The 1903 John R. Drexel House -- No. 1 E. 62nd Street

photo by Alice Lum

John R. Drexel enjoyed a privileged life as he grew up in Philadelphia.  The eldest son of banker Anthony J. Drexel who founded the Drexel Institute, he was educated by tutors and in private schools.  He never attended college.  As was expected, he entered his father’s banking business, Drexel & Co. and became a member of the firm.

John Drexel’s ambitions, however, were not extremely far-reaching and he soon tired of the banking business and retired.    Despite his millions, Drexel “took little interest in society,” according to The New York Times years later.  His wife, however, the former Alice Gordon Troth, did.  Alice was the daughter of William Penn Troth and the former Clara Sharpless Townsend of Philadelphia and she was accustomed to all the gaiety and glittering entertainments her social class demanded.

At the turn of the century, Drexel moved his family, including their two sons and daughter Alice, to New York.   While plans for an appropriate home were considered, Drexel leased Frederick W. Vanderbilt’s mansion at the southeast corner of 5^th Avenue and 40^thStreet in 1901 while the Vanderbilts were away for the winter.  The following season the family lived in the home of the late Samuel D. Babcock, complete with his furnishings, at No. 636 5^thAvenue at the southwest corner of 51^st Street.

By now two residences had been purchased at Nos. 13 and 15 East 54^th Street, just east of 5^th Avenue, and the Drexels were planning their new mansion on the site.  It was a perfect location for the socially-active and ambitious Alice Drexel—just steps from Vanderbilt Row.

But then the already-annoying St. Regis Hotel, erected by John Jacob Astor, Jr. in 1901 in the midst of Manhattan’s most elite residential neighborhood, caused more upheaval.    Now, in the last months of 1902, the hotel began negotiations to purchase No. 3 East 54^th Street and rumors swirled that the property would become a wing of the hotel.

The Drexels changed their minds.   In January 1903 John Drexel purchased two four-story brownstone homes in a neighborhood much removed from the inroads of hotels and stores.   The house of Martin E. Green at No. 1 East 62^ndStreet and that of his next-door neighbor Mrs. Prudence Boynton at No. 3 were just steps from 5^th Avenue and Central Park.  The pair of old brownstones would provide the Drexels a plot 42 feet wide—enough for a mansion appropriate to Alice Drexel’s place in society.

The Philadelphia-born millionaire sought a Philadelphia architect to design his home.    Horace Trumbauer had already been at work on the proposed 54^th Street residence, and now quickly switched gears.  The architect had created magnificent country estates in Pennsylvania and had designed the Newport mansion, The Elms, for Edward J. Berwind who lived just two blocks north at 5^th Avenue and 64^th Street. 

On March 31, 1903 The Sun announced that “Plans were filed yesterday for a new city home to be built for Mrs. Alice Troth Drexel…The second floor will contain a private ballroom and two salons in addition to a dining hall and a library.”   Drexel’s gift to his wife would cost, in all, around $500,000.

Trumbauer created a restrained French mansion four stories high with a steep mansard roof.  Clad in Indiana limestone, it sat on a rusticated base with arched openings over an American basement—the latest in fashion.    For the sedate 40-room house, the architect forewent the Beaux Arts garlands and scrollwork frothing over on similar townhouses.  The result was cool dignity that approached aloofness.

1903 was a triumphal year for Alice Drexel.    The same year that her half million dollar mansion began rising, she was a guest of King Edward and Queen Alexandra of England at a ball at Windsor Castle and at a luncheon at Ascot.  It was a social coup that the ambitious Alice no doubt relished.

photo NYPL Collection

The Drexels summered at their lavish Newport villa, Fairholme on Ochre Point.    A few years after the New York mansion was completed, Philadelphia newspapers noted that John Drexel had given Alice $200,000 “to aid her in a battle for social supremacy at Newport, where she gave elaborate dinner parties.”

Her knack for attracting the attention of the press stretched to Missouri when, on January 29, 1905, The St. Louis Republic printed a “special” item.  “A seashell bath is the latest innovation in household luxuries that Mrs. John R. Drexel is introducing in her Ochre Point home,” it said.   Alice had begun collection pretty seashells on a trip to the Bahamas on John’s steam yacht, the Sultana.  The shells exceeded “in diversity and beauty anything ever obtained on the islands,” professed the Republic.

Alice lined the Fairholme bath in the shells.  “Stripped of their outer layers and clipped to flatness, the shells are being cemented edge to edge with a waterproof compound resembling white coral, as a lining of the bath.  A transparent glaze will cover them and salt water, piped from the ocean, will sparkle with the luster of the sea’s own jewels.”   Alice told the press it was “a happy medium between the lavish silver baths and the prosaic tile.”

While Alice feverishly entertained with musicales, dinner parties and luncheons, her family was frustratingly disinterested.    While the Sultana was called by The New York Times “one of the most lavishly furnished steam yachts afloat,” it also noted that John Drexel “never was [a] yachting enthusiast.”   The New York Times would later note that “Acquaintances said that he seemed to be a man without hobbies or avocations.”  Neither son, John R. Drexel, Jr. nor Gordon P. Drexel, exhibited an interest in social life and young Alice, educated in Paris, had other things on her mind. 

While her mother was a marked figure in Washington, New York, Philadelphia and Newport social circles, The Washington Post noted that young Alice “is a quiet young woman who has evinced no love for society, but has been more interested in serious things.”

It did not stop her mother from trying, though.  On New Year’s day in 1911 Alice Drexel gave a dinner in the 62^nd Street mansion for Alice and John Junior.  “The guests included many young college boys and girls not yet out,” reported The New York Times.  “After dinner a few additional guests came in for the informal dancing that followed, there being about eighty in all.”

Three days later she repeated the entertainments.   Her daughter was 19 years old and, no doubt, Alice Drexel was thinking ahead of a suitable husband and the society wedding that would go with it.  Little did she know that it was not to be.

To her credit, Alice Drexler was not merely about dinner parties and teas.  She was an active worker in the social service department of the Volunteer Hospital.    In 1915 she took special interest in a bizarre case of a tall, athletic-looking boy who was admitted to the hospital with a case of amnesia.   After a week with no progress and  the doctors having exhausted their ideas,  Alice Drexel suggested that circulars be mailed to towns and cities throughout New England containing his description.

A widow in New Haven, Connecticut had reported her son, Ralph Towne missing.   A few hours after the New Haven police department received the description, the 20-year old boy’s uncle, George Chaffee, showed up at the hospital.  After half an hour Ralph had regained his memory.  He had apparently fallen from his motorcycle and somehow ended up on a train to New York.

Alice Drexel’s world of luxurious steam yachts, dinner parties on 62^nd Street and balls in Newport would come crashing down around her on June 5, 1919 when she received word from New Rochelle that her daughter, Alice, had eloped.

At 5:30 in the afternoon the 27-year old had married Captain William Barrett, of the Army Air Service, who had recently returned from fighting in France.  Captain Barrett had been wounded several times in his eighteen months overseas.

The bride’s mother was shaken.  She did not know this Captain Barrett and it would get worse when she discovered that the 32-year old was recently divorced and not wealthy (although he told the press he “had enough to keep the wolf from the door”).

Alice Drexel anticipated the whispered gossip over clinking tea cups in every parlor on 5^th Avenue.  She immediately issued a statement.  “Mr. and Mrs. Drexel have not had the pleasure of meeting Captain Barrett and know nothing whatever about him.  Their daughter’s wedding is, therefore, both a surprise and shock to them.”

The newspapers had a field day.  The New-York Tribune ran a headline reading “Miss Alice Drexel Wed to Army Man Unknown to Parents;” and The Washington Heraldcalled the wedding “a surprise to Newport, Washington and New York society.”   Alice Drexel’s dreams of an extravagant society wedding for her daughter were dashed on the rocks of humiliation.

Captain Barrett told The New-York Tribune that the “suddenness and secrecy of the wedding…was due to his wife’s desire to avoid a formal ceremony.”  The younger Alice was not, apparently, swept off her feet by a dashing military man, either.  The Tribune described him as “short and stocky, with a shock of black hair.”  The likelihood that he would provide his new wife with the lifestyle in which she had grown up was slim.   The newspaper noted that he “was a tutor when he entered the air service of the American army eighteen months ago.  He has had no business experience, he said, and no idea of going into any business.”

It was too much for the Drexels to bear.    Two years later John and Alice purchased a home at No. 34 Rue Francois Premier in Paris and left New York for good.   John returned sporadically when he needed to attend to financial business.    The New York Times said the Drexels “forsook residence in the United States after the publicity that developed from the secret marriage of their daughter.”

The mansion in Newport, once filled with the chatter and music of dinners and balls, was shuttered and the 62^nd Street house sat dark.  Finally in 1929, as the Great Depression set in, the New York mansion was sold to 65-year old millionaire James Blanchard Clews, senior partner of the brokerage house Henry Clews & Co.

Only five years later James Clews died in the house in December 1934 after a long illness.   By now the Depression and the cost of maintaining the hulking aging structures had brought an end to the era of grand Manhattan mansions.   One-by-one the massive homes along 5^th Avenue were being razed or converted to apartment buildings.



Where the elegant mansard had been, an interesting but incongruous addition took form -- photo by Alice Lum

In 1938 the mansion was converted to spacious, upscale apartments including two duplexes.   A modernist three-story addition replaced the mansard roof that included a penthouse apartment of nine rooms with two terraces.  The penthouse living room was 42 by 50 feet and the oak paneling that John and Alice Drexel had imported from France was removed from downstairs and reinstalled here.  The conversion cost the new owner $200,000.  Happily, aside from the unsympathetic treatment of the new top floors, the façade was left unchanged.  The Clews heirs sold the property to real estate operator Webb & Knapp, Inc. in January 1941.

Among the upscale tenants at No. 1 East 62^nd Street was Ernest Hemingway.  In the fall of 1959 he leased a one-bedroom 900-square-foot apartment as a private refuge when staying in New York.  The author had previously endured the visibility of hotels when in the city.  Hemingway installed an office here in 1960 where he hoped to write.  But he was in poor physical health and suffering from delusions and severe depression.  He told friends that he felt he was “living in a Kafka nightmare.”  He was unable to write and left New York for good.  Soon after, in July 1961, he committed suicide in his home in Ketchum, Idaho.

By the late 1980s the building had been converted to condominiums and comedienne Joan Rivers purchased the 5,190-square foot penthouse.  Rivers brought museum-trained restorers in to strip away layers of paint and accumulated dirt from the French paneling.

Joan Rivers had the antique paneling meticulously restored -- http://ny.curbed.com/

Alice Drexel’s once-fabulous mansion is now home to twelve fabulous apartments.  The building looks much as it did in 1938 when the incongruous modernist addition was plopped onto the roof.

The Lost Geo. J. Gould Mansions -- No. 857 5th Avenue

The first George Gould house was a Victorian confection -- Photograph 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=24UP1GW73NQK&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

At the age of 23, George Jay Gould, son of the vastly-wealthy Jay Gould, married Edith Kingdon in 1887.   The newlyweds moved into No. 1 East 47^thStreet, directly behind the Gould’s Fifth Avenue mansion and a passageway was constructed connecting the two homes.   Here three children were born—two boys, Kingdon and Jay, and a little girl.

Young George cut a dashing figure -- photograph Library of Congress

Rather than attend college, George had preferred to go into business with his father.   While his personal fortune grew, he apparently felt it necessary to ask him for financial assistance in building a larger house to accommodate his growing family and social ambitions.

In 1892 Jay Gould, bedridden with tuberculosis, amended his will to reflect the money he gave George to purchase a house on upper Fifth Avenue.  Of the “five millions of dollars” he bequeathed his son, he deducted “the amounts advanced by me for the purchase of a house for him on Fifth avenue, New York City.”

Around the time of the revised will, about two or three weeks before Jay Gould died, George and his family moved in to No. 857 Fifth Avenue at the corner of 67^th Street (brother Edwin moved into the 47^thStreet mansion).   The 50-room house smacked vaguely of the William K. Vanderbilt residence on Fifth Avenue at 52^nd Street—albeit on a less opulent scale.  A corner turret with a long, conical cap was ringed by pierced stone balconies.  The busy riot of peaked gables, balustrades and bays was the epitome of late Victorian taste.

Edith Kingdon Gould not long after her marriage to George --photograph Library of Congress

Although Edith made time to entertain lavishly, she consistently bore children.   She later showed a friend the marriage bed that George had had designed for their wedding night.  It was carved with entwined hearts, lover’s knots and painted with eight cupids at the altar of love.  “I shall never forget my feelings when I first saw it.  I just knew I should have eight children if I slept in that bed…and so I did.”

Three years after the Goulds moved into the new house, rumors began circulating regarding George’s sister Anna.  The 21-year old was doggedly courted by hopeful young men.  On February 10, 1895 The New York Times said “About a year after her father’s death it was announced that she was engaged to be married to Harry Woodruff, then an actor in Palmer’s company…The report went forth in January, 1894, that Miss Gould was to marry William M. Harriman, a well-known clubman…Miss Gould was reported to be engaged to Prince Francis Joseph of Battenberg, a brother of Queen Victoria’s son-in-law; then to Count Talleyrand-Perigord…and, finally, not more than a month ago, to Henry Woodruff again.  All these supposed suitors are now on the shelf.”

The reason that the men were “on the shelf” was due to the announced engagement of Anna to Count Jean de Castellane, “son of the Marquis de Castellane, whose estates are the chateaux de Rochecotte and Langelais, on the banks of the Loire, France,” said the newspaper.   The Times added “With the announcement…is coupled the statement that the bridegroom will receive a settlement of $2,000,000.”

Because the French tradition insisted on a civil ceremony and American society insisted on a lavish church ceremony; both were planned.    With both of her parents dead, the civil ceremony was slated to be held in George’s house; the religious service at St. Patrick’s Cathedral would be officiated by Archibishop Corrigan (although Anna, like her father, was a Presbyterian).

The Times called the Count “tall and well-proportioned, and he has a sprightly way that manifests itself in his walk and gestures.  His complexion is clear and fair.  His hair about approaches the tint called ‘golden.’  His face has a very young look.  Altogether, he appears to be a young man in perfect health, who thoroughly enjoys life and has never had much to worry him.  He dresses in excellent taste.”

The Count’s family arrived in New York and were the guests of George and Edith.   The Marquis and Marquise de Castellane were introduced to New York society at a dinner in the mansion.   And despite that fact that the church service would be “much more elaborate than those for the civil marriage on Saturday,” according to The Times, Fifth Avenue around the Gould mansion would be the scene of near chaos on March 2, 1895.

A line of carriages drops guests off at the awning erected for the wedding -- Photograph 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=24UP1GW73NQK&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Police were in force to hold back the crowds who jammed the sidewalks and streets to get a glimpse of wealthy New Yorkers and titled Europeans. 

Fifth Avenue is jammed with well-dressed curiosity-seekers on the day of Anna's wedding -- Photograph 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=24UP1GW73NQK&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Around this time George commissioned Bruce Price to design the family’s country estate, Georgian Court, in Lakewood, New Jersey.    It was described as one of the “most magnificent private residences in the United States.”   Here the Goulds would spent not only their summers, but much of the winter season as well.

With the erection of the Thomas F. Ryan home next door, the Gould mansion was suddenly dated -- Photograph 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=24UP1GW73NQK&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Throughout the years Edith was famous for her entertainments.   In February 1900, when Anna and the Count returned to New York for a visit, Edith got top billings in the society pages--over Mrs. Astor--with a dinner in the latest style.  “Perhaps the event of the day which has been most discussed is the dinner and musicale to be given by Mrs. George J. Gould at 857 Fifth Avenue.  This entertainment was arranged a number of weeks ago, and some time before the Count and Countess de Castellane arrived in this country.  There will be one of the new-fashioned dinner gatherings, at which some fifty-six guests will be seated at small tables.  The dinner will be followed by a musicale, to which over a hundred additional guests have been asked.”

As it turned out, the purpose of the visit by Anna and the Count revolved around financial problems.  By the end of the year, the couple’s extravagant spending resulted in the French Government appointing George Gould the trustee of his sister’s money.    Their lavish lifestyle included building a $3 million palace in Paris which was an exact replica of Le Petit Trianon, the Count’s purchase of the yacht Valhalla for $500,000 and refitting her for another $250,000, and a ball which “excited the wonder of Paris.”  The event, according to The New York Times, “was a reproduction, enhanced by every modern appliance possible, of the wedding festival of Marie Therese of Austria and Louis XIV.  Over 1,000 persons were employed either as performers or servants.  The guests numbered 3,000.  The fete, it is said, cost $300,000.”

With George minding the purse strings, things were a bit less ostentatious in the de Castellane household.

In 1904 Edith had been spending the greater part of the winter at Georgian Court, but returned to the Fifth Avenue house to be operated on.  For over a year she had been suffering from appendicitis attacks and her doctor suggested the operation; saying nothing would be gained by delaying it.  Rather than suffer the indignity of a hospital, the surgery took place in the mansion on March 30, 1904.

By the turn of the century the Fifth Avenue facade was covered in ivy -- Photograph 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=24UP1GW73NQK&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Two years later Dr. William B. Anderton would be back in the house again, this time delivering the Goulds’ seventh child, and fourth daughter on March 4, 1906.   The Times noted that “Mr. Gould is proud of his large family, and has devoted a great deal of time to the physical training of his children.  In connection with his Lakewood estate there is an athletic field, a theatre, a race track and a swimming pool for their benefits.  Mr. Gould plays with them, and he and his two oldest boys are among the greatest polo enthusiasts in the country.  The boys have the finest of polo ponies, while the girls have ponies of their own.”  The article added, somewhat surprisingly to 21^st century readers, “All have automobiles as well.”

Concern for the newborn would soon be felt when, within two weeks, her sister Marjorie contracted measles.  The infection spread to young Kingdon shortly after.   The danger of the disease in 1904 prompted a headline in The Times “Kingdon Gould Has Measles—Ill at His Father’s Home—His Sister Marjorie Better.”

While the children were being nursed inside the house, mysterious doings were going on outside.  In April private watchman John J. O’Brien told police he had seen William McInnis “many times in the past month” peering into the basement windows of the Gould house.  “He was never able to explain what he was doing,” he said.

On April 3 Patrolman Collins arrested McInnis and charged him “with lurking at night about the residence of George J. Gould” and being a “suspicious person.”

The judge did not see an offense.  “I don’t see that he has committed any overt act,” said Magistrate Pool in Yorkville Court.   He instructed the officer “If he commits any offense, lock him up, but I don’t see that he has.  He is discharged.”

McInnis’s father vouched for his son, saying he had been “acting queerly” lately because of stomach trouble, but there was “no harm in him.”

In 1907 the Victorian pile at No. 857 Fifth Avenue was grossly outdated.  Next door the stately white mansion of Thomas Fortune Ryan stood in stark contrast to the old-fashioned Gould house.  The Goulds set out to remedy the situation.  In March of that year Philadelphia-based architect Horace Trumbauer filed plans for a new mansion to replace the 15-year old home.   The New York Times reported that “The house will be of stone, five stories high.”

Trumbauer harmonized the completed $1.25 million Italian palace with the Ryan mansion.  The rusticated base was a near match to its neighbor, as was the cornice.  To maintain proportions, the fifth floor was deftly set back, causing the mansion to appear a story shorter than it was.  Inside were the expected period rooms—such as the Regency Room paneled in Circassian walnut with rose red draperies.  Bathtubs and washbasins were carved from solid marble and some bathroom fittings were of gold.

The replacement mansion bore no resemblance to its predecessor.  The brownstone house next door to Ryan's has been leveled to give the millionaire a garden-- Photograph 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=24UP1GW73NQK&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

It was intended as a grand venue for entertaining.  “The residence contains two reception and ballroom floors,” said The Times.  It was the scene of a dance to announce the engagement of Marjorie to Anthony J. Drexel, Jr., of Philadelphia on January 18, 1910.   Following the April 19 wedding in St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church, the reception was held in the Fifth Avenue house.

A year later it would be repeated when the Goulds gave a dinner dance for debutante daughter Helen Vivien on January 20, 1911 in anticipation of her February marriage to Lord Decies of London.   The 140 guests at dinner included some of the most recognized names in New York society—John Jacob Astor, Mrs. Reginald Vanderbilt, Mr. and Mrs. William Earl Dodge, Mr. and Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish and Mr. and Mrs. Mackay among them.

As the ceremony neared The New York Times remarked that “The interest in society over this wedding may be said to be almost world-wide, especially in view of the fact that Lord Decies has spent twenty-three years’ service in the English Army and is well known in social circles in nearly every country of the British Empire.”

Like her aunt’s wedding more than 15 years earlier, Vivien’s attracted thousands.  “Before and after the church ceremony thousands of curious people formed a sort of human wall partly around the church and even extending over the rooftops,” said the newspapers.  Despite intense security, twelve or fifteen women managed to barge into St. Bartholomew’s.  “They made a wild scramble for the interior of the church, and were in the act of plucking the Easter lilies from the nave as souvenirs when they were forcibly ejected,” said The Times.

Following the ceremony, the Fifth Avenue mansion was crowded with celebrated political and social figures.  Included were an ambassador, the Marquis and Marchioness of Salisbury, Prince de Carini, Lord Eustace Percy, Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, Sir Bache and Lady Cunard, Mr. and Mrs. Elihu Root, along with a number of Vanderbilts, Belmonts, Cuttings, Auchinclosses, and Atterburys.

By the time Edith and George’s granddaughter, Edith Kingdon Drexel, was christened in the house in December of that year, things were becoming strained between them.   Edith’s once glamorous figure was gone.  Overweight and matronly, she spent more and more time at Georgian Court while George acquired a wandering eye.

He began an affair with showgirl Guinevere Sinclair, a “Gaiety Girl” dancer.   In 1913 he presented her with a fashionable home at No. 323 West 74^th Street and on April 15, 1915 a son, George Sinclair, was born. 

Later that year Edith did something a bit shocking.  Arnold Daly was producing a moving picture for Pathe called “Ashton Kirk, Investigator.”   The script called for a scene set in a mansion ballroom.  According toMoving Picture World on August 21, 1915, “Mr. Daly wanted to get a ballroom scene with all the realism of life in high society.  Mrs. George Gould generously permitted the use of her palatial residence at 857 Fifth avenue, New York.  Upper Fifth avenue opened its eyes to see a long line of carriages and automobiles discharging scores of men and women in evening dress at high noon before the Gould residence, and received by lines of powdered footmen in full livery.”

The extended Gould family--including Edith--was aware of George’s indiscrete affair with Sinclair but society was kept in the dark.   As war broke out in Europe, Edith turned her focus to war relief.   She hosted a talk in the Fifth Avenue house by Arthur Stanley Riggs on “France: Its Romance, Beauty and Art” in February 1916.  The proceeds went to aid French soldiers disabled in battle and “the destitute women of France.”

In 1918 she was chairman of the Entertainment Committee for the mayor’s Committee of Women on National Defense and used the Fifth Avenue mansion as the collection point for “theatrical properties, wigs, grease paints, costumes, etc., for entertainments to be given among themselves by soldiers in the camps.”

In the meantime, George and Guinevere Sinclair had produced another child.  A daughter, Jane, arrived in 1917.

Society was shocked when, on May 26, 1920, 18-year old Edith C. Gould eloped with Carroll L. Wainwright.   Edith and George were informed by telegram from their daughter saying that she was married.  Reporters rushed to the Fifth Avenue mansion for comments.  George downplayed the scandal.

“I do not understand just why these young people considered an elopement necessary, but our family will certainly wish them all success,” he told the New-York Tribune.   “All success” did not necessarily mean Gould family money; for a month later The Sun and New York Herald described Edith’s considerably reduced circumstances.  She and her husband were living in a four-room apartment and “does her own housework.”

Meanwhile, Edith tried hard to lose weight and recapture the attentions of her husband.  She went on diets, underwent massages and took up golf.  In 1921 she resumed entertaining and on January 16, when the New-York Tribune reported on the “brilliant entertainment” in the Gould mansion for about 400 guests, it added “It was the first large affair Mrs. Gould has given in a number of years, when her entertainments in pre-war days used to be among the features of New York’s social season.”

Tragically, her attempts to win back George would prove fatal.   In order to lose weight and appear thin, she took to wearing a tortuously tight rubber suit under her clothing.  While playing golf with George in November 1921, she suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack.  Beneath her golfing outfit was the suffocating rubber suit.

Edith’s funeral was held in the mansion and was surprisingly brief.  “The services required only twenty minutes,” said the New-York Tribune on November 17.  The funeral was attended only by immediate family and close friends; however the small group of about 50 inside the house was contrasted with throngs outside.  “More than a thousand persons, women predominating, crowded the sidewalks opposite the Fifth Avenue entrance of the home and corners of Madison Avenue and East Sixty-seventh Street during the holding of the services,” said the newspaper.

As was common at the time, the Gould homes were in Edith’s name.  Perhaps with Guinevere Sinclair in mind, her will was explicit on one point in particular.  “I give, devise and bequeath unto my beloved husband, George Jay Gould, for and during his life and until he remarries, these two certain pieces of real estate.”  Quite clearly, if George remarried, he would lose the house and everything in it.

It did not take George long to decide.  On July 13, 1922 The New York Times reported that he had arrived in Paris with a woman and “registered at the Hotel Meurice as Mr. and Mrs. Gould.”  Before long the newspapers began piecing together the scandalous story, including the two bastard children.

Ironically, George would not enjoy his marriage for long.  In May 1923 he died alone in France from heart disease.  It was the beginning of a bitter fight for the $15 million estate between the Gould children and the new Mrs. Gould.

Legal battles dragged on for several years as Guinevere  attempted to get possession of valuable paintings and real estate.  Finally, on June 18, 1925 the estate was settled with Guinevere receiving $1.5 million in Library bonds and a $4 million trust for the two Sinclair children.

Meanwhile, the Fifth Avenue house was purchased in 1923 by Harry Payne Whitney.  In December 1925 it became home to his mother-in-law Alice Gwynne Vanderbilt, who had just sold her mansion at No. 1 West 57^th Street for $7 million.  The colorful Alice Vanderbilt lived on in the mansion until her death on April 22, 1934.  It was inherited by her daughter, Gladys, Countess Szechenyi.

Photograph by Wurts Bros., from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GW73NQK&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

As Gladys aged, maintaining her massive homes, including The Breakers in Newport, was troublesome.  In 1948 she leased the The Breakers to the Preservation Society of Newport County, keeping a small section for herself.   By 1951, at the age of 65, she rarely spent time in the Fifth Avenue home.  The New York Times mentioned that it was “occupied only sporadically in recent years by the countess, who maintains an apartment here and a home in Newport, R. I., as well as Washington.”

In December 1951 she sold the Fifth Avenue mansion to the Institute of International Education.  In reporting on the sale, The New York Times described the mansion’s solid construction in terms of 20^th century Cold War era thinking:  “Believed to be one of the safest dwellings in the city in the event of an atomic bomb attack, the edifice is constructed of steel and concrete, with an exterior of gray limestone.”

Exquisite carving graced the entrance -- Photograph by Wurts Bros., from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GW73NQK&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Kenneth Holland, president of the Institute, said the organization “hope to set up a working center not only for the exchange of students and professors but for the development of new programs that will facilitate the transocean exchange of business men, newspaper men, labor leaders, farm youth and public officials.”

For the house that had cost George Gould $1.25 million to build, the Institute paid $400,000.  The handsome mansion would not be around much longer, however.  On April 1, 1962 The Times reported that “Duplexes of the ground floor maisonette type, which will have their own street or lobby entrance, are planned for two nineteen-story buildings soon to be built on Fifth Avenue.”

Both structures were being designed by architect Robert L. Bien; one of them to replace the Gould mansion at No. 857 Fifth Avenue.

The Fifth Avenue corner where carriages dropped elegantly dressed wedding guests is no longer even a memory -- photo Cityrealty.com

The 1912 James B. Duke Mansion -- No. 1 E. 78th St.

Society eyebrows were raised when the staggeringly-wealthy James Buchanan Duke announced his engagement to the 40-year old widow, Lillian McCredy, in 1904.  The couple had known one another only briefly and, while Mrs. McCredy was prominent socially, a marriage so quickly seemed rash.

Duke, at 48 years of age, had amassed millions; mostly through the tobacco business begun by his father in Durham, North Carolina.  James and his brother Benjamin had gone on to found the American Tobacco Company.

On November 29, 1904 the pair was married.  They immediately sailed off for Europe for a honeymoon of several months.  The marital bliss would be short-lived.

Whispered rumors over Limoges tea cups insinuated that Lillian was “seeing” a man, Major Frank T. Huntoon, even before the newlyweds returned home.  Huntoon was the President of a mineral water company located at No. 11 West 25^th Street, whom The New York Times said “is well known as a man about town.”

Sensing betrayal, Duke hired private investigators to follow both his wife and Huntoon.  The investigations produced the undeniable evidence of an affair and Duke sued his wife for divorce.  The two-timing Lillian received $500,000 settlement—a paltry sum when Duke’s fortune was estimated to be approximately $60 million at the time.

In the meantime, Benjamin Duke and his wife Sarah had moved into a magnificent new mansion at 5^th Avenue and 82^ndStreet a few years earlier.  In December 1906 the couple gave a reception where James noticed the enchanting 34-year old Southern-born Mrs. Nanaline Holt Inman.  The Times called Mrs. Inman, the widow of an Atlanta cotton merchant, “a handsome brunette” who “has always attracted a considerable amount of attention.”

Following the chance meeting The Times noticed that Duke “paid her constant attention.” Eight months later on July 23, 1907 the couple was married.  The same newspaper noted that the groom purchased the Henry H. Cook mansion at the northeast corner of 5^thAvenue and 78^th Street for $1.6 million “as a present for his bride.”  The newspaper went on to say “it stands on one of the most exclusive blocks in the city, and the Dukes’ near neighbors will be Payne Whitney, H. H. Rogers, and Stuyvesant Fish.”

Negotiations for the property stalled, however, perhaps because Cook’s Victorian pile was decidedly out of date.  Finally in August 1909 Duke purchased the property for $1.25 million.  Although he initially hired C. P. H. Gilbert to remodel the hulking mansion; he soon changed his mind.

James Duke demolished Henry Cook's gigantic mansion, above, to build his own -- NYPL Collection

Instead he decided to demolish it and start over.  He commissioned Philadelphia-based architect Horace Trumbauer to design a new, up-to-date mansion on the site.   Trumbauer estimated the cost of the new structure at $1 million.

“From these figures it is evident that the new home of the tobacco magnate is to be one of the most magnificent of the famous group of residences along the easterly side of Central Park,” remarked The Times.

Cook had outfitted his mansion with antique architectural details that were now ripped out and resold.  The oak paneling that had cost Cook $55 per section was sold off at $3 each.  An Italian fireplace and mantel sold for $300.  Cook had paid $15,000 for it.  The contractor paid to demolish the structure called it, according to architectural historian John Tauranac “the best-built house ever torn down in New York City.”

Trumbauer was not widely accepted by New York architects who disapproved of his "stealing" designs from historic properties.  For the Duke mansion he did just that; nearly reproducing the Hotel Lobottiere in Bordeaux, France.  The changes that he made, while subtle, resulted in a architecturally-effective residential building on a New York City street.

The Duke House shortly after completion -- photograph Library of Congress

Architectural historians are generally in agreement that it was not Trumbauer, solely, who was responsible for the Duke mansion; and that his head designer, the African-American Julian Abele, was possibly highly influential.  Abele was most often overlooked during his lifetime and received little credit for his remarkable designs until later in the century.

Completed in 1912, the Duke house stood apart from most of its neighbors by being free-standing.  A stone balustrade wall separated the shallow lawn from the sidewalk, nearly matched by a similar treatment at the roofline. 

The Dukes moved into the house that year with their baby girl, Doris.   The museum-worthy interiors were sumptuous; filled with the antiques and artwork collected by Duke himself.  The bulk of the furniture was Louis XV and Louis XVI period and antique tapestries decorated room after room.

Along the second floor hallway were two Regence tapestries valued at $10,000 and a Gobelin tapestry, “Le Memorable Judgment de Sancho,” assessed at over three times that much.  Another Regence tapestry hung in the dining room along with a fourfold Bavonnieres tapestry screen.  Other tapestries included early sixteenth century Flemish, French Renaissance and Gothic examples.

Among the priceless artworks were a terra cotta bust by Houdon, “Second Daughter of the Artist,” in the library; Gainsborough’s “Lord Gwydyr” and Raeburn’s “Gentleman in Red Coat” in the main hallway.

The Dukes entertained lavishly.  Here in March 1913 they gave a dinner for 60, followed by a musicale.  Lucrezia Bori and Pasqale Amto of the Metropolitan Opera entertained, as did violinist Efram Zimbalist, according to The Sun.

The mansion on East 78^th Street was convenient for business and city entertaining; but it was not the Dukes’ main residence.  Across the river in Somerville, New Jersey was their 2,500-acre country estate which James Duke listed as his primary residence.  In the Summer they spent time at a former Vanderbilt “cottage,” Rough Point,” and another magnificent mansion in Durham, North Carolina often served as a getaway in the Winter.

In March 1925 James Duke’s first wife, Lillian, reappeared.  She had lost the money left to her by her wealthy first husband as well as the half-million divorce settlement.    Lillian had studied singing under Jean DeReszke in her happier days and was now subsisting by giving music lessons.

She now sought to recover some of the millions she lost through her indiscretions.

Over two decades after the divorce she filed suit to set the divorce aside and declare her the legal wife of James B. Duke.  She protested in court that “perjured testimony was given against her.”  On May 15 Justice Giegerich dismissed her complaint and upheld the divorce, as well as Duke’s marriage to Nanadine.   Lillian had her attorneys set in motion an appeal of the decision.

The appeal would never make it to the courts.  James Duke contracted pneumonia and died in the house on East 78^th Street on October 10.    Lillian, who was living in her music studio, was plunged into deep depression upon receiving news of his death.   Refusing to eat, she became weak, and then suffered a cerebral hemorrhage.  Within weeks of Duke’s death she died nearly penniless.

James B. Duke’s estate was estimated at between $60 and $100 million dollars.  $40 million went to Trinity College in Durham under the condition that the name be changed to Duke University.  The bulk of the remaining estate went to Nanadine and little Doris.

The house on East 78^th Street became somewhat of a legal problem for mother and daughter due to the wording of the will.  It all ended with 14-year old Doris essentially suing her mother over the property in what the newspapers called “a friendly suit.”

Although the will gave Nanadine life rights to the Newport, North Carolina and New York City mansions; it also said in another clause that the executors must sell all real estate immediately.  Doris was permitted by the terms of the will to purchase the properties back, and the executors were to provide her with the sufficient funds to do so. 

Doris’ suit claimed the auction would be a “vain and useless proceeding” since she would end up with the properties anyway.  She also was concerned about a public auction.  “She asserts that if the property is advertised for sale the residence in New York will be opened to the public, and persons claiming to be prospective purchasers will go there with the result that the property will depreciate in value,” said The Times.

No doubt Doris and her mother were not eager to have riff-raff tromping through their home.

In the end young Doris inherited the vast real estate holdings and, as her father directed, her mother had the right to use them for life.  Now known as “the richest girl in the world,” Doris Duke was determined to live her life by her own rules, despite what conventional society thought.

Four years later her debutante ball was given at Rough Point by her mother.  600 guests were invited who danced to the music of two orchestras in the ballroom.  Doris Duke had arrived.

In 1933 she quietly celebrated her 21^st birthday; a landmark date that increased her fortune by about $30 million.  The gang of journalists crowding East 78^thStreet prompted her to leave the city to seek the calm of Duke Farms outside of Somerville, New Jersey—which by now encompassed 5,000-acres.  Here she admitted a handful of reporters who asked her about her increased wealth.

“I really don’t know myself how much there is,” she said.

When the outspoken girl was asked if she intended to travel abroad, she replied, no, “unless people go on asking me as many foolish questions as they have tried to ask me today.”

In 1938 famed photographer Berenice Abbott juxtaposed an apartment building awning and doorman with the private mansion of Doris Duke for a project entitled "Changing New York" -- NYPL Collection

Doris Duke traveled the globe delving into exotic art, historic preservation, and—generations ahead of her time--wildlife and environmental conservation.  She became one of the first American collectors to discover Southeast Asian and Islamic art and filled her homes with diverse objects d’art.

Twice married and twice divorced, she explored areas which were still mysterious in her day:  Africa, India, the Near East and Southeast Asia.  During the Second World War she earned a salary of one dollar a year working in a canteen for sailors in Egypt.  She briefly served as a foreign correspondence for the International News Service in 1945; then took up residency in Paris to write for Harper’s Bazaar.  Later, while living in Hawaii, she added to her list of accomplishments being the first female competitive surfer.

Doris Duke arrives at LaGuardia Airport in 1947

On January 7, 1958 The Times reported that the 40,000 square-foot mansion at No. 1 East 78^th Street was now the property of New York University’s Institute of Fine Arts.  “The three-story limestone building that will house the graduate study institute is a gift from Mrs. Nanaline H. Duke, widow of Mr. Duke, and their daughter Doris Duke,” the article said.

The Institute’s care in sympathetically renovating the beautiful home earned it a New York Landmarks Conservancy award for its “superb adaptive reuse” of the mansion.

In designating the Duke house a city landmark in 1970, the Landmarks Preservation Commission called it “one of the adornments of Fifth Avenue and one of the last reminders of the Age of Elegance.”

non-credited photograph taken by the author.

The 1911 Adelaide Townsend Douglas House -- 57 Park Avenue

photo by Alice Lum

In March 1902, when excavation for the Park Avenue subway resulted in a calamitous cave-in that seriously damaged several mansions, a scandal was being quietly ignored by New York society.  As the clean up on Park Avenue began, Mrs. William P. Douglas and her daughter, Edith Sybil, were anticipating an ocean voyage as guests of J. P. Morgan on his yacht the Corsair.

Adelaide Townsend Douglas was married to capitalist William Proctor Douglas.  Although he had been a member of the first American international polo team, he was best known as a yachtsman.   In 1871 he successfully defended the America’s Cup with his schooner Sappho.  But since 1895, according to Jean Strouse’s “Morgan: American Financier,” Adelaide had been carrying on an affair with Morgan.

Rumors of Morgan’s and Adelaide’s affair never rose above a whisper.  William Douglas moved out of their home on East 46^th Street in 1903.  In 1908, after son J. Gordon Douglas married, William moved again, this time to No. 12 West 76^th Street and, finally, the Social Register listed him and Adelaide separately.

Meanwhile, John J. Murphy had sold his mansion at No. 57 Park Avenue just weeks following the cave-in.    The New York Times reported that it was “one of the houses which was badly damaged by the subway cave-in” and described it as “four stories in height…It is understood that before the cave-in Mr. Murphy held the property at $65,000.”   (That valuation would translate to over $1 million today.)

Now, in 1909 with only Sybil left at home, Adelaide laid plans for a new home—one just steps from the J. P. Morgan mansion at Madison Avenue and 37^th Street.  On April 8, 1909 The Times reported that “Architect Horace Trumbauer of Philadelphia has filed plans for the new six-story residence to be built by Mrs. Adelaide L. Douglas at 57 Park Avenue.  It is to be 25.1 feet front, with a façade of granite and limestone, and will cost $120,000.”  It is interesting to note that by now, although never divorced, the newspapers referred to Adelaide by her own name and not her husband’s.

The unlivable mansion of John Murphy had been purchased in a settlement by the Interboro Rapid Transit Company.    Now it was razed to be replaced by an elegant and restrained townhouse in the French Classic style of Louis XVI.   Apparently Adelaide did not need to worry about the high cost of the structure—her grandson later reported that Morgan financed it; and nearly half a century later The New York Times brashly announced that it was “originally built for J. P. Morgan.”

Construction went on for two years and in 1911 it was completed.   Trumbauer managed to ornament the house with exquisite bas relief carvings, French ironwork and a full menu of window shapes and dimensions; all the while maintaining calm and elegance. 



Urns of full-blown roses and panels depicting children adorn the facade (encroached upon by creeping ivy) photo by Alice Lum

Guests entered into a marble-lined reception hall.  On the first floor was the sumptuous dining room.  Above, where tall French doors opened onto the Park Avenue balcony, were two salons decorated in the French 18^thcentury style.  Adelaide’s bedroom was on the third floor, facing the rear, along with the library to the front.

The one guest who did not enter through the double entrance doors on Park Avenue was J. P. Morgan.  According to family members, the millionaire had a private entrance atthe rear of the house.

If New York society rebuffed those involved in extramarital affairs, it made an exception for the fabulously wealthy.  Dinner parties in the Park Avenue house were regularly noted in the society pages—and attended.

Adelaide was alone in the mansion following her daughter’s marriage.  Edith—referred to as Sybil by friends—was married on January 27, 1913 in fashionable St. George’s Chapel.   She was wed to William Fitzhugh Whitehouse.  Although The Sun, cautioned that “only relatives and a few intimate friends will witness the ceremony,” those who attended the wedding included society’s elite.  The Times listed both Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt and “Mrs. Vanderbilt,” Colonel and Mrs. William Jay, Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Iselin, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Iselin, and Alfonso de Navarro among others.

Following the ceremony, Park Avenue was lined with smart vehicles and waiting drivers as Adelaide hosted the reception in the house.

photo by Alice Lum

On June 3, 1919 Adelaide’s husband died in his home at No. 12 West 76^th Street at the age of 77.   Her affiliation with William Douglas was apparently cordial.  When the will was read, Adelaide received $50,000 of the over $1 million estate and one third of the income from her husband’s real estate.

Adelaide continued the expected schedule of a wealthy New York socialite.  Each summer her Newport estate “Cozy Nook” was opened and every fall it was closed.   In front of No. 57 Park Avenue, horse-drawn carriages gave way to shining limousines that dropped guests off for dinner parties and receptions.

Adelaide made the change as well.   In 1932 her chauffeur was 22-year old Servie Laccesaglio who, with other staff, lived in the house.  Apparently Laccesaglio felt his Depression Era wages and free board were not enough to see him through.

Early on the morning of December 30, 1932 the chauffeur and two other men noticed Brooklyn restaurant owner Max Advocate emerging from the 20^th Avenue subway station in Brooklyn on his way home.   The men forced him into their automobile, drove him several miles then robbed him of $150 in cash, a $25 check and his bank book.

A passerby had seen the abduction, noted the license plate and notified the police.  Unfortunately for Laccesaglio and his accomplices, the New York Police Department had recently installed radios in its patrol cars.  The New York Times credited the technological innovation with their arrests.  “The police radio system early this morning snared three men half an hour after they had released a Brooklyn restaurant proprietor,” it said.

Adelaide Douglas’s young chauffeur learned that crime does not pay--and assumedly lost a job and free room.

Three years later, on October 23, 1935, the 83-year old colorful Adelaide Townsend Douglas died in her Park Avenue mansion.  Ironically, her New York Times obituary related more about her husband’s life and accomplishments than it did about her.

The Douglas mansion sat vacant for a period, then was leased by Athur Charn in June 1937. Before long, however, the house would be converted to high-end apartments.   Here in 1940 Maurice and Martha Speiser lived.   The couple auctioned off their extensive art collection in 1944 at the Parke-Bernet Galleries.  Included were 115 canvases by Picasso, Chagall, Matisse and other masters; 15 sculptures by artists like Epstein and Brancusi; and 761 books on modern art.  Among the masterworks sold were Modigliani’s Garcon a la Vest Blue and Utrillo’s Eglise Sainte Marguerite.

In 1942 the Douglas Estate sold the house built for Adelaide.   For a few years it housed the offices of American British Technology, Inc. and the Welfare League for Retarded Children, Inc.  Then on June 17, 1959 the United States Olympic Association, Inc. announced that “shortly will have a new home.”  The organization, which had been operating from the Hotel Biltmore, purchased the house at No. 57 Park Avenue.

photo by Alice Lum

The Olympic Association remained in the Douglas mansion for nearly two decades.  In 1978 what was now referred to as the “Olympic House” was sold for $5 million to the Government of Guatemala as its Mission to the United Nations.   As the Landmarks Preservation Commission remarked the following year, “Despite changes to the interior of the house, the exterior remains almost entirely intact.  As such it is a reminder of the period before World War I when Park Avenue was an elegant residential thoroughfare.”

photo by Alice Lum