The Church of Notre Dame -- No. 405 West 114th Street

photo by Alice Lum

The tradition of New York City churches to establish “chapels of convenience” as the city expanded northward was more than a century old in 1910.  While the term chapel often brought to mind a small, quaint structure, these were often large and elegant structures. 

At the turn of the century French-speaking Roman Catholics had at least three churches in which to worship —the Eglise Evangelique Francaise de New-York on West 16^th Street, the Church of Saint Jean Baptiste on 76^th Street, and St. Vincent de Paul on West 23^rdStreet.   But farther north in the developing Morningside Heights neighborhood there was a need for a French-language place of worship.

On March 25, 1910 the Fathers of Mercy, a French community of priests, was given the task of establishing a “grotto chapel” of the Church of St. Vincent de Paul.  Land was acquired at the corner of Morningside Drive and West 114^thStreet.   Architects Dans and Otto was given the task of designing a chapel which would include a replica of the Lourdes grotto where St. Bernadette saw the vision of the Virgin Mary in 1858.

The modest church with its remarkable grotto was dedicated by Archbishop Farley on October 2, 1910, almost a year to the day before the structure was officially completed.     Then on October 29, 1911 there were “special services” marking the completion.  The Sun reported that “At the special vesper services at 3:30 P.M. the Rev. Victor Baron, S. P. M., will preach.  At the conclusion there will be a procession around the edifice, followed by benediction of the blessed sacrament.”

But for the building that would become L’Eglise de Notre-Dame, or the Church of Notre Dame, “completed” would never really come to pass.

Within four years the esteemed architectural firm of Cross & Cross was called in to enlarge the structure.   The Dans & Otto apse and grotto were left intact and the architects built around them;  drawing inspiration from Parisian churches like the Church of the Madeleine and L’Eglise des Invalides.

Cross & Cross prepared a pencil rendering of the completed design -- from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York  http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GWE4WJA&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Construction on the new building began in 1914 and would continue for over a decade.   Cross & Cross had designed an imposing French neoclassic stone structure.  Despite its relatively small size, the effect was monumental.  A classic pedimented portico was supported by four fluted Corinthian columns; repeated on the sides as shallow pilasters.

Despite the continuing construction, the church carried on its work.  On June 13, 1926 its congregation buzzed with anticipation as Cardinal Charost, Archbishop of Rennes attended mass.   “On his way to the church, preceded from the rectory by a procession of priests, acolytes and a crossbearer, his right hand was extended to the men, women and children who lined his path and kissed his ring,” reported The New York Times.   “As he passed up the centre aisle to the altar others knelt before him to kiss this emblem of his rank and obtain the blessing it carried.”

The newspaper went on to say that “At the close of the service he conferred the Pontifical blessing on the congregation, then proceeded to the steps of the church where more than a thousand persons knelt before him to receive the blessing.”

 

Inside the church Dans & Otto's original grotto remained.

In the meantime work continued.  On February 15, 1925 the pipe organ was dedicated, while in Paris sculptor Edmond Becker was at work on the splendid marble main altar.  The sculptor simultaneously worked on a matching communion rail.  On January 24, 1927 a group of American Church officials and members of the Academy des Beaux Arts gathered to view the finished work.

A special cable to The New York Times described it.  “The altar is constructed of white Carrara marble and is 27 feet long.  The decorative scheme depicts the life of Christ, with pedestaled figures of St. John and the Virgin contemplating Christ in the centre.  The bas-reliefs on the lower panels represent the Annunciation and the crowning of the Virgin.”  The magnificent bas-reliefs were executed in bronze, affixed to the white marble.

The cable said “The inspection of the altar today resulted in a flood of congratulations for the artist.”  It was loaded on a steamer for New York City on February 6.  On April 24 the altar and communion rail were formally dedicated.

In 1928 work came to a halt before the grand design was completed.  As envisioned, the church would be crowned by a massive drum which would pour sunlight into the sanctuary, topped by a dome that would be seen for blocks.

photo by Alice Lum

Among the notable marriages and funerals conducted here one stood out in 1932.  Operatic and concert singer Renee Thornton was to be married to Duke Fabio Carafa d’Andria in St. Patrick’s Cathedral at 4:30 on January 27.  Suddenly “the plans of the couple were changed and the ceremony followed half an hour later at the Church of Notre Dame,” reported The Times.

Notwithstanding their individual celebrities, it was a peculiar occurrence in the Roman Catholic Church.   Ms. Thornton had converted to Catholicism for her new husband; but she was a divorcee.  She had been the wife of Richard Hageman, conductor of the Metropolitan Opera, the Chicago Civic Opera Company and the Ravinia Opera Company.  “Four years ago she divorced Mr. Hageman, and the marriage was annulled recently, Miss Thornton renewing her maiden name,” said the newspaper.

The annulment took care of one problem; but the Duke, who “comes from an old and well-known family of Naples,” was also divorced.  “He was married on July 25, 1927, by civil ceremony in the chapel of the municipal Building to Mrs. Lucile Zehring of Hollywood, Cal.,” said The Times.  “He obtained a divorce a year ago, on the ground of desertion, in New Jersey.”

Sticky details or not, the wedding went on.  Acting as best man was Barone Luigi Filippo Marincola.  The reception was held at the home of John S. Keith at No. 1060 Fifth Avenue.

Decades before the Civil Rights Movement would take hold in America, the Notre Dame Study Club which met in the church stood up for social justice.  On March 26, 1936 the group passed a resolution “that the Negro, as a human being and as a citizen, is entitled to the rights, life, liberty and pursuit of happiness,” and called on Roman Catholics “to become increasingly interested in the welfare of the Negro; and to engage actively in some form of Catholic Action looking to the betterment of his condition, spiritually and materially.”

Somewhat surprised, George K. Hunton, editor of The Interracial Review, said “this is the first time a Catholic parish group in this country ever has taken such a stand.”  He said that the attitude of many Catholics towards African-Americans had been “heretofore one of indifference and apathy.”

A year later the group reached out to Holy Name Societies, study clubs and other Catholic groups nationwide “to cooperate in helping to end lynching.”  At a time when racist murders were rampant in the deep South, the Notre Dame Study Club called on Senators Wagner and Copeland “and every New York Representative to support anti-lynching legislation.”

In the 1960s the nagging issue of the uncompleted design was again addressed.  It was decided that the magnificent drum and dome of Cross & Cross would be abandoned in favor of a shallow dome.  With the finished dome artificial lighting was necessary to supplant the flood of the natural light anticipated by the architects.

The architects had completed a plaster model of the original design -- photo 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=24UP1GWE4WJA&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

In 1965 the Second Vatican Council was closed by Pope Paul VI.  Among the changes to physical church arrangements that resulted was the repositioning of the altar so the priest faced the congregation. 

To comply with the edict the Church of Notre Dame erected a beige and gold wooden altar in front of Becker’s 1927 altar.  For over two decades the arrangement worked.  And then in 1988 the new pastor, J. Christopher Maloney, had a better idea.  The marble altar would be cut away from the ornate reredos and moved eight feet towards the congregation.

While Father Maloney held two meetings to tell to parishioners what he was planning, he had no intention of listening to their input.   Members sued under canon law to stop the desecration of the artwork, complained in a letter to Pope John Paul II and pleaded with the Department of Buildings to refuse to issue a building permit.

Supporters of Maloney called the protestors “meddlesome” and “hysterical.”  The pastor said “We’re just bringing the church up to date.”

Others, like Barbara Geach Liccione, said “They are destroying a work of art.  It’s like sawing a painting or a sculpture in half.”

One congregant, Helen McQuillan, threatened to change churches if the priceless reredos was cut apart.  She quoted the Gospel reading Father Maloney had used the previous day, “If any place will not receive you or hear you, shake its dust from your feet in testimony against them as you leave.”

Today the Church’s web page diplomatically skirts the issue of the vandalized art.  “In 1988, a renovation was made in the church which allowed the main church altar to be used for the celebration of Mass once again.”

Despite never having been completed, the wonderful Church of Notre Dame is a noble presence in Morningside Heights.   The “AIA Guide to New York City” calls it “classical and cool within and without.”

photo by Alice Lum

The 1911 Julius Kayser House -- No. 18 East 71st

photo by Alice Lum

In 1818 Robert Lenox paid the exorbitant amount of $6,920 (about $130,000 today) for thirty acres of farmland far north of the city.  It was an area where, at the time, wealthy New Yorkers still maintained large summer estates; yet half a century later his land would face the developing Central Park.  Lenox knew he overpaid, but recognized the potential value.

Lenox established a farm on the property complete with “horses, cattle, and farming utensils” and urged his son, James, not to sell.  In his will he left “my farm at the Five-Mile Stone” saying it “may at no distant day be the site of a village.”  Robert Lenox was only half-wrong.

When his son James died in 1880 the land had indeed grown in value.  But there was no village growing up around it—it was New York City itself that was engulfing the property.  What had been a farm was now bordered by Fifth and Madison Avenues, from 68^th to 74^thStreets.   Mansions and rowhouses began replacing the cow barns and other farm buildings.

Before his death Lenox had donated the entire block between 70^th to 71^st Street, facing Fifth Avenue, for his Lenox Library.  When the Astor, Lenox and Tilden Library were consolidated and moved into the new Carrere & Hastings Public Library building on Fifth Avenue at 42^nd Street, the magnificent Lenox Library was demolished.  The Sun, on July 30, 1911, noted “In 1906 the block from Fifth to Madison avenues, Seventieth to Seventy-first streets, known as the Lenox Library block, was the only block in the entire choice resident portion of the city which had no residence thereon.  In the meantime values, because of the locating of Central Park, because of Fifth avenue and ‘Millionaires’ Row’ and because of the restrictive character of this section, had so increased that a single strip, 1x100 feet, or 100 square feet, approximately represented the first cost of the entire farm.”

Cornelius W. Lyster, Jr. purchased the lots at Nos. 16 and 18 East 71^st Streets in 1909 and commissioned architect John H. Duncan to design two near-matching commodious homes in their place.  Duncan produced two limestone-clad residences in the neo-French Classic style.  The wealthy home buyers who were moving into the exclusive neighborhood were no longer content with cookie-cutter rowhouses built by speculative developers.  Many chose their own architects and gave input on the designs.  Duncan therefore individualized the two mansions while retaining their harmonious flow—most evident at the second floor window treatments and balconies.   Six stories tall including the two-story mansards, the millionaire-ready homes were completed in 1911.

Duncan individualized the designs through the treatments of the balconies and the second floor windows -- photo by Alice Lum

Luyster had spared no expense in creating homes worthy of New York’s wealthiest merchant class; a fact reflected in the $250,000 price tag he put on No. 18—about $4 million in today’s money.   When he sold it just over a year after completion, in January 1913, The New York Times described it as “of fire-proof construction, and built with all the conveniences for a Manhattan residence in the best residential section of the city.”  The article noted that “The greater part of the block has been improved with some of the finest homes in the city, and the Fifth Avenue end, formerly occupied by the Lenox Library building, is now being improved with the $5,000,000 home for Henry Clay Frick.”

The buyer of No. 18 was “a New York merchant,” Julius Kayser, President of Julius Kayser & Co., manufacturers of underwear and gloves.  The millionaire moved into the house with his wife, Henrietta Bache Kayser, daughter Alice, and a household staff.  There were 28 rooms, seven baths and an electric elevator. The Kayser’s other daughter, Laura, was married to Edward S. Bayer and would live nearby on the opposite side of the Lenox Block at No. 32 East 70^th Street.

Despite his age--he was 77 years old when he bought the mansion--Kayser remained active in his business and social life.  Seven years later, on March 8, 1920 he and Henrietta went to the theater.  Upon returning he was “attacked by heart trouble,” according to The Times and the following day died in the house.  The extent of his charitable generosity was reflected in the list of beneficiaries in his will.

The Times reported “He gave $72,000 in stock of his corporation for the benefit of the Kayser Girls’ Auxiliary, and $50,000 in stock to the Julius Kayser Mutual Aid Association.  Bequests of $10,000 each went to the Hebrew Orphan Asylum, Hebrew Sheltering Guardian Society, Montefiore Home, and the Hebrew Technical School for Girls.”  Kayser did not overlook his household staff.  “Mr. Kayser gave $10,000 to Ellen Drake for faithful services and $250 to each servant in his employ.”

photo by Alice Lum

Henrietta lived on in the house which, on March 17, 1938 was the scene of a wedding that was as much a stellar concert as nuptial ceremony.  Constance Hope and Dr. Milton L. Berliner were married in the parlor of the house that afternoon.  Constance was the daughter of the deceased Eugene Bernstein, a concert pianist, and his former musical colleagues contributed to the service in his honor.

Prior to the ceremony, Metropolitan Opera diva Lotte Lehmann sang “Wo du Hingehst,” followed by Wagnerian tenor Lauritz Melchoir’s “To the Bride” accompanied by composer-pianist Erno Balogh.  Then the pair sang a duet from “Tristan und Isolde,” accompanied by Fritz Reiner.  Yet another celebrated pianist, Leopold Godowsky, was on hand to play the wedding march from “Lohengrin.”  Following the ceremony, famed opera star Lily Pons sang Mozart’s “Alleluia,” and Metropolitan Opera basso Emanuel List sang a group of Viennese songs during the reception.

As Henrietta grew older, daughter Laura and the Bayer family moved into the house with her.  Henrietta's
 grandson, Edwin S. Bayer, Jr. was 42-years old in April 1940 when he left the house to go fishing upstate.  A World War I veteran, he was dressed, oddly enough, in one of his old khaki uniforms when his automobile and a truck were involved in a head-on collision around Waverly, New York.  Bayer was held in serious condition in the hospital there.

After thirty years in the house, Henrietta Bache Kayser died in her bed in December 1943 after a short illness.  A year later, on December 25, 1944, The New York Times reported on the sale of the Kayser mansion.  “Dr. I. Daniel Shorell, the plastic surgeon, has purchased the six-story dwelling…and plans to occupy it for his office and private hospital.”

Shorell saw no conflict between his opening of a private hospital in the house and his application for a stay against Katherine Dunham’s buying the house next door at No. 14 for her dance school.  Shorell’s appeal to the court “set forth that the dancer should be stopped from completing on Monday the purchase of the property, since she intends to use the premises as a dance studio in violation of the zoning laws,” reported The New York Times.  The judge did not agree.

Dance studios and private hospitals, however, were lamented by The New York Times’ Lucy Greenbaum on December 1, 1946.  She recalled that New York’s millionaires “built their homes as showplaces, importing the finest of marbles and the rarest of woods and decorating the enormous rooms with hand-cut glittering chandeliers, impressive paintings and book collections.”  Now, specifically including the house at No. 18, she lamented their fate.

“The Felix Warburg home at Ninety-second Street and Fifth Avenue now belongs to the Jewish Theological Seminary.  The old Kayser home at 18 East Seventy-first Street has been sold to a doctor and turned into a private hospital.  The Frick mansion at 1 East Seventieth Street is now a nationally known museum.”

Although Shorell was a pioneer in the field of reconstructive and plastic cosmetic surgery, his facility, the Manhattan Sanitarium, was termed by The New York Times “a nursing home.”  It provided care to wealthy patients who sought individualized care in luxurious surroundings.  One such patient was William H. Siebert who stayed here for five weeks in 1950.  The 66-year old had been with Hammacher, Schlemmer & Co. for 46 years when he died in the sanitarium on June 22.

In December 1956 the house was sold to the Youth Consultation Service, a private organization assisting adolescent girls.  Founded in 1909, it was affiliated with the Protestant Episcopal Diocese of New York and was a favorite charity of New York socialites.  The Times reported on May 27, 1960 that the association “seeks to help troubled girls and young women between the ages of 14 and 25 who are referred to it by churches, schools, colleges, hospitals and doctors or who have heard about the service.  Some are unmarried expectant mothers who are cared for at the agency’s shelter, Dana House.”

For over two decades the once-grand rooms of the Kayser family housed troubled girls and provided them counseling, care and guidance.  Then in 1977 the house was converted to a school and day care facility.  The first two floors were adapted as nurseries, classrooms, day care, multipurpose rooms and offices.

photo by Alice Lum

In 1992 a major renovation brought the Kayser house back to a single-family residence.  Despite replacement windows and doors, it looks much as it did in 1913 when the first cartfuls of the Kayer family’s furniture, oriental carpets and artwork were brought inside.

The 1895 Hoyt Mansion -- No. 2 East 75th Street

Already successful, the 31-year old attorney Henry Reese Hoyt married Emy Otto in Berlin, Germany on December 9, 1892.  A graduate of Harvard College and Columbia Law School, he formed the firm of Daly, Hoyt & Mason with former Chief Justice Charles P. Daly and Alexander T. Mason.

Following their honeymoon, Henry R. Hoyt and his bride moved into No. 87 West 10^th Street.  But it would be a temporary stay.  He purchased the plot of land at No. 2 East 75^th Street, steps away from Fifth Avenue and in October 1893 filed plans for a “five-story brick house” that was expected to cost $28,000—about $700,000 today.

Hoyt had commissioned architect Richard Howland Hunt to design his new mansion.  Hunt worked side-by-side with his highly esteemed architect father, Richard Morris Hunt, in the senior Hunt’s office.  For the Hoyts he produced an eye-pleasing five-story amalgamation of historical styles.  Generally neo-French Classic in style, Hunt adorned the red brick façade with neo-Tudor and Gothic Revival touches.  Square-headed drip moldings capped the quoin-surrounded openings.  A romantic three-sided oriel at the third floor had Gothic pointed-arched windows and supported a fourth floor balcony protected by a carved limestone of openwork quatrefoils.  Hunt returned to the French influence above the stone cornice where a crested mansard sprouted two dormers.

Discreet fleur de lis pressed into the cornice carry on the French motif.

Henry and Emy Hoyt had four children—Henry Jr., Alfred, Gretchen and Elizabeth.  In the summer season all wealthy New Yorkers abandoned the stifling city for country estates or seaside resorts.  In 1903 newspapers noted that the Hoyts had closed their house and left for Sag Harbor, Long Island, for the season.

Before long entertainments in the 75^th Street house would center around the growing children.  On December 21, 1904 the Globe and Commercial Advertiser noted that “Miss Gretchen Hoyt has her formal presentation to society to-day at a reception given during the afternoon by her mother, Mrs. Henry Reese Hoyt of 2 East Seventy-fifth street.  The reception will rank among the largest of kind.  A dinner for the receiving party follows the reception.”

If Gretchen’s debut was a bit early by social norms, Elizabeth’s would not be.  Three years later Emy gave a cotillion in the house for Elizabeth who, said The New York Times, “is not yet out.”  On December 26, 1907 at around 9:30 the young guests began arriving.  They danced until around 11:30 when supper was served.  The Times remarked “The guests invited included the young girl and boy friends of Miss Hoyt who are not yet out.”

Earlier that year Elizabeth’s father had enlarged the house with a rear addition designed by Henry Pelton.  It would not be the last of Henry Hoyt’s renovations.

The following year Elizabeth would serve as maid of honor in Gretchen’s high-society wedding in St. Bartholomew’s Church on June 3, 1908.  Before Gretchen married the Harvard-educated banker Henry Ladd Corbett of Portland, Oregon, she hosted a glittering dinner party in the house for the bridal party.

Emy Hoyt pulled out all the stops in decorating the church, prompting The New York Times to say “The church decorations were unique and perhaps as fine as have ever been seen in New York.”  The sanctuary of St. Bartholomew’s was transformed into an Italian garden with aisles of bay trees.  Around their trunks grew white and pink peonies.  Emy carried the theme to the chancel.  “The chancel was a miniature Italian garden, with its bay trees arranged in prim lines, huge jars of rhododendrons and peonies giving the effect of growing flowers.”

The reception was held in the 75^th Street mansion where guests with names like Roosevelt, Stokes, Alexander, Sturgis and Lydig offered congratulations--and gifts.  Following the honeymoon Gretchen and her husband returned to Portland to live.

1909 was finally Elizabeth’s debutante year.  There were to major entertainments in the house during December, beginning on the 6^th.  That night 30 guests sat down to dinner, after which additional guests arrived for the cotillion.  Van Baar’s orchestra played throughout the night and at midnight a buffet supper was served.

Almost three weeks later, on December 20, a second wave of guests arrived.  Emy Hoyt had the reception room decorated with Christmas greens, holly and mistletoe.  Forty young people were invited to dinner and another 60 arrived for the dancing afterward.

On August 27, 1910 the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide noted that Henry R. Hoyt had filed for alterations to the house.  Architects Hiss & Weeks had been commissioned to do $1,800 in renovations including “partitions, stairs, and piers.”  The New York Times had remarked a day earlier that the plans called for “entirely remodeling the interior.  It was at this time that the street level received a new limestone façade, generally in keeping with the overall architecture.

By now the Hoyts’ wealth and social standing were at a peak.  The title of the grand country home in New Marlboro was in Emy’s name and she was one of the principal owners of the 6,000-acre Marlboro game preserves.  Henry was a member of the best gentlemen’s clubs, including the Union, University, Automobile, New York Yacht Club, Racquet and Tennis Club, the Downtown Club, the South Side Sportsmen’s Club and the Riding Club.  He served on the board of the Metropolitan Opera and no fewer than ten corporations including banks, mines, and real estate firms.  Additionally Hoyt was the legal representative of the Italian Government and for the French Consulate in New York City.

On January 20, 1915 Elizabeth married Thomas H. Frothingham of Boston.  It would be a rocky relationship. 

But in the meantime, Henry Hoyt continued remodeling his mansion.  On November 8, 1919 The Real Estate Record & Guide reported that Hiss & Weekes was back at No. 2 East 75^th Street, this time designing a $10,000 penthouse on the rear addition. 

Just over a year later, in January 1921 Henry Reese Hoyt died of a heart attack in Chicago.  The 59-year old had appeared to be in excellent health before his attack on New Year’s Day.  Emy and Alfred rushed to Chicago, as did Henry’s brother and sister, John and Rosina.  They were at his bedside on January 4 when he died.  Three days later an escort of motorcycle policemen accompanied a cortege with Hoyt’s body from the house on East 75^th Street to St. Bartholomew’s Church. 

Alfred and Henry Hoyt, Jr. still lived in the family home.  Elizabeth and her husband, who now lived at No. 153 East 71^st Street , maintained a second house in Far Hills, New York.  Thomas Frothingham worked for the brokerage firm of Potter Brothers & Co. at No. 5 Nassau Street.  As the summer came to a close that year, with his mourning mother and brother away, Alfred was living alone in the house with just one servant.  Elizabeth and Thomas suggested he come to their Far Hills home for a visit.

On September 9 it was arranged that he, Elizabeth and Alfred would meet at the 75^th Street house at noon, and then travel together to Far Hills.  Thomas Frothingham arrived first and was let in by the assistant housekeeper.  While waiting for his wife and brother-in-law, he poked around in Alfred’s rooms and there he found a loaded pistol. 

When Alfred and Elizabeth arrived, they were told that Frothingham was already there.  “That much they learned when they entered the foyer, but there was no sign of him, nor did he answer Hoyt’s hail,” said The New York Times on September 11, 1921.  The two began a search.  “In Hoyt’s bedroom, on the second floor, they found him lying in a heap, blood oozing from the wound in the left shoulder.”

Whether an accident or not, a gunshot in a mansion bedroom could spell scandal.  A private ambulance was called and Frothingham was taken to a private ward in Presbyterian Hospital without notifying police. 

When news leaked to the newspapers, reports suggested a cover-up.  “Shooting of Broker Kept Secret 2 Days” read a headline in The Times.  On September 11 the New-York Tribune wrote “All information concerning Mr. Frothingham’s accident was refused by Mr. Hoyt’s housekeeper and other persons living at his address.  Except to admit that he was still a patient, attendants at the hospital last night refused to comment on the case.”  When the Tribune’s reported questioned the housekeeper she replied “I know nothing of any shooting.”  The Times reported on September 11 “A maid at the Hoyt home answered the bell last night and said nothing was to be learned there.”

The mystery would come to mind three months later when Frothingham filed for bankruptcy and “it was alleged that he had made fraudulent misrepresentations” in the sale of silver mine stocks, as reported by The New York Times.  Among those he reportedly cheated was his wife, Elizabeth.  The Times said he had transferred $1.5 million in silver mine stocks “to his wife and other preferred creditors when he knew he was insolvent.”

Two years later Thomas Frothingham deserted Elizabeth and their three children and disappeared to Memphis, Tennessee.   When Elizabeth filed for divorce on April 11, 1927 she was back in the family mansion with her mother and brothers.

The family managed to garner less scandalous press going forward.  In September 1928 Henry Jr. was in a small airplane lost in a thick fog.  Persons on the ground, hearing the engine, grabbed flashlights and directed the plane to a football field where it landed with only a smashed landing gear.  In 1929 Emy’s name appeared in the newspapers when she inherited the Lydig family silver following the death of Philip Mesier Lydig; and that same year Alfred was appointed aide-de-camp to Governor Flem D. Sampson of Kentucky.

On December 15, 1932 the house was the scene of Elizabeth’s quiet wedding to William A. W. Stewart.  The Times felt obligated to mention “He gave his age as 56 years and she 35 years.” 

Emy Otto Hoyt lived on at No. 2 East 75^th Street until 1941.  In April that year she rented an apartment at No. 1040 Fifth Avenue where she had 12 rooms and five baths.  Two months earlier she had sold the townhouse to Albert Klein who intended to convert it “into an apartment building of small suites,” as reported in The New York Times on February 21.

Klein changed his mind a week later and resold the mansion to Benjamin Cohen.  The Times reported “It will be altered into sixteen apartments of one and one-half and two rooms and penthouse.”  At the time of the first sale the newspaper published a photograph of the mansion with its marvelous oriel window intact.  Sadly, like the grand interiors, it would not survive.

Architects did an admiral job of patching the hole where the bay window and balcony had been.  Stone quoins around the clustered windows mimicked the originals as did the drip moldings.  A pseudo-heraldic shield and a carved panel decorated the new stone face.

Although a valiant attempt, the patching of the lost oriel leaves the passerby scratching his head.

Since then little has changed.  There remain 12 apartments inside and the facade is carefully maintained.  Sadly, without its wonderful oriel, the mansion looks more like a clubhouse than a home.

photographs by the author

The Lost McMurtry Mansion -- No. 812 Fifth Avenue

The McMurtry house, seen above in 1907, would originally have been very similar to No. 811 to the right.  Next door at No. 813 (left) is the ostentatious mansion of Francis Ahrend.  photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GH0N7KN&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

In December of 1887, while Mrs. F. Fisher was busy making plans for a reception and dance to be held in her mansion at No. 812 Fifth Avenue on the evening of the 21^st, George Gibson McMurtry had other things on his mind. 

As a teen, the Irish-born orphan had been placed on a steamer by his uncle to make his way in America.  He worked in various trades, slowly advancing in the steel business.  He eventually established the Apollo Iron and Steel Company in 1885 in Apollo, Pennsylvania.  And he almost immediately ran into labor problems.

Management and labor were continually at odds and McMurtry blamed it all on alcohol.  “The Cyclopedia of American Biography” explained “Regarding intemperance as the cause of much misery among the working people, as well as of inefficiency in the work performed, he endeavored to eliminate this evil.”  He found, however, that foundry workers in the 1880s were loathe to give up their drink.

As a result the labor unions rebelled in full force. "Strikes and other forms of friction followed and caused endless trouble.”

To find a solution, McMurtry “made an extended tour of the great European industrial centers” and at the Krupp Works in Germany got the idea of a company town for the workers.  On his return, he completely reorganized the Apollo operation.  He built a new plant a few miles outside of town and built a 640-acre town that he named Vandergrift.

Intending to create a “model community,” he hired the architectural firm of Olmsted, Olmsted and Eliot to design “school buildings, libraries, churches, water supply, sewer system, lighting plant, sanitation, well-paved streets.”  He did not relent on liquor, however.  “The Cyclopedia” noted “The liquor traffic was completely eliminated, and the people found that that was good.  Poverty disappeared before prosperity; content took the place of misery, and families who had known the bitterness of want found themselves gradually possessed of the luxuries of life.”

Vandergrift was completed in 1895.  Workers moved in and relations between them and McMurtry reversed.  The millionaire mill owner was now viewed as a friend and benefactor.

Back in New York Mrs. Fisher’s house on Fifth Avenue was leased to United States Rubber Company executive Richard Evans.  The lease appears to have begun on January 1, 1897 when deliveries of furniture first began.  Evans’s first month in the handsome residence would not go smoothly.

As Evans’s furnishings were unpacked, the crates and packing material—mostly excelsior—were taken to the cellar.  On the morning of January 19 the servants smelled smoke and the butler, Henry Johnson, opened the cellar door to find flames that “had gained some headway,” according to The Sun.

Johnson ran into the street and found Policeman Long who rang an alarm.  The highly flammable packing materials were blazing when firefighters arrived.  “The firemen chopped away part of the basement floor, and finally succeeded in subduing the flames with three streams of water after two hours’ work,” said the newspaper.  Richard Evans found himself dealing with what would amount to about $36,000 worth of damages to his new rental home.

In 1900 the American Sheet Steel Company was formed with McMurtry as president.  It soon merged into the American Sheet and Tin Plate Company, a subsidiary of the United States Steel Corporation.  Now in his 60s and extremely wealthy, “Mr. McMurtry felt justified in retiring and taking up his residence in New York City,” said “The Cyclopedia of American Biography.”

George and his wife, the former Clara Lothrop, had four children.  At least one of them, George, Jr., moved into the old Fisher mansion at No. 812 Fifth Avenue with his parents.   The brownstone-fronted mansion had started life out as a relatively mundane, if luxurious, rowhouse.  It was probably Mrs. Fisher who gave the house a late Victorian makeover.

Four stories tall it sat above a deep English basement.  While its stoop and portico were relatively unchanged, it now showed off with French Second Empire embellishments.  Handsome carved window framings and an eye-catching two-tier mansard roof set it apart from its neighbors.

McMurtry leased the house from Charles H. Sanford (although the title was in Sanford’s wife’s name).  Sanford seems to have been having financial problems, for his name was publicized in 1900 for being in arrears on his personal taxes.

Eventually George purchased the mansion, but transferred the title to Clara’s name.  As with the Sanfords, titles of personal real estate were often put in the wife’s name.  Clara’s ownership of the property would forego sticky problems in the event of her husband’s death. 

The New York Times noted on April 29, 1902 “The dwelling 812 Fifth Avenue, near Sixty-second Street, for some time the residence of George G. McMurtry, President of the American Sheet Steel Company, was conveyed yesterday to Clara L. McMurtry by Sarah F. Sandford for an expressed consideration of $270,000.”  In today’s dollars, Clara’s new house would have cost just under $6 million.

Later that year, in October, McMurtry was presented with a sterling silver Tiffany & Co. punch bowl by his former employees.  The solid-silver bowl weighed an astonishing 42 pounds and was gold lined.  Included in the rich ornamentation was a portrait of McMurtry below which was the inscription “A lovable character and possessor of many noble qualities, who, by his generous deeds, has proved himself a true friend of the workingman.”  The workers had obviously forgiven him for taking away their liquor.

The bowl was a wonder of silversmithing.   Beneath the four columns that supported the bowl was a “perfectly modeled miniature street mill, with the men in their natural position when putting a sheet of steel through the rolls,” reported The New York Times.  The newspaper said “The bowl is pronounced one of the distinctly notable products of the year in art silversmithing.”   Tiffany & Co. charged the workers $5,000 for the tribute.

Three months later the very eligible 26-year old George Junior’s engagement to Mabel Post was announced.  George’s fashionable bachelor dinner was held at Delmonico’s on December 12.  The wedding took place four days later at the home of the bride. 

By now an established broker, George and his new wife moved into the house at No. 812 Fifth Avenue with his parents.  He brought unwanted attention to the family on July 19, 1907 when he was arrested for racing on city streets.  George teamed up with two chauffeurs—Charles Aldridge, the chauffeur of stockbroker Henry Guy; and Louis Le Boulanger, Frederick Havemeyer’s driver—to outrace one another on Hoffman Boulevard in Far Rockaway.

Before long four motorcycle policemen were engaged in “a lively chase,” according to The Evening World. “During the pursuit Policeman Shepard’s machine hit an obstruction and he was shot into the gutter alongside the road,” said the newspaper.  “He was cut and bruised, but not seriously hurt.  The other patrolmen in the chase, Grace, Ennis and Finch, captured the motorists after a run of three miles.”

Young George waived examination and was held at $1,000 for the Court of Special Sessions.

In May 1914 George Junior and Mabel moved out of the Fifth Avenue mansion.  George leased the Henry F. Osborn mansion at No. 22 East 70^th Street. 

George Senior fell ill in 1915 while summering in Atlantic City.  Suddenly, on August 6, the multi-millionaire died.   The Times noted that “Mr. McMurtry was much averse to publicity, and was said to be one of the 500 New York millionaires whose name was never seen in print.”   With her children grown and married, Clara was now left in the Fifth Avenue mansion alone.

George Junior’s quiet life on East 70^th Street, in the meantime, would soon be interrupted by the United States’ entrance into World War I.  George had already served in the military.  He fought with Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders during the Spanish-American War and participated in the Battle of San Juan Hill.  Now he returned to serve his country, rising to the rank of Captain with the U. S. Army’s 308^th Infantry.

George’s unit would become known as the Lost Battalion.  Cut off and surrounded by the enemy in the forest of Argonne, France, in October 1918, the wounded McMurtry commanded his officers and men with optimism and cool that prevented panic and chaos.  With no food or means of communication and under heavy barrage, he directed the moving of the wounded to shelter before seeking shelter himself.  On October 6 he was wounded again, this time by a grenade, yet he continued to direct and command the troops, refusing medical aid or relief.  After assistance came, he personally led his men out of the position before allowing himself to be taken to the hospital on October 8.  The German attack was defeated “due largely to his efforts,” according to his later Medal of Honor citation.

The McMurtry boys continued to attract notice for heroic deeds.  George’s brother Alden served throughout the war on the United States Army General Staff.  Afterward, he started an automobile parts business, and invented auto parts. 

He also had become a Connecticut State Trooper.  On the frigid night of February 15, 1920 Mrs. C. W. Dreyer was startled by the sound of crashing glass next door to her home in Sound Beach, Connecticut.   Looking out her window, she saw a flashlight beam moving about in the summer home of New York City socialite Mrs. Eliza G. Morris.

She telephone police.  Trooper McMurtry was in a nearby firehouse and he and fireman Addison Bacon sped to the Morrison mansion.  They entered through the smashed window and “descending to the cellar they saw two figures silhouetted in the pitchy darkness against a window,” reported the New-York Tribune.

When McMurtry demanded that the men surrender, he was answered with a volley of gunshots.  In the dark cellar, the policeman, fireman and thugs exchanged gunfire and one-on-one fighting.   Just when McMurtry’s flashlight caught one of the criminals peering from behind a chimney, his battery died.

“McMurtry rushed in the direction of the chimney and luckily succeeded in grappling with his antagonist,” said the newspaper.  “They rolled about the floor, neither able to see the other.  McMurtry managed to grasp the burglar’s right arm and prevent him from shooting while he belabored him with his blackjack.  The burglar got hold of some heavy instrument on the floor and struck McMurtry in the stomach with it, nearly knocking him out.”

The stalwart trooper fought on, however until he “was finally able to bring his body into a position where he could fire.  He sent five bullets into the struggling bandit, who then cried quits.”  When it was finally over, fireman Bacon had bullets lodged in his left jaw and shoulder, McMurtry was wounded in the arm and both burglars were dead.

The year following her son’s brave action, the 78-year old Clara McMurtry died in the house on Fifth Avenue on May 17, 1921.  Two months later the house was sold for $225,000.  The New-York Tribune mentioned the mansion’s prestigious neighbors at the time.  “The property adjoins the residence of F. J. Arend, 813 Fifth Avenue…the north-corner of Sixty-second Steet and Fifth Avenue, which is on the same block, is owned by Mrs. Hamilton Fish, who also owns the adjoining property, 811 Fifth Avenue.  The Sixty-third Street corner contains the residence of Raymond Hoagland.”

No matter how prestigious the address, the house at No. 812 Fifth Avenue was decidedly out of fashion by 1921.  The Tribune noted that “The purchaser intends to occupy the house after making minor structural changes.”

The “minor structural changes” that the new owner, architect Charles T. Mathews, had in mind were not so minor.   The architect had earned attention for remodeling the Church of the Holy Trinity in 1891 and for remodeling the east end of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in 1893. 

Within the year the mansion’s brownstone face had been stripped off to be replaced by gleaming white limestone.  The rusticated facade was interrupted by two-story pilasters at the second and third floors and the exuberant Victorian mansard was toned down.  Mathews saved the expense of relocating the entrance to street level; but disguised the old mansion with a vaguely French Classic face.

Once the exterior reconstruction was completed, renovations of the interior commenced that would last for years.   In 1928 the work was nearing completion, but still it was occupied only by servants.  Mathews was living at the Metropolitan Club.  On February 28 that year the work turned to tragedy.

In 1923 work was still going on in the remodeled home.  The flanking mansions are unchanged.  photograph by Wurts Brothers, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GH0NX2Z&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Mathew’s sister, Florence, was supervising the workers around 1:30 in the afternoon.  One of the painters, J. Beck was at work in the second floor hall removing varnish from the woodwork.  The chemicals used were combustible and somehow, perhaps because of an electrical apparatus he was using, there was an explosion.  The flames spread along the woodwork of the second floor, racing up the stairs to the third floor.

Overtaken by the explosion, Beck inhaled flames and fell to the floor.  Another painter, James Harris, saw the blaze and shouted to the others in the house.  Painter Fred Leutaemeyer and Florence Mathews reached the basement level safely.  But behind them, a servant, Elizabeth White, rushed in the wrong direction and was trapped by flames.  She shut herself in a fourth floor room and screamed for help out the window.  The Times reported that “The flames were already racing up the corridors past the third floor to the fourth.  Her escape was cut off and the flames were threatening to break from the hallway into her room.”

The panic-ridden woman was finally carried down a ladder by a firefighter.

An estimated crowd of 5,000 gathered on Fifth Avenue watching the drama play out.  Inside, Lieutenant James Connolly and Fireman Elwood Grebe were heading up the staircase when the skylight above exploded and rained glass and metal down onto them.  Grebe suffered severe head injuries and Connolly a broken nose.

When the flames were finally extinguished, J. Beck was, tragically, dead.    Damages to the house that Mathews had been working on for nearly a decade and which were nearly completed were estimated to be about half of what he originally paid for it.

“The fire was contained almost entirely to the hallways,” reported The Times.  “Several tapestries were reported damaged.  Valuable oil paintings suffered to some extent from heat and smoke, although the flames did not make their way into the rooms where they were hung.  Several tapestries and other works of art were carried out by firemen.”

The house was repaired and the esteemed bachelor architect and author moved in with his unmarried sister Florence.  After his death in January 1934, the house along with the bulk of Mathews’s estate went to her.  With her brother gone, however, Florence preferred to live at the family estate, The Elms, in Norwalk.  Unaffected by the Great Depression, she maintained a staff of ten and continued her lavish lifestyle.

She did return to No. 812 when socially necessary, however.  In 1938 she hosted the wedding reception of her great niece, Patricia M. Martin, following her marriage to Dr. James Lawrence Pool.   Later that year, on August 16, she died at the age of 82 while sleeping in the Norwalk mansion.

In February 1939 the doors of No. 812 Fifth Avenue were opened to the public as Charles’s and Florence’s furnishings and artworks were auctioned off.  The New York Timesreported that “The sale will contain a series of Louis XIV Felletin tapestries after Charles Lebrun depicting episodes in the life of Alexander.  Also in the sale will be furniture, crystal chandeliers, porcelain table lamps, fireplace furnishings, Continental paintings of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and Oriental rugs.”

Perhaps to protect his house next door, Francis Arend purchased No. 812.  But in 1945 he had moved out of No. 813 and the former Mathews mansion was being leased to the Fashion Academy.  In April of that year he sold both  properties to Mrs. Ann Hartman.  The Times said that No. 812 was “said to be the last of the old ‘high-stoop’ residences on Fifth Avenue.”

The Fashion Academy, a school of design, styling and merchandising, remained in the former mansion for nearly two decades.  In 1961 the house with three incarnations was replaced, along with its two adjoining neighbors, by a modern apartment building designed by Robert Bien.

The new building replaced three old structures -- photo by Alice Lum