The Edith A. Logan Mansion -- No. 17 West 56th Street

photo by Alice Lum

In 1903 the Fifth Avenue neighborhood around 56^thStreet was no longer the sparsely-developed land it had been before the Civil War.  In the 1870s a building boom resulted in developers lining the side streets with cookie-cutter brownstone rowhouses; their identical high stoops marching in military-like precision down the blocks.

One such developer was John G. Prague who acted as his own architect.  In 1870 the inexhaustible Prague erected a row of four-story brownstones stretching along the northern side of West 56^th Street.  Included in the row was No. 17.

The house was home to another real estate developer, Louis Ranger, by the mid 1880s.  No small-time operator, in 1886 he was busy constructing a “new building for stores” on 125^thStreet and Third Avenue at a cost of $130,000—about $3 million today. 

When the butler of neighbor Matthew C. D. Borden was murdered on a stormy Monday afternoon in May 1895 detectives scoured the area and focused on the shrubbery outside the Ranger house.  Borden lived at No. 25 West 56^th.  When his black under-butler, Ferdinand Harris, answered a knock on the servant’s entry door that afternoon, he was confronted by two white men who shot him twice and ran away down Fifth Avenue.   Harris died of a bullet through the heart.  A neighbor, Georgie Wheat, attributed the motive to “revenge through race trouble.”

Detectives combed the neighborhood and temporarily believed they had found an important clue at the Ranger house.  Their hopes were soon dashed, however.  “Still some other underbrush of embarrassment and doubt was cleared away during the morning by the setting aside of the ‘cartridge’ or ‘pistol’ box clue as worthless.  The box was found in the area of 17 West Fifty-sixth Street, and was supposed to have contained a pistol or cartridges, according to the range of imagination which penciled on it the address of Mr. Borden,” said The New York Times.  Instead, “What it had contained was a spokeshave, and its packing was a coarse, soft, thick, gray paper, used in packing such hardware.”

Ranger soon leased the house to the wealthy widower, Amedee de Pau Moran.   The social obligations normally in the bailiwick of female socialites fell on the shoulders of Moran.    In 1899 he began the whirlwind of teas, receptions and dinners for his daughter, Maria, associated with her debut.    On December 12 he hosted her “coming-out tea” in the house.  The tea was followed a few days later by a dinner dance and, on January 9, another was given—this one for both daughters, Marie and Rosalie.

By the end of the following year Louis Ranger was ready to divest himself of the 56^th Street property.  On December 14 The New York Times reported that it had been sold.  “The purchaser will make extensive alterations to the house,” said the newspaper.  The purchaser was German-born millionaire August Heckscher who had made his fortune in zinc and iron mining.

If Heckscher intended to make “extensive alterations,” he changed his mind.  In January 1903 he sold the house, still described as a “high-stoop brownstone with dining room extension,” to the President of the Columbia Bank, Joseph Fox.    Fox would hold the property for an even shorter time than Heckscher.

Four years earlier Major John A. Logan, Jr. had been killed while leading his men into action near San Fabian in the Philippines during the Spanish-American War.  Logan was the son of General John A. Logan who had distinguished himself in the Civil War and served as a U.S. Senator.

The dashing Major John A. Logan, Jr. left a sizable fortune to his widow in 1899 -- photo A. P. Webb, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWG6EAL&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Logan’s widow, Edith Andrews Logan, left their Youngstown, Ohio home with her children—two daughters and a son—and traveled abroad for during her period of mourning.   Now, in 1903, she was in New York City with a substantial estate from her husband and two daughters who would soon be coming of age.

Two months after he had purchased No. 17 West 56^thStreet, Joseph Fox sold it to Edith Logan.   The 1870 house sat in the most exclusive residential district of the city; but it was dated and out of fashion.  Edith addressed the problem by hiring architect Augustus N. Allen to give the residence a make-over.

For a few years there had been an increased interest in colonial history.  Across the city neo-Federal and neo-Georgian residences were increasingly appearing.  Allen’s transformation of No. 17 resulted in a dignified brick-and-limestone Colonial Revival mansion.  The new Logan house bore noticeable similarities to the Henry B. Hollins house almost directly across the street, designed by Stanford White.

Delicate leading of the dormer windows and exquisite carvings reflected the high-end craftsmanship -- photo by Alice Lum

The first of the debutante entertainments was held in the house on December 14, 1907.  The Timesreported that “Miss Marion Louise Logan…was presented to society yesterday at a reception held by her mother at 17 West Fifty-sixty Street.”  The guest list for an “informal dinner dance” that Edith hosted for Marie Louise two years later in February included sons and daughters of the most illustrious families in New York.

Among the nearly 70 young people dancing in the Logan ballroom were Marjorie Gould, Dorothy Bigelow, Katherine Lawrence, Eleanor Alexander, William Rhinelander Stewart, Jr., Harry Oelrichs, Frank Roche, Jay Gould, Anthony Drexel, Jr., Stephen Van Rensselear, Cecil St. George, and Count Antonelli.

A year later, on February 4, 1910, The New York Timesreported on the preparations for Marie Louise’s wedding to Henri de Sincay of Belgium.   Sincay had already arrived in New York on the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse with his best man, Count Henri de Baillett Latour and was staying at the St. Regis nearby on Fifth Avenue.  The wedding was scheduled for 4:00 on Saturday February 26 in the Lady Chapel of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.   Newspapers listed Marie Louise’s wedding party which included a friend from back home.  “Miss Majorie Gould, Miss Marjorie Curtis, Miss Frances Alexander, Miss Elsie Nicoll, and Miss Elizabeth Lattimer, a Southern girl, and Miss Constance Parmely of Cleveland, Ohio, are to be the bridesmaids.”

Outshining those socially-esteemed names were the male members.  “The ushers were Prince Henri de Vigne of Washington, who married a near relative of the bridegroom; Count de Balliet-Latour, the Duke of Vallombrosa, Baron de Morogues, John A. Logan, 3d, a brother of the bride; Anthony J. Drexel, Jr., who is to marry Miss Marjorie Gould; Gurnee Munn, Moncure Robinson, W. W. Rhinelander Stewart, Jr., and Maurice Roach.”

The ceremony was performed by Archbishop Farley and The Times said the chapel was filled “with a fashionable crowd.”  The newspaper also noted that “In addition to the guests, who filled the chapel to overflowing, many curious worshipers in the Cathedral found their way into the chapel unhindered and lined up to watch the procession.”

Following the ceremony no-doubt beaming Edith hosted a reception and breakfast in the 56^th Street house.

It appears that Edith considered selling the 56^thStreet house following the marriages of her eldest daughter and her son John.  On July 4, 1912 The New York Times reported that “The St. Anthony Association, which has occupied for its quarters the four-story house at 29 East Twenty-eighth Street…for over a quarter of a century, has sold the building and purchased for its new clubhouse the five-story American basement residence at 17 West Fifty-sixth Street.”  The newspaper said “It was bought from the estate of Edith S. Logan.”

If indeed the sale of the property, valued at about $135,000, went through; the very-much-alive Edith arranged to stay on in the house for awhile.  That same year marked young Edith’s turn to come out in society and in December her mother opened her doors for receptions and teas.   John had moved to Europe; but he would return for Edith’s wedding before the year was out.

Along with the 56^th Street mansion Edith retained her home in Youngstown.   It was there, on May 12, 1913, that she announced Edith’s engagement to neighbor Dewees W. Dilworth who lived at No. 22 West 55^th Street.    In reporting the engagement, The Timesdescribed young Edith as “prominent in the younger set and at the opera, where Mrs. Logan had a parterre box.”

Although her marriage to Dilworth on November 25, 1913 was not sprinkled with titled Europeans, it was nonetheless an important society wedding in the very fashionable St. Thomas’ Church on Fifth Avenue.  As expected, Edith threw a reception following the ceremony.

As an interesting side note, a decade later the Logan girls’ imperious and wealthy grandmother, Sarah H. Logan, died in Washington.  While she left the family mansion to John and bequeathed important heirlooms to Edith Logan, she pointedly ignored her granddaughters.    The will said that they “have treated me with such unpardonable indifference that I cannot forgive them or allow them to share with their brother, John A. Logan 3d, in my affections or benefactions.”

In the meantime, Edith Logan’s sale of the 56^thStreet house to the St. Anthony Association was completed in February 1914.  A social and charitable organization, it made renovations to the house to accommodate its use as a clubhouse.  Upstairs rooms were rented to single military or former-military men.  In 1920 U.S. Army Second Lieutenant Columbus Delano Ames was living here; and three years later retired Colonel Charles F. Height was here when he married Miss Sidney Hood.

In 1929 the Association purchased the Junior League’s five-story clubhouse at Nos. 133-35 61^st Street.  After altering it, they left No. 17 which they sold in July 1931 to the Home Capitol Corporation.  The firm happily reported that it leased the building in October that year for a term of 21 years for $350,000.  But its president, Charles C. Wagner, quickly sold the lease to the Royal Box, Inc.  It was the beginning of a shady period for Edith Logan’s former mansion.

Depression and Prohibition Era New Yorkers were starved for excitement and the Royal Box Club would offer just that.    In January 1932 The New York Times said “The Royal Box, which was opened only a few weeks ago, with lavish furnishings estimated to have cost $250,000, and catering to the most expensive trade, is known popularly throughout the city as 'Zelli’s place.'”

Joe Zelli was what the newspaper deemed “the urbane and dapper restaurateur.”  He had served as a sergeant in the army in France and opened a café in Montmartre that became well known to thousands of American tourists.  The Times described the converted house.  “The restaurant occupies an entire five-story building; an imposing structure without as well as within, with a white stone façade and flower boxes decorating trim wrought-iron balconies.  Awnings of blue and gold are fixed over the big entrance door and the upper windows.”

In 1932 the iron balconies were decorated with colorful flower boxes -- photo by Alice Lum

The Royal Box not only served food; it served alcohol, and it drew not only wealthy New Yorkers but crime figures such as the flashy Al Capone.   Although other high-end speak-easies operated in the upscale neighborhood, like the Mona Lisa Club in the former Morton Mansion just down the block, federal agents seemed especially intent on closing down the Royal Box.

On New Year’s Eve 1931 the “Dry Police” smashed the front door, ousted about 100 patrons, and confiscated liquor.  “The agents drove up in taxicabs and rang the doorbell,” reported The Times.  “Admittance was refused them.  With an axe they smashed in the ornate front door.”

“When the agents had made their way in they found themselves in a setting which they admitted was the richest they had ever invaded.  The entire furnishings of the place were in modernistic style, but executed in exceptional taste in soft pastel shades.”

Despite their mission, the agents admired a life-sized statue of “Ease,” a nude female figure holding a bunch of grapes.  The great circular bar was inlaid with exotic woods, its top black-lacquered and rimmed in nickel.  “The third floor was no less beautiful.  Another bar stood in the corner at the head of the stairs.  It was of mahogany, with ornamentations of chrome steel.  The walls were of soft silver gilt and opulent hangings of rose hue were at the windows.  At one side stood a baby grand piano, decorated in keeping with the rest of the room…There were a half dozen smaller rooms as magnificent as the others.  There was a woman’s lounging room, with a costly fireplace, and on the fourth floor private dining rooms were being fitted up,” said the newspaper.

The patrons were allowed to leave, with the women going first.  Outside the cameras of press photographers flashed as well-dressed women rushed to taxicabs.  Back inside the agents found destruction.  “About 150 bottles of liquors of all sorts, from aperitifs to champagnes and cordials had been smashed by the club employes while the agents were battering their way in.  About 200 bottles of liquor were found in other places in the building.  On the top floor was an ingenious hideaway for drinkables.  One panel of the wall was found to be false.  What appeared to be an electric fixture was found to conceal a lock.”

Federal agents decided that the best way to stop the Royal Box from re-establishing its illegal business was to annihilate it.   Deputy Prohibition Administrator H. C. Bradford supervised a “gang of laborers” who were told to demolish the lavish interiors.  The two bars were dismantled and hauled away on a truck before Federal Judge Robert Patterson issued a stop order.  The Times reported on January 3, 1932 that “Demolition of the elaborate furnishings of the Royal Box, Joe Zelli’s night club at 17 West Fifty-sixth Street…was halted yesterday by an injunction restraining Federal agents from removing anything but the two bars and liquors.”

But the injunction was soon overturned and on January 22 a truck pulled up on front of the building as workers stripped the club of its furnishings and fixtures.   Zelli’s troubles were compounded when, in March, his creditors filed an involuntary petition for bankruptcy against the Royal Box, Inc.

The government agents got their way and the doors of the Royal Box Club would never open again.  Later that year the former mansion became the offices of Warren & Arthur Smadbeck, Inc. called by The Times “large holders of realty in this city and developers of country real estate.”  The firm would stay in No. 17 until December 1940 when they purchased the six-story office building at No. 125 East 23^rd Street.

The end of the modern marquee cleverly echoes the neo-Georgian fanlight over the entrance -- photo by Alice Lum

In the 1943 the first two floors of the house were converted to a restaurant, with the upper floors remaining vacant.   Three years later the restaurant space became a beauty parlor and apartments, two per floor, were installed upstairs.  Then in 1976 Takara Belmont, a Japanese manufacturer of furnishings and equipment for beauty salons, spas and barbershops converted the building to offices, a first floor showroom, and a single apartment on the top floor.

The Richard Stevens House -- No. 171 East 70th Street

photo by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

In 1871 development on the Upper East Side was rampant.  The official completion of Central Park was just two years away (as was, on a less positive note, the great Financial Panic of 1873).  Investors and developers funneled their funds into the erection of speculative rows of brownstone homes aimed at the upper middle-class.  Among them was Thomas Smith who commissioned William O’Gorman to design six houses on East 70^th Street, Nos. 165 through 171 that year.

Three stories high over an English basement, the Italianate houses would have been little different from scores of other such homes rising in the neighborhood.  The house at No. 171 became home to the Thomas Thorpe family by the last decade of the century.  Thorpe and his wife Mary took their several children each summer to Patchogue, Long Island.  They were an accident-prone brood.

In 1896 one of the boys was nearly drowned while swimming in the Patchogue Bay.  The following season his brother “while riding a bicycle, was run down by a stage and nearly killed,” as reported by The Sun.  And on July 4, 1898 8-year old Mary Thorpe was celebrating Independence Day with fireworks.  The Sun reported the following day “In lighting a pinwheel a flying spark ignited her dress.”  The newspaper said that she was severely burned; although Dr. T. S. Divors “does not think [the wounds] will result fatally.”

The Thorpes stayed on through the turn of the century, at one point purchasing No. 169 next door, presumably as rental income.  Both properties were in Mary’s name.  But then in 1906 the change that was sweeping over the Upper East Side in general was magnified on the East 70th Street

Joseph L. Buttenweiser had demolished Nos. 154 and 156 with the intention of building a sanitarium.  The iron framework had already been erected when the project came to a halt.  With Manhattan’s wealthiest citizens building in the area, property values here were more suited for upscale homes.  In February 1906 Harry H. Hollister and Henry D. Babcock purchased the property to “remodel the iron frame and improve the plot with private houses,” said The Sun on February 6.

The entire block was about to get a make-over.  Within the same week Babcock’s son purchased No. 158, Hollister’s son-in-law purchased No. 160, and Hollister purchased No. 162.  “These three dwellings will be modernized and occupied by the purchasers,” said The Sun.

“In view of the radical change taking place in the character of the block, Please & Elliman have formed a syndicate which has purchased the remaining parcels that were for sale in the block.”  The syndicate then sold off the houses for the owners.  Those sales included Nos. 176, 155, 157, 159, 173, 175, and the two houses owned by the Thorpes—Nos. 169 and 171.

Robert H. E. Elliott purchased both of the Thorpe homes, according to The Sun.  Elliott apparently had no intentions of moving in to No. 171, for within three days he resold it.  No. 179 down the block sold on the same day.

Richard T. Stevens and his wife Georgiana purchased No. 171.  The couple was rarely in town for the winter season and the house was repeatedly leased.  In 1909 Edward Powis Jones took the house.  He was a partner in the Sperry Gyroscope Company.  Jones would be one of the last renters in the old brownstone.  Within two years the Stevens commissioned George B. de Gersdroff to update their Victorian dwelling.

As was happening throughout the area, the architect removed the brownstone façade, moved the entrance to the sidewalk level, and created an updated Edwardian residence.  Following the lead of Augustus N. Allen who had remodeled the house next door at No. 169 in 1910; de Gersdroff turned to the neo-Federal style.

Completed in 1911, the Stevens house gave the first impression as having been built as a pair with its neighbor.  Both had rusticated brick bases, iron-railed balconies at the second floor, and centered three-part openings at the three upper stories.  The similarities continued with the large centered dormers above the cornices.

photo by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

The Stevens continued to lease the house and in 1913 it was taken by Robert L. Livingston.  A member of the influential and wealthy Livingstons “of Revolutionary stock,” as described by The Evening World, Robert had had his share of misfortune.  On December 21, 1902 he had married Helen L. Kountze, “much courted for her good looks and charming manner,” according to The Evening World.

The newlyweds received a “colonial villa” in Morristown, New Jersey as a wedding present from Robert Livingston, Sr.  A year later his lovely Helen Kountze suddenly died at the home of her parents.

Now joining him in the 70th Street house in 1913 was his relatively new bride.  Livingston had married Marie Sheedy in February 1911.  The Evening World called her the “richest girl in Denver.”

The Stevens continued to rent the house in the years to come.  In 1919 they signed a lease “for a matter of years” according to The Sun.  Their new tenants were Duncan D. Stuphen, his wife Jane, and her widowed mother Eleanor Kevan Fraser.

Sutphen was a member of the textile firm A. D. Juilliard & Co.  The year 1919 would be a highly traumatic and tragic one for the businessman.  Suddenly on Tuesday morning February 11 Eleanor Fraser died in the house.   Her funeral was held in the parlor three days later, on Valentine’s Day, at 10 a.m.

Duncan Sutphen would attend another funeral in April—that of his employer, millionaire Augustus D. Juilliard.  But even more tragically, the following month, on May 24, his wife, Jane, died in the 70^th Street house.  In a morbid case of déjà vu, her funeral was held here on Tuesday morning, May 27 at 10:30.

photo by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

The Stevens continued to hold on to the property and it saw a succession of wealthy tenants.  On June 22, 1921 The New York Times reported that “Mr. and Mrs. Frederick L. Collins have taken Mrs. Richard T. Stevens’s house at 171 East Seventieth Street for their residence.”  Collins was the publisher and president of McClure’s magazine.

Following the Collins family, that of Dr. Hugh Auchincloss would be long-term residents.  The family summered in Kennebunkport and the East 70^th Street home would be the scene of many social events throughout the years. 

On November 26, 1927 a dinner was given in honor of daughter Frances, followed by a debutante ball at the Colony Club.  The following year it was daughter Maria’s turn to be introduced to society.  Now the young women participated in hosting teas and receptions in the house for their favorite charities. 

Hugh and Katharine Auchincloss lived on at No. 171 as one-by-one their children were wed.  Frances married Thomas Watson Armitage in a fashionable St. Bartholomew’s ceremony on January 10, 1930; Maria was next, marrying Allen Look in Kennebunkport on July 2, 1934; and in 1942 the engagements of both Barbara and Hugh Jr. were announced.

In 1946, after four decades of ownership, Georgiana H. Stevens sold the house to Robert W. Straus, Jr.  A member of an old and prominent New York family, Straus was a publisher and President of Farrar, Straus & Giroux.

By 1959 the Strauses had become unhappy with the Edwardian interiors.  They mentioned their issues to an artist friend, Francis Scott Bradford.  Among these, according to Rita Reif of The New York Times on April 9, 1960 were “leaded windows, which obscured the views of street and garden and rejected sunlight” and “foot-thick moldings, which cheated the rooms of height.”

Although Bradford was “a complete amateur in architecture, interior and furniture design,” according to Reif, he set about gutting and renovating the Straus interiors.  He designed the furnishings and produced a 1960s Modern environment appropriate for the Jetsons.  While the spaces were trendy and artistic, they were irrelevant to the building and were quickly dated.

photo by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Before the house went on sale for $5.75 million in 2013, Bradford’s Mod renovations had been reversed.  Ceiling moldings were replaced, period mantels installed and parquet floors laid in an effort to recapture an historic feel.  In the meantime, little has changed to de Gersdroff’s 1911 façade.

The Astor Offices at Nos. 21 and 23 West 26th Street

No. 23 (left) and No. 21 were once mirror images.  The unapologetically modern roof addition to No. 21 was added in 1992 -- photo by Alice Lum

John Jacob Astor built his one-story office building at 81 Prince Street in 1835, well north of the commercial district.  The site he chose, just off the corner of Broadway, sat in a high-end residential neighborhood.

Astor’s building, which mimicked a Greek temple, was built to be impregnable.   Massive masonry walls were enforced with iron bars, the roof was constructed of iron as were the doors.  For added security, iron gratings covered the windows.  Decades later The New York Times would remark “nothing short of an earthquake could tear the masonry asunder.”

William Backhouse Astor continued running the Astor real estate empire from the building until his death in 1875, when the business passed to his sons William and John Jacob III.   By now the scope of the family enterprise was such that adjoining buildings were being used as offices and the original structure became a storeroom for papers and documents.

If architect Thomas Stent had no commissions other than Astor projects, he would have been a busy man.   In 1880 the brothers had him begin plans for new offices on West 26^th Street, as well as a hulking commercial building to replace the old Prince Street structure.

By February 3, 1881 the new 26th Street buildings—one for John Jacob Astor and one for his brother—were completed.  The New York Times reported “Their new office is at Nos. 21 and 23 West Twenty-sixth street.  A handsome two-story brick building has been there erected, the massive granite cornice and trimmings of which give the structure an appearance of solidity, and make it an ornament to the neighborhood.”

Although the two buildings were mirror images of one another, the Astor brothers would from now on maintain strictly separate offices and dealings.  “On two burnished plates of brass modestly appear two names—‘J. J. Astor,’ ‘William Astor,’” said The Times.

Stent had created charming Victorian Gothic structure of brick and granite with terra cotta ornamentation.  John Jacob Astor III ensconced himself in No. 21, bringing his father’s old mahogany desk from Prince Street.  “It is one of the most conspicuous pieces of furniture in the office in spite of the smartness of its modern associates,” said The Times.

Decorative terra cotta plates contrast with the stone base -- photo by Alice Lum

The “smartness” of the interiors included up-to-the-minute trends in late Victorian décor.   The Aesthetic Movement had reached New York from England—a trend that stressed simple forms and uncluttered surfaces, and also borrowed from Asian designs.   Stained glass panels and decorative tile floors were among the latest in interior design.

John Jacob Astor III died in 1890, leaving an estate valued at approximately $200 million, to his 42-year old son William Waldorf Astor.   For nearly two years the two Astor real estate concerns were somewhat confusingly run by William Astor and his nephew William Waldorf Astor.

Intricate brickwork, carved details and terra cotta accents created a visual feast -- photo by Alice Lum

In April 1892 William Astor died of lung congestion in Paris.  His funeral at Trinity Chapel on West 25^th Street was sparsely attended.  “The church was not crowded,” noted The Times.  “There was not the expected outpouring of society, and many of those most closely associated with the Astor family in social life here and abroad were conspicuous by their absence.  There was also a noticeable absence of mourning raiment among those who occupied the privileged pews.”

William Astor’s business passed, now, to his son John Jacob Astor IV.   If the cousins got along, the same could not be said for William Waldorf Astor and his controlling aunt Caroline Webster Schermerhorn Astor, John’s mother.   The families lived in brownstone mansions side-by-side but in 1893 the feud had become more than William could bear.  He razed his father’s house and began his last major real estate project before leaving the country to live in England for good.  He built the hulking Waldorf Hotel on the site as the final blow to his aunt.

William W. Astor continued to run his real estate business long distance through local officers at No. 21 West 26^th Street, while John Jacob operated from No. 23.    In 1905 The New York Times noted that John Jacob Astor could be found at the office “at least three days” at week.  Here was located an immense cabinet holding a series of maps of the city.

“By means of these maps…the trend of urban progress is studied, and the future possibilities of various districts are forecast and existing conditions diagnosed,” said the newspaper.   By predicting the development of the city Astor was able to build hotels, tenements and commercial buildings where they would be most needed, before other developers recognized the potential.

The differentiation between William Astor’s and John Astor’s real estate businesses was clearly marked.  The New York Times was taken to task when it said on November 3, 1911 that the Uncle Sam Lodging House on the Bowery--reported as a firetrap--was a holding of the John Jacob Astor estate.   The following day the newspaper quickly corrected itself.  “It is not part of the John Jacob Astor estate, which is administered from the office at 21 West Twenty-sixth Street,” it said, but “part of the holdings of the William Astor estate, which is administered from the office at 23 West Twenty-sixth Street.”

A year later John Jacob Astor IV would be lost at sea on the H.M.S. Titanic.

John Astor’s son, Vincent, commissioned the architectural firm Peabody, Wilson & Brown to give No. 23 a neo-Federal facelift in 1922.   Only two years later he sold the building for $30,000 to Frederick Vanderbilt Field, a Communist who wrote for the Daily Workerpublished by Political Affairs Publishers, Inc..  In an ironic twist, the building that had served as operations central for one of the nation’s most capitalistic enterprises now became headquarters for a collection of Communist organizations.

Vincent Astor's re-do of No. 23 resulted in a prim, neo-Federal facade starkly contrasting with its busy Victorian neighbor -- photo by Alice Lum

Political journalist Frank C. Waldrop wrote a column for the The New York Daily News, on July 17, 1944 with the headline “Why Are They Shy?”   He focused his attention on the committees headquartered at No. 23 West 26^th, saying “Some of them aren’t pinks, they are blushing Reds.  But all of them are very, very shy of identification of their true colors. Wherever possible, they speak of themselves as ‘democrats,’ using the small ‘d.’”

Waldrop pointed his finger at Charlie Chaplin, Bela Lugosi, Paul Robeson and Orson Wells as being affiliated with groups in the building.  As a matter of fact, the Hungarian-American Council for Democracy used Lugosi’s name on their letterhead and Robeson had close ties with Benjamin J. Davis, Jr., a leading black communist.   He was also the chairman of the Council on African Affairs which maintained its permanent headquarters and research library in the building.

The 1922 facade included details like Flemish bond brick, paneled shutters with wrought iron shutter dogs, and six-over-six paned windows -- photo by Alice Lum

Before long No. 23 West 26^th Street became the headquarters of the American Communist Party.  The notoriety of the building and its organizations resulted in a series of fire bombs, at least one of which caused a fire in the offices.

While No. 23 was causing a political uproar, No. 21 underwent a stark change of ownership itself in 1952.  That year John Jacob Astor, in London, sold the building to the Volitant Publishing Company which printed “cheesecake” magazines.  The firm published Laff, Sirand Hit magazines and owner Armand Lopez told Popular Photgraphy magazine that he sold over 700,000 issues per month.

Meanwhile, next door, The Daily Worker caught the attention of Communist headhunter Senator Joe McCarthy who called for the revocation of 2^ndclass privileges for the publication.   Then in May 1957 Frederick V. Field sold No. 23 to the 23 West Twenty-sixth Street Corporation for $60,000, who immediately leased it to Charles Dirba.

“Mr. Dirba would not disclose yesterday whether he had subleased the house to the Communist party,” reported The Times on May 3.  “That’s a business secret,” he told the reporter.  Secret or not, the newspaper made its own assumptions and reported “The Communist party of the United States is carrying on its campaign against the capitalistic system from the former offices of Vincent Astor.”

The writer added, “Workmen are decorating in a decidedly unproletarian manner the new national and state headquarters in a lovely old three-story Georgian house at 23 West Twenty-sixth Street.”

Stained glass panels in No. 21 are reminiscent of the work of Aesthetic designer William Morris -- http://writershouse.com/content/history.asp

Through it all No. 21 retained its Victorian Gothic charm—inside and out.  In 1979 it was purchased by Writers House, a literary agency.  John Jacob Astor’s office became the conference room and the massive vaults where deeds and cash were stored now safeguard the archived books of the firm’s authors.

As the agency expanded, so did the building.  In 1992 an additional floor was added by architect David Mandl on the roof.  The addition was described unapologetically to The New York Times by owner Albert Zuckerman as “frankly modern.”

Wooden banisters adorn a cast iron staircase in No. 21 -- http://writershouse.com/content/history.asp

Still growing, more space was necessary by 2001 and Writers House purchased No. 23 for use by its foreign rights department and offices.  The two buildings were back together again.

Casual passersby would never know that the two buildings were built simultaneously or that they were once identical.  But each retains its architectural charm, outshone only by the incredible histories that took place inside.

The 1929 Tammany Hall -- No. 100 East 17th Street

photo by Alice Lum

At the end of the 19^th century, Tammany Hall was nothing like the benevolent organization organized in Philadelphia in the 18^thcentury.  By the time a New York branch was formed The Society of St. Tammany, or Columbia Order, had spread throughout New England.

It was not until the presidential campaign of 1800 that Tammany involved itself in politics, actively supporting the Jefferson-Burr ticket.  A year later the first New York Tammany Hall was erected, on Frankfort and Nassau Streets.  It was replaced when the organization moved northward and opened the new Hall on July 4, 1868 on 14^th Street.

By the turn of the century Tammany Hall was hugely powerful and often corrupt.  It was in total control of the Democratic Party in New York County and often raised the wrath of reformers and religious leaders alike.

In the 1920s Governor Al Smith joined in an attempt to reform Tammany Hall.  Nightlife-loving Mayor Jimmy Walker’s open defiance of Prohibition offended the governor.  The battle between the two politicians shook the foundations of Tammany.  According to Mary M. Stolberg in her Fighting Organized Crime,  “By 1929 the split between Smith and Walker had further weakened Tammany Hall.”

One of Walker’s counte rmoves was to abandon the old Tammany Hall—a symbol of graft and corruption.  Three blocks to the north, opposite the northeast corner of Union Square, sat the Westmoreland Apartments, constructed as a hotel in 1877.  The old structure was razed in 1928 to make way for a new patriotic-themed hall Tammany Hall.

Wide World Photos published a view of the anticipated structure in August 1928 entitled "The New Home of the Society of Tammany" (copyright expired)

Architects Thompson, Holmes & Converse in conjunction with Charles B. Meyers reached back to the organization’s early Federalist roots.  The Union Square elevation was meant to invoke the original Federal Hall where George Washington had taken the Oath of Office.  Typical neo-Georgian and neo-Federal elements distinguished the design and reflected Colonial America.  The bricks were custom-made in Virginia and a 1929 advertisement by the Old Virginia Brick Company in Salem, Virginia, stressed the patriotic theme:

“How fitting, therefore, that in this building should be used bricks made in the Virginia Jefferson so proudly served.  Likewise in the same size, and made in the same kind of cherry and maple moulds as those of his beloved Monticello, 30 years in its building, and where Jefferson lived for a full half century.”

High on the 17th Street side a carved plaque sits against the custom-made Flemish bond brickwork -- photo by Alice Lum

Not everything would look back to the Jefferson period.  Inside, the black marble floor, the wrought iron railings and curved staircase were rescued from the old 14^thStreet Hall.  The interiors were furnished with reproduction Empire period furniture, white enameled paneling and mahogany woodwork.

The official opening of the new building, which cost $350,000, was held on July 4, 1929.  Interestingly, the now-Governor Franklin Delano Roosevelt shared the spotlight as chief speaker with Alfred E. Smith.  Both Roosevelt and Smith were Democrats; but both shared their ardent disdain of Tammany Hall. 

In 1929 Manufacturers Trust Company took space at street level.  Note the clever adaptation of fan lights into the square openings.  photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

The year following the new building’s completion Governor Roosevelt instigated an investigation into the scandals and alleged corruption.  The heretofore highly popular Mayor Walker was forced to resign in dishonor and Samuel Seabury, who headed the magistrates’ courts, suddenly resigned due to “ill-health.”

Things only got worse for Tammany Hall when Roosevelt became President in 1932.  And in 1933 the new mayor, Fiorello LaGuardia, joined forces with the President to take apart the Tammany organization. 

In 1939 the Federal Writers’ Project’s New York City Guide remarked “When the organization wins at the polls, club leaders and district workers swarm to the Hall for a rousing election night celebration, but such joyful gatherings have been infrequent in recent years.”

A terra cotta medallion depicts a "Liberty Cap."  -- photo by Alice Lum

By 1943 the diluted organization could no longer afford to pay the mortgage on Tammany Hall.  That summer it sold the building to Local 91 of the International Ladies Garment Workers Union.  The Union made interior alterations to accommodate its needs.  Offices were built out and the auditorium stage was enlarged.  It was officially opened with a concert and dedication ceremony on December 18, 1943.  Ironically both Jimmy Walker and Fiorello LaGuardia were there.  Sharing space did not mean that the pair had reconciled, however.

LaGuardia told reporters “This building was built under the Walker Administration and put out of business—or on the bum—by the LaGuardia Administration.”  He added “You know, I wouldn’t change the name of the building…I would keep it as a permanent monument to the change that came for the City of New York when a mighty, ruthless organization lost the building to an organization of the people.”

In 1947 Local 91 dedicated the 1000-seat auditorium to Franklin Delano Roosevelt, renaming it the Roosevelt Auditorium.  For years its use was offered to other unions and organizations for meetings and rallies.  On March 16, 1983 cabdrivers voted on a strike here; on December 30, 1981 cemetery workers authorized their strike against 70 cemeteries; and on October 29, 1964 firemen turned down the $900 pay increase which had been accepted by the NYPD.  That same month 250 delegates of the Teamsters Union ignored the pressure from Jimmy Hoffa and voted to endorse John F. Kennedy for President.

By 1962 the auditorium was also being used by the “Roosevelt Yiddish Theater.”  Here Max Perlman produced plays like Don’t Worry, Brother, and A Honeymoon in Israel. 

In 1984 the Roudabout Theater signed a long-term lease for the auditorium with the International Ladies Garment Workers Union.  The theater group was at the time at No. 333 West 23^rd Street.  It commissioned architect Robert Asscione to refurbish the interior structure.

“The auditorium will be renovated for the Roundabout company into a 499-seat facility with no seat more than 40 feet from the stage,” reported William G. Blair of The New York Times on July 1, 1984.

The $850,000 in renovations were completed  early in 1985 and the opening was held on February 1.  In attendance were E. G. Marshall, Jim Dale, Kate Burton and Tovah Feldshuh among others.  On February 13 the first production was staged, Playboy of the Western World.  Over the near few years significant performances and productions included A Man for All Seasons starting Philip Bosco and Charles Keating; Dorothy Laudon in The Matchmaker; Room Service, directed by Alan Arkin and starring Mark Hamill, and a revival of Raisin in the Sun which was aired by PBS in 1986.

Following the Roundabout, the auditorium was leased somewhat briefly to Raymond L. Gaspard.  His Union Square Theater staged eight productions.  Then in 1994 the New York Film Academy leased space here.  The film and acting school had been founded two years earlier by producer Jerry Sherlock.   Its graduates have included comedians Damon Wayans and Damon Wayans, Jr.; actress and figure skater Sasha Cohen; and “Glee” actor Chord Overstreet.

 

Above the entrance "The Society of Tammany" is carved into the stonework.  photo by Alice Lum

In 2001, after nearly 60 years of ownership, Local 91 sold the building to Liberty Theatres, Inc.  In 2013 it was designated a New York City Landmark.  Although retail spaces have been carved out of the rusticated limestone base, above street level the handsome Federal design survives.  It is the last relic of a political organization that tried hard, and unsuccessfully, to disguise its gang-like activities behind a patriotic veil.

The Charles Isham House -- No. 122 East 38th Street

The houses were purposeful near-matches.  No. 122 is to the right.  photo by Alice Lum

At the turn of the last century William R. H. Martin headed one of the most recognized men’s clothing shops in Manhattan:  Rogers, Peet  & Co.  With his substantial fortune he invested heavily in real estate.  In 1900 he opened a high-end residential hotel near Times Square, named it after himself, and moved in.

While the frothy French Renaissance Martinique Hotel, designed by Henry Janeway Hardenbergh, was rising, a more subdued style was gaining popularity.   Neo-Federal and Georgian mansions along upper Fifth Avenue were being designed in red brick with limestone trim, a dignified nod to the country’s colonial roots.  Martin took notice.

In 1902 he purchased and demolished two Victorian brownstone houses at Nos. 122 and 124 East 38^th Street in the fashionable Murray Hill section.  Martin hired architect Ralph S. Townsend to design a pair of harmonious residences.

The surviving rowhouses at Nos. 116 through 120 are similar to those Martin replaced -- photo by Alice Lum

Completed in 1904 the near-mirror image homes worked as a dignified unit.  Three stories tall above an English basement, they recalled Colonial designs with splayed lintels, intricate entrances with pediments, and paneled lintels at the third floor.

The entry hall of No. 124 next door displays the detailing that would have been similar in the Isham House -- photo courtesy Jeffery Povero, Povero & Company

On October 11, 1906 The New York Times casually mentioned that “W. R. H. Martin has sold 122 East Thirty-eighth Street.”  What the newspaper did not report was that the buyer was the wealthy attorney Charles Isham and his wife Mary Lincoln Isham.

Isham had studied at Andover, Harvard and the University of Berlin.  Upon graduating he took the position of secretary to Todd Lincoln, the son of Abraham Lincoln.  In the spring of 1889 Isham met daughter Mary while crossing the Atlantic on the City of Paris with the Lincoln family.  Todd Lincoln was headed to London to take the position of Minister to the Court of St. James.  Although at 36-years old Isham was sixteen years older than the young woman everyone called Mamie, a romance ensued.

The couple was married on Wednesday, September 2, 1891 in London and, following their honeymoon, established their home in New York.  By the time they moved into No. 122 East 38^thStreet Isham had effectively retired.  He was an eminent historian and served as head librarian for the New York Historical Society, secretary of the Sons of the Revolution and president of the St. Nicholas Society.

A graceful staircase winds upward toward a leaded skylight in No. 124 -- photo courtesy Jeffery Povero, Povero & Company

Mary Isham kept herself busy as the editor of The Executive Daily, a Methodist periodical.  The Christian Advocate praised her work in 1912 saying “’The Executive Daily,’ edited by Mrs. Mary Isham with an efficient corps of assistants, came promptly to hand each morning, and for correct, sparkling, satisfactory reports of convention proceedings, merits warm thanks and praise.”

In 1913 Charles contracted architects Walker & Gillette to add a fourth story for servants’ rooms.  The resulting addition seamlessly carried on the Townsend design.

Walker & Gillette's fourth floor addition was seamless -- photo by Alice Lum

On February 11, 1917 The Sun commented on the ties of the Isham residence to Abraham Lincoln.  “Both Mr. and Mrs. Isham are deeply interested in the Lincoln traditions and have many interesting and valuable relics of the life of the Emancipator.  Robert T. Lincoln occasionally comes to this city to visit them, and in the summer they join him at their country home in Vermont.”

The 66-year old Charles Isham died in the house on Monday, June 9, 1919 after a short illness.  The funeral was held here two days later.   Mary lived on in the house, and throughout the years would sometimes represent the Lincoln family at historical or political events.

Such was the case in May 1923 when seven busts, including that of Abraham Lincoln, were unveiled at New York University’s new Hall of Fame.    The New York Times listed the descendants of Alexander Hamilton, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Ward Beecher, Ulysses S. Grant and others who would unveil each bust.   The sculpture of Lincoln, said The Times, “will be unveiled by the Emancipator’s granddaughter, Mrs. Mary Lincoln Isham.”

In 1935 Mary Isham left the house on 38^th Street to move to Washington D. C. where her 89-year old mother lived.   The dignified residence became a boarding house run by Mrs. Howard Gerland.

Among Mrs. Gerland’s boarders in 1936 was violinist Arthur Fortwongler who lived on the second floor.  The classical musician practiced often and, apparently, loudly.   And when he did so at 10:30 on a Saturday night in August, neighbors took action.

As Forwongler played, an open bottle of milk of magnesia smashed against the rear wall of the house.  The creamy liquid splattered into the open apartment window, some of it making its way into the violin.  Mrs. Gerland immediately suspected 28-year old Bruce W. Campbell, Jr., a mortgage appraiser who rented a room in the adjacent house.

Mr. and Mrs. Gerland summoned a policeman and the trio marched off to question Campbell.  As it turned out, Campbell was entertaining two young women who lived above him and at the time of the medicinal bombardment had stepped out of the apartment.

But before that detail was uncovered, Campbell spent the night in jail.

The following morning he appeared before Magistrate Adolph Stern and “although confessing a distaste for the classics, at least as they emanated from his neighbor’s bow,” reported The New York Times, “pleaded not guilty.”

“’I left the apartment for a few minutes,’ he related, ‘and when I got back, there were Mrs. Gerland, her husband and the policeman.  When they told me about the bottle I concluded some one else in the house had thrown it.  I took the blame—to protect a lady, your honor.”

Campbell added that the violinist “practiced too long and too late.”

The magistrate was confounded and instructed all parties to reach a settlement within a few days and he would reserve his decision until then.

Despite their various uses since the Isham residency, both houses retain their original entrances and details -- photo by Alice Lum

For years the residence remained a boarding house and in the 1940s architect S. V. Becker had his office in the building.  By 1966, however, it was a single family home again, owned by Jim and Jean Spadea, syndicate publishers.  On January 14 of that year the pair hosted an informal fashion show during which Mrs. Spadea thrilled the guests with a misinformed history of the house.

Echoing this, The New York Times reported that “The house at 122 East 38^th Street and its twin at 124 were built in 1905 by Robert Todd Lincoln for his two daughters.”  Although totally erroneous, it was a charming anecdote. 

Jean Spadea complained about the verticality of the house.  “I call this a ranch house on end.  We don’t live a comfortable life.”  She then added her critique on the design.  “The house is Adam revival, with everything way over scale.  It was built too near the Victorian era.”

Owners of vintage homes who get the history and architecture wrong and find their houses uncomfortable are apt to make modern improvements--including gutting original interiors and updating facades.  The Spadeas, however, did neither.  They did, however, give up the house within two years.

In 1968 it became the Celanese House—used by the synthetic fiber producer to showcase its fabrics and floor coverings.   The third floor was leased to Donald Cameron, a designer of Parzinger Originals.

Cameron’s decorative tastes were squarely in the 1960s with milk glass spheres as lights and bold geometric designs in primary colors.  The 1906 architectural elements did not fit into his design scheme.

“Mr. Cameron’s biggest problem,” wrote Rita Reif of The New York Times on March 10, 1970, “was the old-fashioned mantel.  Celanese would not let him remove it, so he did the next best thing.  He created a camouflage of boards of different heights in front of the fireplace, painted them white and installed lighting behind to suggest a huge piece of sculpture.”

Cameron’s avant garde ideas went further.  “His other art idea is to hang some paintings so low that visitors have to sit to examine them.  Once seated, he thinks, people will linger.”

In 1988 Celanese was gone and the house was converted to offices on the lower floors and residential duplexes above.   Since the 1990s the Earth Pledge Foundation has operated from the house.  The Foundation is a non-profit organization that encourages sustainable practices and economic growth.

The handsome house at No. 122 East 38^th Street and its partner at No. 124 are amazingly intact after over a century of use.