Hunt & Hunt's Monumental 69th Regiment Armory, 68 Lexington Ave

photo by Alice Lum

In stark contrast to New York’s Seventh Regiment, popularly known as “The Silk Stocking Regiment” because of its many wealthy members, the 69^th Regiment was formed by Irish immigrants.   Organized in 1851, the regiment was accepted into the State Militia—later to become the National Guard.

The feisty group was deployed during the Civil War and saw action in every major battle from Bull Run to Appomattox.  The 69^th was well-known as “the Fighting Sixty-Ninth” by the time it was called to action in the Spanish-American War in 1898.

The reputation of the 69th resulted at least one popular song -- NYPL Collection

While the 69^th was still fighting that war, the Committee on Sites of the Armory Board raised a disturbing concern.   Regimental armories were, essentially, all located above 59^th Street.  “In case of trouble necessitating the use of troops down town much valuable time would, in the opinion of the committee, be lost in moving them,” reported The New York Times on March 15, 1889.

On April 3, 1901 $450,000 was appropriated for a new armory “including architect’s fees and all incidental expenses connected therewith;” that amount being approved by the Sinking Fund a month later.

Trouble soon ensued.  The architectural firm of Horgan & Slattery was given the commission to design the new armory on Lexington Avenue between 25^th and 26^thStreets.   By November 19 the plans and specifications were completed and approved, and construction bids were requested.  The lowest bid received was $666,394—more than $200,000 higher than budget.  The Armory Board therefore rejected the plans of Horgan & Slattery and terminated its contract.  It then added another $100,000 to the appropriation and invited competitive plans from selected architects.

As a result the firm of Hunt & Hunt was awarded the new commission in 1903 and the City of New York was slapped with a law suit from Horgan & Slattery.

Richard and Joseph Hunt were the sons of the eminent architect Richard Morris Hunt.  Their partnership was just two years old when they began designing the armory and their plans were ground-breaking.  The brothers made a near-360 degree turn away from the traditional armory design—romantic medieval-looking fortresses with towers and crenellations.  

The New York Times made special mention of the fact in announcing the design.  “The exterior of the new armory…is not of the castellated style consecrated to armories,” it reported on August 13, 1903.

Instead the architects envisioned a burly block of brown-red brick that rose three stories to an imposing two-story mansard roof.   The military theme was not disposed of entirely.   Projecting gun bays lined the Lexington Avenue façade and great stone panels were inscribed with the regiment’s campaigns.

A massive maw-like arch sheltered the deeply recessed entrance, above which a sculptured stone eagle acted as keystone.

The plans called for a drill hall, 212 by 168 feet, spanned by a glass and steel arched roof that rose 126 feet above the floor.  The third floor contained the gymnasium, a hall 113 feet by 40 feet surrounded by locker rooms.  Above were the rooms of the Quartermaster, the band, drum corps and baths.  In the basement were bowling alleys, rifle ranges, magazines and “other offices of inferior sorts.”

By now the cost of the building had risen to $600,000.

Several months later the City condemned all the buildings standing on the site of the proposed armory.   Letters dated January 16, 1904 were sent out informing tenants that they would have to vacate by February 15.  Many of the condemned buildings were boarding houses and finding a new home proved difficult.

The day after they were to have cleared out, The Times publicized their plight.  “In many cases persons were too ill to be removed, and, in one instance, a death resulted from catching cold while looking for another apartment.  Some of the persons who endeavored to secure new apartments were told they would have to get references, but they were unable to do so, as for the last six months the rents have been paid to the city.”

James D. Murphy, the contractor, insisted that “There is no desire on the part of the Murphy Company to be harsh or hard, or to create trouble for any one.”  Nevertheless, the task of emptying and demolishing the existing buildings was emotional and ploddingly slow.

A rendering was released to an eagerly-awaiting public -- from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

Finally, on April 23, 1904 the cornerstone was laid with impressive ceremonies.  Irish-Americans were rightfully conspicuous in full force.  The two stands erected at the corner of 25^th Street and Lexington Avenue were decorated with Irish and American flags.  The regiment and its guests were escorted by the Ancient Order of Hibernians and approximately 200 members of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick were among the first to arrive.  Joseph I. C. Clarke composed a poem for the occasion “The Gallant Sixty-ninth,” and the Irish-theme of the event was consummated when Major Gen. McMahon presented the silver trowel to Mayor McClellan with which he laid the cornerstone.

Two and a half years later, on October 6, 1906, the building was completed and dedicated.   The Timescalled it “a handsome and commodious building” and noted that the drill hall was the largest in the city.  Impressive military pomp accompanied the ceremonies, including a parade from the old armory at Tompkins’ Market and the presentation of the battle flags.

A lone pedestrian stands before the newly-completed armory -- photograph from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

The hulking structure would not be confined to military drills and pageantry.  On Christmas Eve 1911 8,000 needy families presented a ticket and were escorted through the spacious armory.  At the 26^th Street entrance they were handed a basket of holiday food and gifts paid for by several fund-raising events.

Socially-prominent names like Frederick Townsend Martin and Mr. and Mrs. Chauncey M. DePew assisted in distributing the booty.  The New-York Tribune said that “hundreds carrying boxes of toys hastened away to boil, bake, roast and fry the fowls whose legs protruded along with the green of celery tops from the well filled baskets on their arms.”  The newspaper estimated that 52,000 persons were included in the benefit.

A magnificent spread-winged eagle serves as keystone -- photo by Alice Lum

A month later, on January 23, 4,000 high school girls “outdid themselves in the big pageant they gave,” according to The New York Times.  The annual event paid tribute to the girls’ teachers and school superintendents.

Among the innovative program, which included an all-girl production of Rip Van Winkle, was the astonishing opening.  “A gigantic hour glass was drawn in to the floor in front of the gallery, where the guests of honor were seated,” explained The Times.  When the wife of Colonel Louis D. Conley (he had provided the armory for the pageant) pulled on a ribbon, “the hour glass flew open and out flew a little fairy girl.  She was Pleasant Hour, who danced a fairy-like dance.”

Then hundreds of girls with broad bands of dark green ribbon recreated a river.  “It was a swaying, serpentine, gliding body, topped by heads and arms, the latter raised high in the air, passing from hand to hand down the line little full-rigged boats, a great winding river and its shipping.”

No show or exhibition would be more ground-breaking or influential than the 1913 “International Exhibition of Modern Art.”  Now commonly referred to as the “Armory Show,” it changed the course of American art.

The organizers, the small Association of American Painters and Sculptors, paid a month-long rent of $5,500 to use the armory—a significant $95,000 today.   The vast space was divided by means of partitions and bunting into eighteen octagonal exhibition rooms.

Around 1,300 works by painters and sculptors were exhibited to 4,000 opening-night viewers on February 17—many of whom were unprepared for the starkly modern art.    By March 17 more than 100,000 had paid their ticket price to see works by Cezanne, Gauguin, Picasso, Van Gogh, Bracque, and Matisse.  American artists showing here included George Bellows, Edward Hopper, Joseph Stella, John Sloan, Maurice Prendergast, Walt Kuhn, John Marin, and Arthur B. Davis—several of which were Manhattan residents.

Many of the Edwardian viewers were scandalized by Duchamp’s “Nude Descending a Staircase” and the painting became one of the show’s most talked-about and controversial works.  The 1913 Armory Show is generally credited with establishing New York as the nation’s center of art and with changing the entire direction of art in America.

In December 1913 a full week of exhibitions by the Stockholm Gymnastic Society was held here.  “In addition to the callisthenic setting-up drills, which easily surpass any ever seen in this country, the gymnasts executed leaps, cut-offs, and hand-springs over apparatus which brought forth bursts of applause from the reviewing stand and galleries.”  The newspaper said that the Swedes were “a revelation” to those “who had thought that no set of men could surpass American gymnasts.”

While pageants and exhibitions went on in its armory, the 69^thRegiment continued to defend its country.  In 1916 the soldiers served at the Mexican border and with the United States’ entrance into World War I, it was picked by Colonel Douglas MacArthur to represent the state in the famed 42^nd Rainbow Division.

Space on the list of campaigns, intentionally left blank originally, now filled with more recent battles -- photo by Alice Lum

Meanwhile, the 45,000 square-foot drill hall became home to the annually-anticipated Automobile Show.   Motor Travel, in 1918, noted that “In addition, there will be a large area in the balconies devoted to accessories, parts and sundries, where several hundred manufacturers will be represented.”  That year visitors to the Armory ogled now early-forgotten cars like The Hupmobile, Nash, McFarlan, Lexington, Roamer, Standard, Westcott, Franklin, Chalmers, Apperson, Kissel, Paige and others.

With the welcomed arrival of peacetime, the two-week exhibition by the Aeronautical Exposition of the Manufacturers’ Aircraft Association opened on March 1, 1919.  The drill hall was filled with “intensely interesting exhibits,” as described by the New-York Tribune, including aircraft “and the trophies our pilots brought home from France.”  The army, navy and post office departments cooperated in assembling the exhibit.

Reflecting a proud, victorious nation’s patriotism The Tribune’s headline read “America supreme in the Air!  The aeroplane is liberty’s surest weapon of defense.  By the part it took in the destruction of Germany’s arbitrary powers it proved its indispensable need in the future.”

Throughout the century the great space continued to serve as a venue for widely-varied activities.  For a year in 1948 and ’49 Roller Derby matches were held here, including the first to be broadcast on television.  From 1946 until 1960 some of the New York Knicks basketball games were held here.

Immediately following the tragedy of September 11, 2001 Lexington Avenue in front of the Amory was lined with military vehicles and soldiers.  The cavernous drill hall was used, initially, for family members to register information on their missing loved ones and, later, as a counseling center for the victims and families.

Today Hunt & Hunt’s imposing 69^th Regiment Armory is unchanged.  Still the home to the Fighting 69^th, it continues to host large scale events.

photo by Alice Lum

The Lost 1849 Free Academy Building --Lexington Ave and 23rd Street

In 1912 traffic at 23rd and Lexington Avenue seems nearly non-existent.  photograph from the collection of The New York Public Library

During his term as President of the Board of Education from 1846 to 1848 Townsend Harris conceived of a groundbreaking and controversial plan—The Free Academy.  Although a highly successful merchant, he was acutely aware of his lack of formal education.  By now he had self-taught himself French, Spanish and Italian and was a fervent reader.  He sought to provide higher education to young men who, like he had been, were financially unable to attend college.

On Monday, June 7, 1847, the voters of New York City approved the proposed Free Academy.  Sixteen building plots were acquired on Lexington Avenue between 22^ndand 23^rd Streets and in November construction was approved by the Common Council.  The area was still only sparsely developed as the fashionable residential communities around Gramercy Square and Madison Square nearby were in the earliest phases of development.

Just as the project of the Free Academy gained momentum, Harris’s mother died in November 1847.  He descended into a deep period of grief and on January 26, 1848 submitted his letter of resignation---ending his ties to the Free Academy he had envisioned.

Harris’s place on the Academy committee was taken up by Robert Kelly.  He hired the fledgling architect who had, two years earlier, completed the masterful Grace Church.  That same year, 1846, James Renwick, Jr. won the competition to design the Smithsonian Institution Building in Washington DC.  He designed both buildings, although each highly different from the other, in the new Gothic Revival style.  He would turn to the same style for the Free Academy.

Construction began in November 1847 and was completed by 1849.  Renwick’s Academic Gothic structure was quite unlike his previous designs.  Four stories tall, the brick and stone building gained visual height with its corner towers that stretched upward past the roofline.  The openings were separated by brick piers resembling buttresses which broke through the eave line—some of them functioning as cleverly-disguised chimneys.  Dramatic pointed-arched windows with Gothic tracery shared the façade with the flat-headed openings.  Both romantic and imposing, it was the Victorian ideal of academic architecture.

Inside students would find the latest in conveniences.  The building was plumbed for both water and illuminating gas and on each floor was found the last word in modern innovations—drinking fountains.  They were supplied with fresh water from the Croton Reservoir that brought drinking water to the city in 1842.  The furnishings were of cherry; there was a chapel that accommodated 1,300 persons; and a library furnished with broad work tables.

The New-York Free Academy opened on January 15, 1849.  “Applicants for admission were numerous,” said The New York Times.  “All had to be residents of New-York, to have attended the common schools of the City for at least one year, and were obliged to pass a good examination in spelling, reading, writing, English grammar, arithmetic, algebra, (as far as quadratic equations,) geography, history of the United States, and elementary book-keeping.” 

Despite the arduous admissions test, the school opened with 202 students who were offered courses in history, mathematics, the elements of moral science, the Constitution of the United States, bookkeeping, penmanship, composition and declamation; as well as French, Latin and Spanish.  The course of instruction was aimed at providing young men the tools for success in the business world.

It would not be long, however, before controversy arose.  The New York Times editorialized for the institution and, in fact, suggested another like it for women; theNew-York Daily Tribune railed against it.  On January 6, 1854 the Tribune shot a volley back at its rival newspaper.

“The Times will please understand that our fundamental objection to the Free Academy and all kindred devices attached to the principle of selecting a part of our citizens or their children and showering on them advantages or favors which are denied to others.  Whether the favored be few or many—the white-skinned or the sharp-witted—we regard this favoritism as at deadly war with the principles of republicanism.”

The Tribune noted that the free education students of the academy received was costing the tax payer $50 to $75 per year. 

While the debate continued, scholars faced another difficulty.  The Times recalled on June 3. 1870 that “Those who were graduated from the Academy, however, found that the designation of their Alma Mater made it difficult for them to correct the erroneous impression existing abroad that they had not enjoyed a ‘collegiate’ education, and forced upon them the unpleasant necessity of explaining their status as graduates of the New-York Free Academy.”  Some graduates took courses at other institutions simply to have the word “college” in their resume.

That problem was solved when, on March 30, 1866, the school was made a college by the State of New York and renamed The College of the City of New York.  While solving one problem, the designation did nothing about the still fiery controversy of public cost.  In 1869 the salaries and expenses of the school amounted to $115,000—about $2 million today.  The Sun pointed out that Columbia College took in $65,000 in tuition and the University of the City of New York raised $60,000.  The newspaper asked its readers “does not the fact remove every possible pretest for continuing it in existence?”

In an astonishing display of mid-Victorian antisemitism, The Sunattacked City College from another direction the same year.  On June 26, 1869 the newspaper complained that “The scholastic standard of the City College is not so high as that now prevailing at the great universities, and hence severer study cannot be required to reach it.”  But beyond that, said the newspaper, its students were puny.

“They are not of a healthy and normal youthful spirit,” it wrote, and then attributed the problem to a shocking conclusion.  “If seems that their physical deficiency is ascribed by some people to the circumstance that one-half of them are Jews.”  Saying that the scholars had “narrow shoulders, stooped backs, and hollow chests,” The Sun went on “It is plain that there must be something that is radically wrong with the City College.  The methods of the institution must crush out the youthful spirits of its students; for otherwise it would not be alone among colleges in exhibiting the discreditable physical deficiency in its graduates.”

The Sun was relentless in its criticism of the college.  Throughout 1869 it would expose students who came from well-to-do families, taking advantage of the free education; printing article after article to enrage its readers.  In the meantime, the college was doing very well.

On February 29, 1868 the State Assembly had been presented with a bill to erect a new building to replace the over-crowded Renwick structure.  That bill was voted down; although two years later a two-story addition was approved.  Finally in November 13, 1883 an annex to house the chemistry and physics departments was opened east of the original building.

When this photograph was taken around 1880, the building was already outdated and overcrowded -- photograph The City College of New York

While the students of City College now had collegiate status; they were reviled by the wealthy scholars of Columbia and New York University.  The New-York Tribune noted on June 2, 1886 “The Free College of the City of New-York is an institution not admired by Columbia College students.  Sometimes they even assume to look down upon it as a college without prestige or other claim to respect.”

The newspaper then opined that a gentleman was not defined by his pocketbook, but by his conduct.  The previous day both City College and Columbia had held examinations for applicants.  Upperclassmen of Columbia taunted the potential students, prompting an affronted Tribune writer to say “Yet the 1,215 applicants for admission to the City’s College who were being examined yesterday were left in peace and quiet by the older members of the college, while the 100 candidates at Columbia were jeered and howled at all day by gentlemanlike upper-classmen.  In this contrast at least the students of the City’s College appear to marked advantage.”

In 1889 Commissioner of Fisheries Eugene Gilbert Blackford donated his “comprehensive piscatorial collection” to City College.  On April 24 The Sun reported “It contains 300 preserved specimens, or nearly all the varieties of food fish found in the waters of North America and South American, that have been procured during the past quarter of a century by the United States Fish Commissioners.”

The collection was added to the college’s natural history museum; but further taxed the available space in the building.  By now enrollment had ballooned to 1,466 and Renwick’s 1847 building was outdated and considered unsafe. The trustees began considering a new, modern campus. 

On November 16, 1892 The Evening World reported “A movement is on foot for the erection of a new City College building, and the Board of Education…The cost of the proposed buildings is placed at $750,000, while the cost of the site is estimated at $900,000.”  The committee at the time was favoring “two blocks between Madison and Fifth avenue in the neighborhood of Ninetieth street.”

As the search for an appropriate location continued, developers began eying the plum real estate on which the old building stood.  In January 1897 the committee in charge of a new armory for the 69^th Regiment decided “that a new structure should be erected for the regiment at Twenty-third-st. and Lexington-ave., on the site of the City College Building,” said the New-York Tribune on January 29.

Former Mayor Abram Hewitt, however, stepped in—brashly citing personal reasons rather than civic.  “Ex-Mayor Hewitt sent a letter to the Board protesting against the choice of this site, because it would injure his house and also because it is proposed to pull down a house belonging to his wife, which adjoins the college.”

Finally in 1895 the site for the new City College campus far north of the city overlooking the Hudson River was acquired.  Classes continued as normal as the architectural competition was conducted, out of which George B. Post was chosen, and the long project of construction commenced.

In 1906 City College moved north as the first of the buildings was opened—Townsend Harris Hall.  Now a flurry of interest focused on the empty Lexington Avenue structure.  While a permanent function was considered, rooms inside were leased for special functions.  The Friends’ Intelligencer reported on October 6, 1906 that “There are 12,000 women engaged in the public schools of Greater New York, and all have been invited to attend a mass meeting to be held in the old City College Building at Lexington Avenue and Twenty-third Street…to consider the most effective method of working for their claim for equal pay for equal work.”

In September 1907 the trustees of Normal College met to discuss acquiring the building “for 400 or 500 girls in the high school department,” as reported in School magazine.  That plan would fall through, as would a raft of other ideas.

In June 1909 the New York Society for the prevention of Cruelty to Children requested the City to renovate the building as the new Children’s Courthouse; in January 1915 Mortimer L. Schiff presented the idea to the Chamber of Commerce to reopen the building as a “college of commerce and administration;” in 1917 the proposal to use it as an asylum for “mental defectives” was discussed by the Board of Aldermen; and on March 30, 1918 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that architects Crow, Lewis & Wickenhoefer would alter the college building “into a Municipal Museum for the City of New York.”

None of the plans came to fruition.  Then-- as the United States found itself at war in Europe--the Mayor’s Committee of Women on National Defense remodeled part of the structure.  The New-York Tribune reported on May 15, 1918 that Mrs. Oliver Harriman, chairman of the food committee “opened the new experimental kitchen in the eastern wing of the old City College…yesterday.  The building, which has been unoccupied for years, has been entirely remodeled.  The kitchen is said to be the finest food laboratory in the country.”

The women were, apparently, devote to their patriotic mission as well as to style.  “Mrs. Harriman set the fashion for her many assistants yesterday by wearing an attractive looking cook’s cap and a long-sleeved apron.”

In 1927, just before the Renwick structure was demolished, traffic had come to the neighborhood -- photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

Following the war City College again used the old building as its “Commerce Building,” which housed the School of Business and Civic Administration.  But that situation would not last long.  On November 1, 1926 The New York Times reported “the old City College building at Lexington Avenue and Twenty-third Street will be abandoned officially this evening when the students and Faculty will meet there for the last time.”

Just over a year later James Renwick’s ivy-covered Free Academy building was demolished after standing on the corner of Lexington Avenue and 23^rd Street for over 80 years.  In 1930 the 16-story structure that today is part of the Baruch College campus was constructed on the site.

photo by Alice Lum

The Chester A. Arthur House -- 123 Lexington Avenue

Even the brownstone has been stripped off the once-refined home of President Chester A. Arthur -- photo by Alice Lum

When the Virginia-born Ellen Lewis Herndon was introduced to Chester A. Arthur, a New York City man, in 1856 rumbles of unrest between the South and the North were already being felt.  The romance resulted in the 30-year old Arthur marrying his 22-year old sweetheart on October 25, 1859 in New York City’s Calvary Episcopal Church.

Despite any tension the oncoming war might cause—Ellen’s family were slaveholders and Chester was a general in the New York State militia—theirs was a loving and happy marriage.  They moved into the Herndon family’s Manhattan townhouse on Gramercy Park where they lived for two years.

Ellen, called Nell, was a refined Southern belle accustomed to a house filled with servants, elegant entertaining, music and the best of food and wine.  Chet, as she called him, learned much from his bride, including stylish dress—his fashion sense would later become a hallmark.

In 1860 the couple’s first child was born.  With the arrival of William, the family moved to a nearby upscale residential hotel on Broadway.  The additional space also lent itself to the Arthurs’ grand entertaining.

The beautiful Ellen Herndon Arthur was trained as an operatic singer -- photo from the collection of the Library of Congress.

Immediately following Lincoln’s issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation, Chester Arthur resigned his post with the military.  He felt that the President’s action would only prolong the already wearisome war.  He turned his attention to his legal practice, which flourished.

At No. 123 Lexington Avenue was the brownstone-fronted home of the Bush family.  The rowhouse was identical to the eight others that lined the block between East 28^thand 29^th Streets.  Four stories tall over a high English basement, it stretched three bays wide.  The cast iron railings that rose along the wide brownstone stoop turned to form balconies at the parlor windows.

The house was pictured in an Arthur biography shortly after his death (copyright expired)

Now Chester and Ellen Arthur would purchase the former Bush residence as their first permanent home.  According to Bill Harris and Laura Ross in their The First Ladies Fact Book, “Nell embellished it with the finest furniture and accessories that money could buy, and she hired a staff of Irish immigrant servants to help her step up her lavish entertaining.”

Along with the couple came infant Chester Junior.  William had died in 1863 at the age of two and a half; little Chester arriving the following year.  By now Chester Arthur was one of Manhattan’s most successful attorneys.  His affiliation with the Republican party and his legal practice brought him in contact with the city’s wealthiest and most influential men; and earned him memberships into exclusive social clubs.  As was expected of socially-conspicuous couples, the Arthurs held a much-coveted box at the Metropolitan Opera.

A year before daughter Ellen was born, Arthur was appointed Collector of the Port of New York by President Ulysses S. Grant in November 1871—earning him the more-than-comfortable salary of $50,000; about $925,000 a year in today’s dollars.  When the new president, Rutherford B. Hayes, asked him to step down in 1878, Arthur penned a well-publicized letter of refusal from the Lexington Avenue house.  So Hayes fired him. 

Chester Arthur became well-known for his side whiskers, expensive taste in clothing, and love of food, drink and entertaining.  from the collection of the Library of Congress

On January 10, 1880 Chester was in Albany attending meetings.  Ellen, left home alone, attended a concert.   While she waited for her carriage in the rain, she caught a chill, which worsened to a cold the following day, then rapidly turned to pneumonia.

Chester Arthur received word in Albany and immediately headed to New York.  By the time he reached No. 123 Lexington Avenue Nell was comatose.  Arthur remained at her bedside for nearly 24 hours, up to the moment she slipped away, never having regained consciousness.

Chester Arthur deeply grieved his wife’s death.  The beautiful and refined Ellen had apparently been the center of his life.   Within months the Republican Party chose him to run as Vice President, a move meant to balance the ticket of presidential nominee James Garfield--a Midwestern congressman running with a polished New York City sophisticate.  He accepted; however he privately said “Honors to me now are not what they once were.”  He reportedly told the eight-year old Nell, “There is nothing worth having now.”

Arthur shielded his grief from the outside world and he and Garfield won the election.  Chester Arthur’s tenure as Vice President would not be long.  He was in New York on July 2, 1881 when a telegram arrived at the Lexington Avenue house from James G. Blaine, Secretary of State.  The first line read “The President of the United States was shot this morning by an assassin names Charles Guiteau.”

Throughout the day a flurry of messenger boys brought telegrams up the brownstone stoop of No. 123 Lexington Avenue; returning to their offices with messages from Arthur.  The first was to Blaine, and said in part “Your telegram, with its deplorable narrative, did not reach me promptly, owing to my absence.  I am profoundly shocked at the dreadful news…I await further intelligence with the greatest anxiety.”

James Garfield hung on until September 19, 1881.  In the meantime, Chester A. Arthur was concerned about being perceived as snatching the reins of office while the President lived.  He remained in his Lexington Avenue house , refusing to go to Washington.  Word arrived on the evening of September 19 that Garfield had died.  At 2:15 a.m. the following morning Judge R. Brady of the New York Supreme Court administered the oath of office in the parlor of No. 123 Lexington Avenue—only the second time that a United States President took the oath in New York City.

Arthur takes the oath of office in the parlor of 123 Lexington Avenue -- Harper's Weekly, October 1, 1881 (copyright expired)

Later that day The New York Times reported “Thoroughly fatigued by the extraordinary events of the preceding 24 hours, President Arthur retired to his private apartments in his residence, No. 123 Lexington-avenue, soon after 11 o’clock Tuesday night.  Although prompted by his sensitive regard for the laws of hospitality to remain in the parlor and entertain the few privileged callers, who lingered at that late hour, he was prevailed upon by his more considerate friends to go to bed and try to obtain much-needed rest.”

The following morning Arthur descended the steps of his house, boarded his carriage and headed for Washington D.C.  Within weeks Burton T. Doyle and Homer H. Swaney would advise Americans about their new president in Lives of James A. Garfield and Chester A. Arthur.  “The household now called to the White House by the death of president Garfield has no lady to preside over it.  President Arthur lost his wife a year ago last January, and sadness over her loss is among his griefs…He has two children, one a youth of 17, named after his father, but called Allan by the family; the other a girl of 11, named Nellie.  These, with the servants, constitute the household of the modest Lexington avenue residence.” 

Chester’s sister, Mrs. Mary McElroy, had helped a great deal in the household since Ellen’s death and the writers predicted “Mrs. McElroy will most probably be the lady who will preside at the White House.”  And indeed she was.

Arthur’s term in the White House was marked by glorious entertainments, dinners and dances.  Yet he desperately missed New York and his Lexington Avenue home.  He routinely returned to New York and spent periods resting and working from his make-shift executive office in the Fifth Avenue Hotel.  He was also beginning to show symptoms of Bright’s Disease, a kidney condition.

In 1885 Chester Arthur returned to his Lexington Avenue home permanently, his term in office being over.  He took up his legal practice again; but his health was failing.  On May 19, 1886 The Sun wrote of his first venture out of the house “in many weary weeks.”  The newspaper noted “His face was colorless, and he was sixty pounds short of his normal weight as he walked feebly down the steps of his residence at 123 Lexington avenue and stepped into his closed landau, the carriage he used in Washington, and was whisked away behind a pair of bays.”

A month later, on June 25, 1886 The Times reported “Ex-President Arthur went to New-London, Conn., yesterday, where he will spend the Summer, at the Pequot House, in the endeavor to regain his health.  Soon after 1 P.M. he stepped from his house, No. 123 Lexington-avenue, dressed in a suit of mixed gray clothes, high white hat, dark brown necktie, and patent leather shoes.  His flowing side whiskers, which were one of the distinguishing features of his person, were gone, and the mustache was of recent growth.  His face was pale, but his eyes were bright, and he walked with much vigor for one who has been confined to the house for so long a time.”

The former President would not improve.  On November 17, 1886 he oversaw the bundling of his personal and officials papers, which he ordered to be taken out of the house and burned.   The following day he was dead.

On November 19 The New York Times reported that “Ex-President Chester Alan Arthur died at 5:10 o’clock yesterday morning at his residence, No. 123 Lexington-avenue.  The immediate cause of his death was cerebral apoplexy, due to the rupture of a small artery within the brain.”

The President’s body lay in the parlor where the family was visited by the city’s and country’s most esteemed citizens.  Then at 8:30 on November 22 the coffin was closed and removed from the Lexington Avenue house Arthur loved.  It was taken to the Church of the Heavenly Rest on Fifth Avenue where more than a thousand people crowded in.  Police held back the throngs for two blocks above and below the church.

Chester, Jr., and Ellen lived on in the house for only a short period afterward.  Then in September 1902 the house was purchased by publisher William Randolph Hearst.  In reporting the sale the New-York Tribune said “The house…is one of the most famous houses in that avenue…President Arthur had a great fondness for the house, principally on account of the many happy years he had passed under its roof.  This fondness he showed in many ways.  When he was Collector of the Port under President Grant he lived there.  Later, when he was elected vice-president, he did not close the house, and seek a grander and more modern dwelling uptown or tear down the old building and rebuild a better house.  He just stayed in the old house and made no more changes than were necessary.”

William Randolph Hearst had no intentions of making “no more changes than were necessary” to the historic property.  The newspaper noted “Alterations to cost $800 are to be made to the premises.”  The money was spent on demolishing the English basement and installing a garage for Heart’s motorcars.

Hearst apparently lived in the Arthur residence for about seven years, for a letter to him dated October 24, 1906 from John G. Agar is addressed to No. 123 Lexington Avenue.  But then on October 15, 1909 the New-York Tribune reported that “The old house No. 123 Lexington avenue, which was for many years occupied by the late President Chester A. Arthur, is to be remodeled.  The ground floor is to be made into a store.  There will be apartments on the upper floors.  The property is owned by William Randolph Hearst.”

In 1909 historic significance was consigned mostly to battlefields and, sometimes, structures like Fraunces Tavern.  Although Mount Vernon had long been recognized; it was the home of the nation’s first President—a distinction that far outshone the Arthur home.

Hearst obliterated the basement and parlor floors for a commercial front.  The house next door still retains its elegant cast iron balcony.-- The Presidents of the United States, 1914 (copyright expired)

There was no public outcry as Hearst commissioned architect James C. Green to convert the upper floors to bachelor apartments and commercial space below.  The New York Times reported “A new front is to be built up to the third story, new show windows installed, partitions removed and new stairs built.”

On February 8, 1919 The Evening World briefly lamented “The Chester A. Arthur house, in Lexington Avenue, has fallen prey to the march of trade to some extent, although not so completely as T. R.’s birthplace.”

Once tree-lined and fashionable, the block in the 1920s had succumbed to commerce.  No. 123 is third from the corner. -- photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

Throughout the 20^th century a variety of stores and residential tenants came and went.  Author and
“soldier of fortune” George Witten lived here in the 1920s; as did James Clellon Holmes in the 1940s, who was sometimes visited here by Jack Kerouac.   In 1944 an Indian grocery store, Kalustyan’s, opened in the ground floor.

By the mid-1950s the house was neglected and in February 1955 the landlord, Abraham Yarmark, was arrested for violations.  One tenant complained he had been without gas for 47 days and authorities said there were more than 400 violations against Yarmark.

Kalustyan's is protected by a security grate in 1976 -- photo National Parks Service

Within months it was sold to Dr. Leo Lindenbaum.  “The house now contains a store, an office, and six apartments,” said The Times.   As the 20^th century drew to a close, Kalustyan’s had expended into the former parlor level with a restaurant.

Where Ellen Arthur entertained and the widowed Chester Arthur took the oath of office, an Indian restaurant is bathed in neon lighting -- photo by Alice Lum

Although the Native New Yorkers Historical Association, now disbanded, placed a plaque in the building in 1981, the house that was home to a standing United States President is horribly abused and totally forgotten.