands of barrels of beer stored in gigantic tanks.

Then, on January 16, 1919, the 18^th Amendment to the Constitution was ratified prohibiting the “manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors” and on October 28 of that year the Volstead Act was passed to enforce the new laws. 

The Women’s Christian Temperance Union, the major player in the movement, had gotten its way.  In doing so they left jobless “middle-aged and elderly men still in the business in which they have always worked,” as described by The New York Times.

They also put an end to the United States Brewers’ Association.

For some time the Interboro Mutual Indemnity Insurance Company, originally organized in 1914 as the Brewers Mutual Indemnity Insurance Company, stayed on in the building.  Throughout the 20th century it saw a variety of uses.  In the 1920s it became home to the Manhattan chapter of the Sons of Italy Hall, and in the 1930s the Galicia Sporting Club.

Eventually No. 109-111 East 15^th Street was occupied by the New York Joint Board of Shirt, Leisurewear, Robe and Sportswear Workers Union; then an Asian-American trading company that also ran a dry cleaning shop in the basement.

In 1996 a year-long restoration and renovation of the building was initiated by Beyer Blinder Belle, transforming the former clubhouse into the Century Center for the Performing Arts.  The new facility included a 248-seat theater, a studio and a ballroom.

After a decade it was taken over as the New York City production facility for the world’s largest religious television network, Trinity Broadcasting Network.  The company offers 24 hours of commercial-free programming aimed at Protestant, Catholic and Jewish audiences.

With minor alterations (the iron cresting of the roof is gone, as are the entrance steps, and the basement windows are now doorways), the distinguished clubhouse is mainly unchanged.  It was designated a New York City landmark in 1993.

The 1922 Thomas W. Lamont House -- 107 East 70th Street

Looking as much like a school as a mansion, the Lamont House had the luxury of a walled garden with a cloister -- photo NYPL Collection

By 1920, Thomas William Lamont had not only amassed a personal fortune as a partner of J. P. Morgan & Co., he was a highly-visible diplomatic figure for the government.  The previous year he had represented the United States Department of the Treasury at the Paris negotiations that resulted in the Treaty of Versailles.  He was already a member of the Council of Foreign Relations and in 1920 visited Japan in an effort to protect American financial interests in Asia.

While all of this was happening in Lamont’s life changes had been taking place on the East 70^th Street block between Park and Lexington Avenues.   With the soot-belching trains of Park Avenue sent underground around the turn of the century, the upper-middle class Victorian rowhouses of the block were being replaced by handsome mansions of the wealthy.

In 1929 Thomas William Lamont made the cover of Time (copyright expired)

In 1916 Lamont and his wife, the former Florence Haskell Corliss, were living with their children in the rented Franklin D. Roosevelt house on East 65^th Street.  It was time for the multimillionaire to have a home of his own.  That year he purchased Nos. 105 and 107 East 70^th Street from James A. Frame and in November added a third, adjoining, property, No. 109.  He now had a 63-foot wide site for a new house.

With the outbreak of war, plans were stalled.   In 1918 James Frame was still living in No. 105 and William Frame was in No. 107.  But on March 10, 1920 the plans were filed.  The no-nonsense description that listed that architects as Walker & Gillette noted the residence would be five-stories in height and would cost approximately $250,000.

It would be much more than that.

The house was completed two years later.  Variously described as neo-Tudor, Jacobean, and English Gothic, it was a careful study, if not a reproduction, of a 16^th century country house.   Sitting back from the sidewalk (an 1859 regulation required all homes on the block to be set back 10 feet), its brick-and-stone dignity defied the ostentatious mansions of a generation earlier.  The exceptionally-wide plot allowed the architects to extend a wing along the back, into a walled garden with a medieval-type cloister.

The Architectural Record was awed, saying “The Lamont house holds, perhaps, a very special significance—a meaning which may become more fully understood a few years from now.  Turning points are very seldom recognized as such until some time after the turn has been made.  In 1940, perhaps, some critic may say ‘A new kind of sanity appeared in city house architecture about 1922.’”

The Record said “Besides being an unusually fine rendering of the style, it is an unusually fine expression of a dwelling.”   Along with the many-paned windows, the tall clustered chimneys and robustly-carved entrance; the architects lavished historic attention on the interiors.

Over the flagstone entrance hall was a beamed ceiling.  The carved wood of the staircase was crafted to appear hundreds of years old -- photo Architectural Record, 1922, (copyright expired)

Antique mantels and paneling were imported and accurate architectural details were fabricated.  When a wall of antique paneling was found in England that perfectly fit, new woodwork was carefully produced that blended with it.   Tool marks were left in the wood and stone to convey the charm and look of the five-hundred year old originals.

The carved stone mantel of the library was authentic; imported from England -- photo the Architectural Record, 1922 (copyright expired)

Only one room departed from the Jacobean period.  The dining room was done in the Queen Anne style, with a brass chandelier, authentic mantel and carved, paneled woodwork. 

Aside from the conservatory, only the dining room departed from the Jacobean period -- photo Architectural Record, 1922 (copyright expired)

Using the living room as an example, The Architectural Record compared the dignity of the space with the ostentatious pre-war mansions.  “In comparison with the ornate, over-decorated and over-furnished ‘drawing rooms’ of many earlier city houses,, this great quiet interior seems to suggest a distinctly new way of doing things in large houses.  The architects believe—very rightly—that fine furniture and tapestries look better against a simple architectural background.”

The interests of the Lamonts ranged from politics to the arts.  Rather than hosting obligatory teas, dances and dinner parties sodden with forgettable conversations, they filled the house with stimulating guests—among them H. G. Wells, elder British statesman Viscount Cecil of Chelwood, Robert Frost, Walter de la Mare, and poet John Masefeld. 

An English rose and Scottish thistle are carved into the exquisite entrance -- photo by Alice Lum

Reflecting his interest in literature and awareness, Lamont financed The Saturday Review for many years.  The Smith College-educated Florence was a member of the Association for Symbolic Logic, was an active supporter of the League of Nations and unionization of labor.  Because all of this took up much of her time, a staff of 15 took care of things in the 70^th Street house.

Across the river on the palisades overlooking the great Hudson River the Lamonts had a “weekend” house named Torrey Cliff, with a staff of four.

The house was the scene of a dinner party for daughter Eleanor Allen Lamont’s coming out in 1928 and four years later saw her wedding reception.  Eleanor’s was a society match.  She married Charles Crehore Cunningham whom The New York Times noted “prepared at Milton Academy for Harvard, where he is a member of the junior class.”

photo by Alice Lum

In 1933 the Marquess of Lothian was a guest at the Lamont house while he visited New York; but on the whole it was the more political and artistic visitors who were most noted in the press.  Five years later The Times reported that Viscount Cecil…proponent of the League of Nations, sat before a wood fire in the library of Thomas W. Lamont’s home at 107 East Seventieth Street yesterday and gave warning that only the maintenance of world organization for peace stands between the nations and a repetition of the great war.”

Florence Lamont shared the Englishman’s fear.  In November of that same year she wrote to a friend in Britain, “I was so frightened by the crisis, I thought, ‘there is going to be war, and I shall never see my lovely English friends again.’”  She interspersed her letter with political observations—her opinions of Chamberlain’s performance, the New Deal (“three cheers for the death of the New Deal”), and Adolph Hitler.

“And now this last horror of the Jewish terrorism,” she wrote.  “It is unbelievable.  Would it have happened if England had been firmer?  I said to a young foreign correspondent, who had been in the Sudeten areas when the Germans came in, ‘But I can’t believe what you tell me you saw.  Human beings could not act like that!’ He said, ‘They are not human beings, they are rat.’ He meant the present ruling party.”

Florence Lamont’s fears of a second great war came true.  Following the war, in addition to his generous donations to Harvard University, Lamont made a sizeable contribution towards the restoration of the war-damaged Canterbury Cathedral.

In 1948, while in Boca Grande, Florida, Thomas Lamont died.   Shortly afterwards, Florence donated Torrey Cliff along with 150 acres of land to Columbia University to establish a center for geological study and research.

photo by Alice Lum

Early on the morning of December 29, 1952, Florence Lamont died in the house on East 70^th Street.  The New York Times listed her amazing involvements.  “She was an active member of the board of the League of Nations Association, enthusiastically supporting the league during its existence.  Later she became a member of the executive committee of the American Association for the United Nations, continuing in that capacity until her death.  Mrs. Lamong also served on various committees of the Foreign Policy Association and was interested in the New York Women’s Trade Union League and the Journal of Philosophy."

Florence’s will left large amounts of money to women’s college:  Wellesley, Vassar, Radcliffe, Bryn Mawr, Barnard, and Smith.  As for the mansion on East 70^th Street, she donated it to the Visiting Nurse Association, Inc.

The Association moved into the house in 1954, after doing some renovations that included replacing period chandeliers with “fluorescent lighting.”  Fifty-five years later the institution began a renovation of the interiors, executed by architects Beyer Blinder Belle; and a restoration of the façade.

In 1922 the Architectural Record said “let us hope that it will not take us a generation to see the permanent and intrinsic worth of such an architectural expression as this fine, tall-gabled house in New York.”  

The Record got its wish.