The King Jagiello Statue -- Central Park

When nationalities world-wide began planning their pavilions for the New York World’s Fair of 1939, none could be prouder than Poland.  Only two decades earlier, in 1918, Poland had finally regained its independence after 123 years of partition and foreign rule. 

Germany had done its best to stifle the Polish identify—outlawing the language, giving Polish-named towns German names, and teaching only German in the schools.  But as the 20^thcentury dawned, a fervent nationalism arose among the Polish people.    Henryk Sienkiewicz dared to write Krzyzacy, a novel about the medieval roust of the Germans by the Poles in the 1410 battle of Grunwald led by King Wladyslaw Jagiello.

In 1910 internationally-renowned pianist and ardent nationalist Ignacy Paderewski erected a massive monument to Grunwald in the center of Krakow.  Atop the monument was a great bronze equestrian statue of the king.  Paderewski addressed the crowd at the unveiling, saying in part “We sincerely wish that every Pole and every Lithuanian…would look at this monument as a sign of a common past, a testimony of shared glory, and the herald of better times.”

Paderewski's gift would inspire the World's Fair statue.  http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/4.2.01/paderewskigrunwald.html

The Polish Pavilion in New York’s Flushing Meadows would be dominated by an architecturally fascinating tower of gold.  The items on exhibition inside brought together the traditional and the modern; all a celebration of a reunited Poland.  Perhaps as a not-so-subtle reminder to the Nazis who were increasing in power, the entrance of the Pavilion was guarded by a large statue of King Jagiello.

A 1939 World's Fair postcard depicts the Polish Pavilion.  

Designed by sculptor Stanislaw Kazimierz Ostrowski, it was greatly inspired by the Krakow statue.  But unlike that sculpture, which depicted the king’s arms at his sides, Ostrowski’s Jagiello raised his arms above his head holding the two swords handed to him by his enemies, the Teutonic Knights of the Cross.  The crossed swords were symbolic not only of the defeat of the Germans; but of the king’s unification of Poland and Lithuania.

The Polish Pavilion opened on May 3, 1939—the anniversary of the signing of Poland’s first Constitution in 1791.  But although the country presented a joyous façade; while Polish girls danced in traditional dress and American tourists admired the exhibitions of art and culture, things were not going well at home.

Girls in traditional costumes dance before the statue in 1939.   The amazing filigree facade of the tower can be seen at right.  photograph from the collection of the New York Public Library

A year earlier Germany had annexed Austria and now it invaded Czechoslovakia.  On September 1, 1939, four months after the World’s Fair Pavilion opened, the Germans invaded Poland.  The move incited Great Britain and France to declare war on Germany.  World War II had begun.

Mayor Fiorella La Guardia was infuriated at the German aggression and on October 11, 1939 he dedicated Pulaski Park in the Bronx, named in honor of Polish patriot Count Casimir Pulaski.  In his dedication he declared “no power on earth could destroy the spirit of the Polish people.”

In a further act of support, he asked Parks Commissioner Robert Moses to make the Polish Pavilion a permanent part of Flushing Meadow Park.  The New York Times on October 12, said “He termed the golden structure a replica of a medieval Polish tower, “the finest thing, architecturally, in the foreign area of the Fair—we all think so.”

The newspaper added “He has also asked, in the name of the city, for the equestrian statue of Polish King, Jagiello, which stands in front of the pavilion.  La Guardia called the sculpture “very fine.”

Meanwhile at home, with the Germans advancing on Krakow, the citizens attempted to hide the Grunwald Monument behind a barricade of wooden planks.  It was to no avail.  The German Army dismantled the 60-foot high monument and the statue to King Jagiello was melted into bullets.

Although the World’s Fair continued through 1940, the Polish Pavilion closed in 1939.  The United States would not enter the conflict for another year; but while tourists and New Yorkers strolled the boulevards of the Fair the carefree atmosphere was much muted—especially so when they passed the silent pavilions like that of Poland and of Czechoslovakia. 

When the Fair closed Ostrowski’s defiant sculpture was presented to the city by the Polish Government.  It was removed from its base and placed in storage.  “A committee of Polish organizations, of which Mayor Fiorello H. La Guardia is honorary chairman, is raising $25,000 to prepare the site for the statue on the park lawn near the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” said Charles Grutzner, Jr. in The New York Times.

Finally, on June 2, 1945 ground was broken in Central, west of the obelisk near the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  The cornerstone was laid on June 17 and the unveiling took place on July 15. 

Nearly a month before the first spade of sod was removed, The New York Times wrote “King Wladyslaw Jagiello is about to fare forth on his great bronze steed from the darkness of a city warehouse and take his place in the sunlight of Central Park in time for the 535^th anniversary of the battle of Grunewald [sic].  It was there that this Polish king routed the Teutonic Knights in one of the most crushing pre-Eisenhower defeats ever met by German military might.”

That the statue of a victorious King Jagiello over the Germans would be erected almost simultaneously with the end of German occupation of Poland did not go unnoticed.  Despite the unspeakable atrocities endured by the Poles under German occupation—including the mass murder of millions—La Guardia’s declaration to “no power on earth could destroy the spirit of the Polish people” seemed to have borne out.

The Times quoted historian Jan Dlugosz who wrote following the Grunwald defeat, that the Germans’ own handcuffs and leg irons were used against them.  “God justly punished their pride, for the Poles bound them hand and foot with these very same fetters and irons.”

The monument to King Jagiello in Central Park became a symbol of Polish nationalist, determination and pride.  Banks of flowers, for decades, would appear on Polish holidays and patriotic anniversaries.  In 1986, forty years after its unveiling, it was cleaned and restored by the Parks Commission. 

It happened just in time.  In 1975 the city was shouldering $3.3 billion in debt and was on the verge of bankruptcy.  Now, while the city was climbing out of the fiscal hole, it was still struggling.  In 1987 there were only seven or eight workers to care for the 800 statues and 700 public monuments.  They took home a combined salary of $175,000 a year. 

The New York Times, on March 9, 1987, lamented the condition of statues and monuments.  “Acid rain, automobile fumes and factory emissions have eaten away at bronze and turned marble sponge-like.  Vandals have torn off heads and arms, pausing only to cover granite pedestals with spray paint.  Repairs exceed city budget.”

Twenty monuments needed immediate repair—at an estimated cost of $1.3 million.  Among them was the statue of King Jagiello.  The City was realistic.  There was no way it could pay for the manpower and the cost of restoring the works of art.  So it initiated the Adopt-a-Monument project; the sold program nationwide that sought private money to care for and restore individual monuments.

The King Jagiello statue was one of the first two to be adopted.  The American Conservation Association provided $30,000 to its restoration that year.  As a result, the heroic statue with an amazing history survives in glorious condition today.

photographs by the author

The 1911 William Cullen Bryant Statue - Bryant Park

photo by Alice Lum

By the time of his death on June 12, 1878 William Cullen Bryant had come a long way from the log house in Cummington, Massachusetts were he was born nearly 84 years earlier.   Had he never written a poem, he would have been remembered as the editor of the New-York Evening Post, a strong political voice and supporter of Abraham Lincoln, and one of the city’s most aggressive promoters of the Central Park project.

But he did write poetry and as early as 1832 was recognized as the foremost poet in America.

Bryant’s involvement with Central Park did not end with his newspaper's publishing in 1858 the winning design submitted by Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux, nor with his later supporting Olmsted’s candidacy as Superintendent of Parks.   It was Bryant who most often addressed the crowds at the unveiling of statues and monuments in the park—as a matter of fact his death resulted from complications from a fall suffered during ceremonies in the park honoring Giuseppe Mazzini.

So where else than Central Park would be a fitting location be found for an tribute to the poet, reformer and editor?  It would be a question embroiled in politics and argued for years.

In 1847 Bryant founded The Century Association with a few like-minded friends.  The private club was formed to encourage interest in literature and the fine arts and its initial intended membership of 100 led to the name.  In honor of his life-long contributions to American literature and the City of New York, the club commissioned artist Launt Thompson to sculpt a bronze bust of Bryant on his 70^thbirthday in 1864.  Upon its completion the Association presented it to the Park Commissioners to be placed in Central Park.

The bust was accepted, but its placement was denied.

The Commission had earlier resolved that no bust or statue of a living person would be erected in the park.   A decade later The Century Association was frustrated that the valuable bust “has been lost to the sight of the public ever since.”  Bryant was now celebrating his 80^th birthday and the club suggested “that the bust would make an appropriate pendant in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

The Museum accepted the bust on loan in 1874 “until the time—long hence, we pray—when…the bust be entitled to the conspicuous position in the Park which its merits and the fame of the Poet and the Man, the then Commissioners, we doubt not, will unanimously accord it.”

Getting Bryant into Central Park even after his death would be a challenge.  The editor of The New-York Evening Post had made powerful enemies.

Bryant was a staunch foe of the corrupt Tammany Hall ring.  When efforts were made to erect a statue to William Marcy Tweed in Central Park and the Park Commission ruled against it, The Post unabashedly celebrated the decision.  The Tweed ring would not forget the insult.

After Bryant’s death in 1878 expectations were that the bust would be removed from the museum and placed with great ceremony in Central Park.  It did not happen.  When John Bigelow, chairman of the bust committee, approached the Park Commissioners he was turned away.  The New York Times reported that Bigelow was told “The department rule is that no statue shall be erected in the parks unless the person so honored has been dead at least five years, and the committee was informed that when this requirement had been met a suitable site would be designated for the bust.”

The “suitable site” was not necessarily Central Park.

In the meantime the Century Association had a bigger and better idea.  Bigelow filed an informal report suggesting “that the proper way to honor the memory of the dead poet was to erect a statue, at least as imposing as the statues of Burns and Scott,” already sitting in Central Park.  Henry A. Oakley, Treasurer of the club agreed, noting in The Times on June 6, 1883 “I can’t see why we should pay more honors to foreign poets than to our own.”

The Association immediately began collecting public subscriptions to raise the statue, estimated to cost between $15,000 and $20,000.  And it took back the bust from the Museum.

“Meantime, the bust originally made becomes the property of the club, and it is one of the most magnificent works of art in our rooms,” reported Oakley.

While funds were being collected, the Association came up with yet another way of honoring its founder.   Where the 1853 New York Crystal Palace had stood behind the hulking Egyptian Revival Croton Reservoir on 6^th Avenue between 41^stand 42^nd Streets was Reservoir Square.  The club succeeded in having the open space renamed Bryant Park in 1884.

And yet by June 1893 still nothing had been done regarding the statue.  John Bigelow approached the Park Commissioners again.  Surely by now they would approve a site within Central Park, which that owed so much to William Cullen Bryant.

A dejected Bigelow later reported that “our application had become complicated with local Politics,” and, referring to the earlier Tweed issue said, “I attributed to no inconsiderable degree that insensibility to our appeals for a site for a memorial of Mr. Bryant.”

For many, as the turn of the century came and went, it appeared that the Bryant statue would never come to be.

Then in 1911, as Carrere & Hastings’s magnificent white marble New York Public Library was completed on the site of the old reservoir the solution became obvious.   Bryant’s statue would be erected behind the monumental new structure in the park that bore his name.

Sculptor and Century Association member Herbert Adams set to work on the larger-than-life-sized figure while Thomas Hastings designed the pedestal and setting to compliment his masterful library.  Adams depicted an aged Bryant sitting in a large armchair, a lap robe spread over his knees.   A newspaper laid on his lap.

Craftsman magazine published a photo of the plaster model in 1911 (copyright expired)

Hastings’s monumental white marble setting nearly outshone the statue.  A architecturally-rich half dome approached by three shallow steps and supported by Doric columns sheltered the pedestal.  The monument was centered on the terrace, flanked by enormous marble urns atop a graceful balustrade.

photo by Alice Lum

After having battled for over three decades to see a statue to Bryant completed, John Bigelow—one of the last surviving members to have known the poet—was now too infirm to attend the unveiling on October 24, 1911.  “It has been the purpose of the Century Association that Mr. Bigelow himself, as the most intimate friend of Bryant now living should draw aside the veil, but the choice fell to Miss Godwin after it was learned that Mr. Bigelow feared to venture out.”

“Miss Godwin” was Frances Bryant Godwin, great-granddaughter of Bryant and the granddaughter of Parke Godwin, the long-time associate of Bryant in the editorship of the New-York Evening Post.  Around 1,000 people crowded into Bryant Park for the unveiling, causing Library Trustee George L. Rives to express humorous surprise “that the number was so large, in view of the conflict of the unveiling with the fourth game in the world series,” reported The Times.

Mayor William Jay Gaynor called it “a noble monument,” and The Sun said “The city of New York became the richer” for the presence of the statue.  On the pedestal was carved a verse from one of Bryant’s lesser-known, later poems, “The Poet.”

Yet let no empty gust

Of passionate feeling find utterance in thy lay.

A blast that whirls the dust

Along the howling street and dies away;

Best feelings of calm and mighty sweep,

Like currents journeying through the windless deep.

A century later the “noble monument” to William Cullen Bryant still reigns majestically over Bryant Park.  To park visitors Thomas Hastings’s marble pedestal has become part of the Library architecture.    The Century Association’s inability to erect the statue in Central Park due to the Tweed Ring’s vengeful intervention resulted in an even more auspicious setting for his monument.

photo by Alice Lum

The Gertrude Stein Statue -- Bryant Park

photo NYC Parks Department

In November 22, 1931 American writer and photographer Carl Van Vechten wrote a letter from his apartment at 150 West 55^th Street to Gertrude Stein in Paris.  The two writers had met there in 1913 and for the rest of Stein’s life they would sent letters back and forth across the Atlantic regularly.

In this letter Van Vechten asked for a photograph “of Jo Davidson’s statue too!  I want to have this very much.”  After a chatty closing, he added a post script, “Please send me a photograph of the Davidson.”

Van Vechten was referring to a squatty sculpture done by American artist Jo Davison a full decade earlier when World War I had come to an end and Paris was crowded with new-thinking artists, writers and musicians.  The art and literature world were changing and Gertrude Stein had positioned herself squarely in the middle of the revolution. 

Reared in a wealthy Jewish family in Pennsylvania, she had moved to Paris with her brother Leo in 1903.  Immediately they were stirred by the community of the avant garde and became fast friends with Pablo Picasso and supported modern writers and artists.

Stein, along with her life-long partner Alice B. Toklas, hosted Saturday night salons to which the greatest names in art and literature of the day flocked.  Stein was said to hold court like an empress at these gatherings; yet always maintaining her approachable and congenial personality.  Among those that came to Stein’s salons was Jo Davidson.

The writer would visit Davidson at his studio, reading to him from her works, while he sculpted busts of prominent persons.  He would later remember “’A rose is a rose is a rose,’ took on a different meaning with each inflection.  When she read aloud, I got the humor of it.  We both laughed, and her laughter was something to hear.  There was an eternal quality about her—she somehow symbolized wisdom.”

That eternal quality prompted Davidson to ask Gertrude Stein to pose for him in 1920.  Posing for Davidson was unlike posing for any other artist.  He preferred to chat, perhaps share coffee.   For his Stein sculpture, he needed to capture her earthy essence.  “To do a head of Gertrude was not enough—there was so much more to her than that.  So I did a seated figure of her—a sort of modern Buddha,” he explained three years later when the statue was finally cast.

Getrude Stein poses for Jo Davidson in his studio -- photo Vanity Fair, February 1923

Indeed the portrait was Buddha-like, as the artist intended.  Stein sits in a long dress, open legged, with her hands dropped between her knees.  Her face is age-worn, but kind, and she looks to the floor with a stare of contemplation.

Gertrude Stein loved it.

“Miss Stein returned the compliment,” reported Vanity Fair Magazine in February 1923, “by doing of him [a] portrait.”   Her part prose, part verse work was titled “A Portrait of Jo Davidson.”

The statue was loved and hated.  Critics acclaimed it or denounced it as “unflattering.”  Yet Davidson’s intentions were never to flatter – not in the sense that would necessitate manipulating physical truths to achieve physical beauty.  Stein’s essence was not worn on the outside.

Ernest Hemingway described her saying “Miss Stein was very big but not tall and heavily built like a peasant woman.  She had beautiful eyes and a strong German-Jewish face that could also have been Friulano and she reminded me of a northern Italian peasant woman with her clothes, her mobile face and her lovely, thick alive immigrant hair which she wore put up.”

Hemingway’s description could have been written about Davidson’s statue.

Gertrude Stein died on July 27, 1946.  The footprints she left in the world of art and literature are as crisp today as they were half a century ago.  Stein once said “the most serious thinking about writing in the twentieth century has been done by a woman.”  She was speaking of herself.

During Gertrude Stein’s life in Paris, New York City had filled its parks and squares with bronze and granite statues of statesmen, poets and warriors.   In 1992, however, there was only one that depicted a woman – not an angel or an allegory—the statue of Joan of Arc.

Parks Commissioner Betsy Gotbaum took notice of the slight.  The New York Times quoted her on July 16, 1992 saying “I was a little insulted that Mother Goose was the only representative of my sex in probably the most important park.”

Dr. Maury Leibovitz heard her message.  The New York art dealer and psychologist happened to own the estate of Jo Davidson.  Before long New York would have a statue to a real, American-born woman:  Gertrude Stein.

Bryant Park, directly behind the New York Public Library, had just undergone an extensive restoration and renovation.  Leibovitz arranged for a copy of the Davidson statue to be cast and placed on a polished granite base designed by architects Kupiec & Koutsomitis.   The Bryant Park statue was the eighth casting – there would be two more to follow—with the Whitney Museum of American Art and the Metropolitan Museum of Art owning their own copies.

A terra cotta version of the Stein sculpture in Washington DC -- photo National Portrait Gallery

Comparing Hemingway’s lesbian character in For Whom the Bell Tolls with Gertrude Stein, the authors of “Hemingway’s Genders: Rereading the Hemingway Text,” wrote “Both Pilar and Stein are figures of ambiguous gender.  Both are perceived as combining a masculine massiveness with feminine qualities.  Jo Davidson’s marvelous statue of Stein in New York’s Bryant Park…illustrates well the monumental quality she shares with Pilar.  Both women were seen by Hemingway not only as exemplars of different sexualities but as teachers of these differences.”

photo manhattanabout.com

Several months after Dr. Leibovitz died, his gift to the city was unveiled on November 5, 1992.  It remains one of the most fascinating and captivating works of public art in the city.

The 1885 Wm. E. Dodge Statue - Bryant Park

photo by Alice Lum

 William E. Dodge was, by all accounts, a good man.   The problem for many following his death in 1883 was that he was not a great man.

The Connecticut-born millionaire made a fortune when he and his father-in-law, Anson Greene Phelps, founded the mining company of Phelps, Dodge and Company in 1833.  It grew to become one of the country’s largest mining firms.  His business interests went on to include the establishment, with partners, of the Macon and Brunswick Railroad.  But the accumulation of wealth was perhaps secondary to Dodge’s idealistic and heart-felt humanitarian and social interests.

His compassionate ideals were formed early in life.  His father, David Low Dodge, founded the New York Peace Society, a pacifist organization.  The peaceful and caring atmosphere of home would affect Dodge’s numerous adult interests.

As the Civil War approached he was an outspoken abolitionist and for the rest of his life he would finance schools for black students.    Following the war, he turned his focus to the plight of the American Indian.  In 1868, with Peter Cooper, he established the United States Indian Commission and worked with Ulysses S. Grant on the Peace Policy with the Native Americans.

Dodge was one of the Commissioners who traveled West to meet with representatives of the Arapaho, Kiowa and Cheyenne nations to explain and discuss Government policy regarding Native Americans.

William Earl Dodge

When the United States Calvary slaughtered 173 Blackfeet in Montana in 1870—an event that became known as the Marias Massacre—William E. Dodge fought for the prosecution of the commanders in charge.   He went on to campaign for an Indian Affairs cabinet department.

Dodge was an ardent supporter of the Young Men’s Christian Association and, all the while, served as President of the National Temperance Society.   The Society strongly felt that demon alcohol was the source of domestic violence, ruined homes and lives, crime, poverty and other social ills.  One means of fighting the scourge of alcohol was the erection of temperance fountains in large cities.   The availability of clean, pure water, it was felt, would deter the taking of strong drink.

Less than a month after Dodge’s death on February 9, 1883 a movement began, initiated by the Chamber of Commerce of which he had been President for several years, to erect a statue in his honor.   A committee was appointed on March 3 “to consider and devise a plan which would most fittingly meet the wishes of the public,” as explained by the Chamber of Commerce later.  The committee included some of New York’s most respected names in business; Samuel Sloan, John A. Stewart, William H. Fogg and Samuel D. Babcock among them.

380 private donors contributed and eminent sculptor John Quincy Adams Ward was given the project.  To support the statue, prominent architect Richard Morris Hunt was commissioned to design the pedestal, which appropriately was to include a temperance fountain.  

Two years later the Academy of Arts examined the finished sculpture.  In a letter to the Parks Commissioners, it proposed the site, saying “it is a fine piece of work, and should be erected in the square at Thirty-fifth-street, Sixth-avenue, and Broadway.”  Not everyone was pleased.

The New York Times immediately lashed out, saying that if the approval for the spot by the Parks Commissioners had been given, “it has been improvidently given, and should be withdrawn.  If it has not been given, it should be withheld.”

The Editor was vehement that the statue to Dodge should not take up public space.  Dodge was a good man.  But he was not a great man.

“We have no wish at all to detract from the private virtues of Mr. Dodge, which were without doubt such as to entitle him to the affectionate veneration of his descendants and to account for the amiable exaggeration of his public importance which prompts the proposition for the erection of a statue of him in a public park.”

The Editor went on to say that the statue would be entirely appropriate as an ornament to Dodge’s tomb, or attached to the headquarters of any one of the charitable institutions he founded or supported.  But public statues, it argued, were not for good men.  They were for great men.

“This is an honor which ought to be reserved for men whose standing as public men or whose acts as public benefactors have given them an unquestionable title to the broadest recognition.  Now, it is perfectly plain that Mr. Dodge was not a man of this public importance, and that a public statue of him would be an absurdity.”  Even Dodge’s best friends, the Editor argued, “would not think of calling him a great man, and the honors of public statuary ought to be reserved for men about whose greatness there is no question.”

The editorial warned that if the Dodge statue were to be erected on public ground, it would open the floodgates for statues of any person of good moral character whose friends or family could afford to pay for one.

The newspaper would not get its wish.

On October 22, 1885 the statue was unveiled in Herald Square.   Ward had depicted William E. Dodge in the realistic portraiture style for which he was best known.    The millionaire businessman and philanthropist leaned casually on a pedestal atop Hunt’s monumental granite base.   In tribute to Dodge’s life-long dedication to the avoidance of alcohol, a temperance fountain flowed from the mouth of a lion into a carved basin.  The statue was partly enclosed by a semicircular granite bench.

Perhaps to counter the opposition of the city newspapers, the pamphlet accompanying the unveiling noted the such an honor “has hitherto been paid chiefly to those who were eminent in arms or in statesmanship, in science or in letters.  But a genius for doing good would seem to be as worthy of posthumous gratitude as a genius for wilding the sword or the pen or the eloquent tongue.  Deeds of unselfish benevolence deserve a monument as truly as deeds of patriotism, or the achievements of distinguished statesmanship and intellectual culture.”

The statue and fountain can be seen in front of the New York Herald Building shortly after its dedication -- NYPL Collection

The following day The New York Times gave a tepid review of the 2,200 pound statue.  “It represents Mr. Dodge in street costume, bareheaded, leaning on some books, which are on top of a column.”  The Evening World would be even less enthusiastic later when it said “It monopolizes the finest site for a statue in the city.”

The pamphlet of the unveiling ceremonies included the above photograph --copyright expired.

Biographer William Carlos Martyn, however, liked both the statue and the spot.   In his 1890 book “William E. Dodge: the Christian Merchant,” he wrote “The Christian merchant stands in an easy attitude on a massive pedestal, the water he so stanchly advocated trickling at his feet, the brow uncovered and uplifted, an expression of resolute goodness on his noble face—like a benediction embodied in bronze.  As the hurrying throngs pass and repass, in the morning, at noon, or when the evening shadows begin to build a vault above the noisy thoroughfares that here converge, many are the eyes that rest lovingly upon that form.”



photo nycgovparks.org

After more than half a century standing in Herald Square William E. Dodge was kicked out.  The humiliation was a result of the movement to erect a monument to the Herald’s publisher James Gordon Bennett.  In 1939 as preparations for the Bennett memorial began, the Dodge statue was dismantled, crated and stored away.  In the process, Richard Morris Hunt’s imposing pedestal was purposely destroyed.

On January 27, 1941 The New York Times reported on the installation of two flagpoles at the New York Public Library as a memorial to former Mayor John Purroy Mitchel.  The article ended by parenthetically noting “It was also announced that the bronze statue of William Earle Dodge, president of the State Chamber of Commerce from 1865 to 1875…has been moved to Bryant Park at the rear of the library.”

photo by Alice Lum

The newspaper clearly misspelled Dodge’s middle name, adding an “E” at the end.   But the mistake could nearly be excused when the new, bland granite base was examined.

Here, too, Dodge’s middle name was spelled EARLE.   Chiseled deeply into the base, the superfluous E could not be rectified, so today each of the other letters is gilded with the hope that the unadorned E will blend into the stone.

The William Earl Dodge statue stands proudly in Bryant Park despite its several embarrassments, a monument not to a great man, but to a good one.

Pigeon droppings are perhaps the least of the indignities Dodge's likeness has endured over the years -- photo by Alice Lum

The Isidor and Ida Straus Memorial "Memory" -- Straus Park

 On April 19, 1912, just four days after the sinking of the RMS Titanic, Alfred Crawford testified before the United States Senate committee investigating the disaster.  Crawford had been a stateroom steward on the doomed ship.

The man was asked if he knew Mrs. Isidor Straus.  He did.

Isidor Straus and his wife, Ida, were returning home to New York on the Titanic.  Straus was a co-owner with his brothers of R. H. Macy & Co. as well as Abraham & Straus department store in Brooklyn.   The 67-year old was also a director of several banks and Vice President of the Chamber of Commerce.  He was highly regarded for his generosity.  The New York Times would call him “a supporter of almost every philanthropic and charitable institution in New York, regardless of creed.”

Chester testified that he was in a lifeboat and took Mrs. Straus’ hand to help her in.  “She started to get in, but then changed her mind and went back.”

Senator Smith asked “Started to get in?”

“Yes, she had one foot on the gunwale and then drew back,” said Chester.

Ida Straus looked back to her husband of 41 years standing on the deck and let go of Chester’s hand.  “We have been together a number of years,” she said to her husband.  “Where you will go I will go.”

She then instructed her maid to take her place on the lifeboat.

Later, as the aged couple sat quietly on deck chairs holding hands, the grand RMS Titanic slipped beneath the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

Isidore and Ida Straus

The couple was mourned nationwide, but nowhere so deeply as in New York City.  Four weeks later a memorial service was held for them in Carnegie Hall and thousands crammed into the auditorium.  “The great hall was filled to capacity, and hundreds who pleaded to get in were turned away because there was no more room inside.  Every seat and every box was occupied, while perhaps 300 men and women stood up in the rear of the auditorium,” reported The New York Times.

During the ceremony, Jacob H. Schiff mentioned Ida’s fidelity to her husband.  “There is no doubt that in the awful hour when the Titanic sank that the noble woman broke not the oath that she had given at the altar, ‘Until death do us part.’”

The cable ship Mackay-Bennett recovered Isidor Straus’s body which was buried in Woodlawn Cemetery.  Ida was never found, but the Straus tomb included an empty spot next to her husband.

The Straus home stood at 27-47 Broadway, near 105^th Street, within sight of a small, triangular park called Bloomingdale Square.  On July 2, 1912 the Board of Aldermen adopted the resolution directing that the park “is hereby named and shall hereafter be known and designated as ‘Straus Park.’”

A move to erect a memorial to the couple was immediate and subscriptions poured in.  $20,000 had been donated by the Fall.   A competition for the memorial design was held and in November the Magazine of Art reported that “The prize was awarded to Mr. Augustus Lukeman, the collaborating architect being Mr. Evarts Tracy.”

The little, oddly shaped park made designing an appropriate memorial difficult.  “It was finally concluded that anything mainly monumental would not be desirable both because of the modesty of Mr. and Mrs. Straus and because the site selected is a small triangular park with a background of apartment houses which would not serve as a proper frame for anything very high,” explained the magazine.

Luckman’s design, one of 59 submissions, included a serene lily pond fed by a two-tiered fountain.  Above the fountain was a reclining bronze figure of a contemplative female upon a granite ledge.  Luckman called his memorial “Memory.”

Water lilies float serenely in the reflecting pool during the dedication of the Straus Memorial in 1915 -- Library of Congress

Behind the sculpture a granite bench provided a place of rest for those visiting the memorial.  The Straus Memorial, paid for entirely by public donations, was dedicated on April 15, 1915, three years to the day after the sinking of the RMS Titanic.  The Times called it “one of the most beautiful monuments of its kind in the country.”

Inscribed on the rear of the monument was the biblical passage from II Samuel 1:23:

Lovely and pleasant were they in their lives

And in their death they were not divided

An orchestra played for the many who assembled for the dedication on April 12, 1915 -- Library of Congress

 The neighborhood around the Straus Memorial declined as the 20^th century wound down and by 2007 the memorial had suffered some abuse.  That year the Parks’ Monuments Conservation Program initiated a restoration, sponsored mostly by The History Channel.

Regretfully, the lily pond—a crucial element in Augustus Lukeman’s design--was filled in as a flower bed in order to facilitate easier maintenance.  

Today the lily pond has been replaced by a not-so-lovely flower bed -- photo museumplanet.com

Despite the loss of the reflecting pool, the Isidor and Ida Straus Memorial remains one of New York’s most moving and evocative monuments.

non-credited photographs taken by the author

The 1936 Sophie Loeb Fountain -- Central Park

photo by Alice Lum

Sophie Irene Simon was born on July 4, 1876 in Russian.   Six years later her family immigrated to the United States.  Unlike so many of the Russian immigrants in the 1880s; rather than remain in New York City the Simons settled in Pennsylvania.

Tragically, Sophie’s father died around 1892, leaving the family with no means of support and Mrs. Simon with six children to feed and clothe.   To help her mother, 16-year old Sophie worked as a clerk in a store owned by Anselm Loeb; all the while continuing her studies.

After graduating high school she taught, and in 1896 at the age of 20 she married her former employer.  Once married she no longer taught school and she focused her attention on writing.  Her poetry and prose caught the attention of the New York Evening World.

Sophie Loeb’s married life would eventually sour and she divorced Anselm Loeb; although she retained her married name.   In 1910 she moved to New York City and took a job as a journalist for the New York Evening World.

Loeb landed in Manhattan at the time when the social reform movement was in full swing.  She wrote human interest articles that turned the spotlight on “destitute mothers” and the plight of impoverished children.    Women who had little or no means of supporting their children found them removed by the City to institutions.  Sophie Loeb firmly believed that financial aid for the mothers was a far better solution.

She quickly became a moving force in social welfare and in 1915 founded the Child Welfare Board of New York.  The Board consisted of nine members, appointed by the Mayor for a term of eight years, who served without compensation.   It was required that at least two of the members be women.

The Board was given the authority “to grant allowances to widowed mothers with children under the age of sixteen years, in order that such children may be cared for in their homes by their mothers instead of being placed in institutions.”  Sophie Loeb went on to found the Child Welfare Board and served as its first president.  She would help establish the first building devoted to child welfare, in 1921, and three years later became president of the Child Welfare Committee of America.

Doggedly determined, she pushed for public baths, subsidized school lunches, housing reform and even the fireproofing of movie theaters.   One of her last campaigns involved the construction of a playground in Central Park.  Multimillionaire and philanthropist August Heckscher, who made his fortune in zinc and iron mining, offered to donate $100,000 for the playground.  When the project became ensnarled in red tape and bickering, Loeb fought passionately for its construction.    The three-acre playground opened greatly through her efforts.

Sophie Irene Loeb --photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GWETP8L&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Three years after she saw the opening of the Heckscher Playground, Sophie Irene Loeb died on January 18, 1929 at the age of just 53. 

The playground was heavily used and by 1935, although only nine years old, it showed significant wear and tear.   The Park Department laid plans to renovate the facility, relocating apparatus, sodding the ball field, adding croquet courts, playhouses and shade trees.    The Heckscher Foundation took advantage of the renovations to show thanks to Sophie Loeb in the form of a memorial fountain.  The organization pledged $15,000 for the erection of the fountain and on February 20, 1935 The New York Times reported that “Plans filed with the Municipal Art Commission call for the erection of a memorial fountain to Sophie Irene Loeb, writer and social welfare worker.”

Although the renovations to the playground had already received preliminary approval, the newspaper noted that “action on the fountain has been deferred pending further study.”

While officials argued about the proposed memorial, Frederick George Richard Roth went ahead with the design.  Roth was the chief sculptor for the New York Parks Department under the Works Progress Administration at the time.  He was already responsible for the 1925 statue of Balto, the “Dancing Goat” and “Honey Bear” in the Central Park Zoo and would design the popular “Mother Goose” statue in 1938.

The Times reported that “The tentative plan of Frederick Roth, the sculptor, is to build up a series of concentric rings in the centre of which will be a group of figures from Alice in Wonderland facing outward from the fountain itself.  The figures will include Alice herself, the White Rabbit, the Duchess, the Red Queen, the White Knight and the Mad Hatter.”

Roth's design reflected the streamlined style of the times -- photo by Alice Lum

In the meantime Parks Commissioner Robert Moses was dealing with objections from the West Side Boys Association, Inc.    The group’s representatives, Frank Donnelly and William W. Bates, balked at the placing of the fountain between the baseball field and the playground.  After more diplomatic persuasion, Moses finally became frank.  The Times said “he told them, however, that it was being donated by August Heckscher, who gave $100,000 in 1926 to the city for the field, and that he had no intention of moving it.”

The case was closed.

On October 3, 1936 the memorial fountain was unveiled.   The principal speakers at the dedication were Commissioner Moses and August Heckscher himself.   Mayor Fiorello La Guardia called Loeb “a most remarkable women—the most unselfish woman that I have ever met who was active in public affairs.”  He went on to described her “successful, though protracted, fight for child welfare legislation.”  He told the crowd that he had learned "my scorn for politicians" through her.

photo by Alice Lum

The completed memorial consisted of a 10-ton granite "pediment" within a pink granite bowl.  Around the bowl were five drinking fountains for the children Sophie Loeb had spent most of her life defending.  “The pediment is carved with groups representing the famous characters in ‘Alice in Wonderland,” and the King, the Queen, the Duchess, the Mad hatter, Father William, the Pig Baby and the Frog Butler, and, of course, Alice, gaze down upon spouting water flowing from the mouths of minor Alice characters into the large bowl,” said The Times.

The base of the pediment was engraved with Sophie Loeb quotations and an inscription:

“In Memory of Sophie Irene Loeb, Lover of Children—A Home for Every Child.”

Around the base of the sculpture were quotations by Loeb -- photo by Alice Lum

The Parks Department paid for the granite steps, landscaping and plumbing, fencing and the flagstone steps surrounding the monument.

photo by Alice Lum

In 1987 the fountain was moved to the Levin Playground by the Central Park Conservancy.  The drinking fountains were removed and the bowl refitted as a water feature with cooling sprays that delight children in the summer.

photo by Alice Lum

The Kneeling Fireman 9/11 Memorial Statue

photo by Alice Lum

The committee members of the Fire Fighters Memorial Foundation of Missouri worked hard to design a fitting memorial to the fire fighters throughout the state who were lost on active duty.  In addition to the wall on which were inscribed the names of the fallen, the Foundation envisioned an emotionally-moving sculpture: a mourning firefighter, kneeling in grief with his helmet at his feet.

In October 2000 Matthews International Corporation of Pittsburgh received the commission to create the bronze statue.  Cast in the firm’s Parma, Italy foundry, the 2,700-pound sculpture was completed nearly a year later, in August 2001.   Matthews International had promised the Missouri firefighters that the statue would be delivered in October.  Although the bronze was originally intended to be shipped by ocean, Matthews decided to air freight it through New York City to guarantee the delivery deadline.

The statue never made it to Missouri.

The crate arrived at Kennedy Airport on September 9, 2001 where it was held for customs clearance.  Two days later Al-Qaeda-affiliated terrorists flew two Boeing 767 airliners into the World Trade Towers.  Emergency responders rushed to the scene in a valiant attempt to save the thousands of workers in the burning structures.  Among the 2,573 innocent people who were murdered that day, 343 were New York City firefighters.

The entire nation joined New Yorkers in their shock and grief; among them the firefighters of Missouri and the Matthews International Corporation employees.  The Fire Fighters Memorial Foundation joined with Dave DeCarlo of Matthews International and offered the statue—which so astonishingly-well reflected the pathos of the event--to the New York City Fire Department and the Federal Law Enforcement Foundation as a gift to New York.

On September 17, the day that the Kneeling Fireman was released from Kennedy Airport, the New York Post published a full-page photograph of a New York City firefighter kneeling in the ashes of the Trade Towers.  Eerily, the photograph was nearly identical to the bronze sculpture.

Earlier that week the Matthews International Corporation produced two bronze plaques in its Pittsburgh plant to accompany the statue.  One, the “Emergency Services” plaque includes bas relief images of first responders—policemen, firemen and emergency services personnel—performing their heroic jobs.  The second, “America the Beautiful,” depicts through scenes of the Liberty Bell, Mount Rushmore and the Golden Gate Bridge the country which the terrorists sought to destroy .

The Kneeling Fireman was temporarily displayed in front of the Milford Plaza Hotel in Midtown.  The Milstein family, owners of the hotel and the Emigrant Savings Bank, donated a granite base for the sculpture.  The statue became a makeshift memorial as thousands of New Yorkers and tourists left candles, photographs of lost loved ones, prayer books, flowers and notes.

The Kneeling Fireman was temporarily displayed outside the Milford Plaza Hotel in the weeks after 9/11.  New Yorkers and tourists alike left written prayers, candles and flowers at the makeshift memorial.  -- photo Matthews International Corporation http://www.matthewsbronze.com/aboutus/NotableProjects/AboutUsNotableNYCFirefighter.htm

The statue was eventually removed, crated and put in storage for nearly a decade.  Finally, after complicated discussions and arrangements, on Thursday September 22, 2011 The Kneeling Fireman found its permanent home.

Notable members of Federal law enforcement joined FDNY dignitaries and others as Howard P. Milstein, Emigrant Bank Chairman and CEO led the dedication of the statue at the 43^rd Street headquarters of the bank.  The statue, 9 feet tall and 12 feet long, became the only memorial to 9/11 in Midtown Manhattan. 

The Fire Fighters Association of Missouri said on its website “It was the feeling of the Fire Fighters Memorial Foundation of Missouri Board that it would be an honor to have our statue in New York City as a tribute to all those who served so well.  Passersby are moved to tears and many visitors return to add flowers and candles around the statue daily.”

Few who pause before the poignant sculpture could imagine that its presence in New York City as a memorial to those killed on 9/11 is the result of unfathomable coincidence.

TAXI! The Samuel S. Cox Statue - Tompkins Square Park

In the May 19, 1853 issue of the Columbus, Ohio newspaper Statesman of which he was owner and editor, Samuel S. Cox wrote about the sunset of the previous evening.  His goal was to prod the paper’s readers to appreciate life.   His flowery Victorian prose style gushed on and on.

“What a stormful sunset was that of last night!  How glorious the storm, and how splendid the setting of the sun!  We do not remember ever having seen the like on our round globe  The scene opened in the West, with the whole horizon full of golden, interpenetrating luster which colored the foliage, and brightened every object into its own rich dyes.  The colors grew deeper and richer until the golden luster was transfused into a storm cloud full of the finest lightning, which leaped in dazzling zigzags all around and over the city.”

Cox went on.  And on.  And then went on some more.  He was forever after known as Sunset Cox.

Born in Zanesville, Ohio to a political family, Cox went on to serve as Congressman from Ohio and later from New York.  In 1885 Grover Cleveland appointed him Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire.  After only one year, he returned to Washington again as New York’s Congressman.

Samuel S. Cox around the time he served as Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire - Library of Congress

 Cox was a passionate orator, yet he would have undoubtedly passed into oblivion had he not aggressively fought for paid benefits and a 40-hour work week for the United States postal workers.  The Post Office employees dubbed him “the letter carriers’ friend” and the day after his death on September 10, 1889, they started a campaign to erect a monument to him in gratitude.

On September 11 a special meeting of the New York Letter Carriers’ Associate was held.  It was resolved that a committee be formed to collect subscriptions for “a suitable monument to be placed over the remains of the devoted friend of the Letter Carriers of the United States.”

At Cox’s funeral President Grover Cleveland and General William Sherman served as honorary pallbearers.  Among those attending was Louise Lawson, a young woman from a prestigious Ohio family.  Before long she would be even more connected with Samuel S. Cox.

On October 4, 1890 The Illustrated American noted that “Louise Lawson is the sculptress who has been selected by the letter-carriers of the United States to execute a statue of the late Congressman Samuel S. Cox.”  The article told of Lawson’s hard work and artistic study – she trained under Rodin in Paris for a year.  It hinted of her privileged upbringing, as well.  “Many American girls visit those homes of art and are obliged to undergo privations and physical suffering in order to study in the best schools,” it said.  “Miss Lawson’s experiences have not included life in a garret sustained by stray crusts.”

This was the first important commission Lawson had won and The Illustrated American was impressed on how quickly she obtained it.  “It is, of course, the most important she has yet received.  Fame is usually slow in helping forward young sculptors, and few of the men of that profession whose names are now famous achieved public recognition in so short a time as has Miss Lawson.”

The accolades would be short-lived.

The site for the statue was chosen not “over the remains” of Cox as the letter carriers had originally planned, but in Astor Place at Fourth Avenue.  Costing over $10,000 ($8,965 of which went directly to the artist), it was dedicated on July 4, 1891.  Two thousand letter carriers turned out from Brooklyn and New York alone.   Bands and drum corps provided music for a parade that started up Broadway from the Post Office at City Hall Park. 

The New York Times was impressed by the appearance of the postal workers.  “Every man wore white gloves and had a white tie over his collar button,” it reported and “the fat fellows were in a sad minority.”

Lawson’s 8-foot bronze statue depicted Cox speaking in Congress.  The granite pedestal was 12 feet high.  When the American flag was removed The Times issued the first artistic critique.  “Whether it will ever be greatly admired as a work of art is doubtful.”

The Sun’s Guide to New York did not hold back either, saying “It is a stiff, inartistic affair.”

A year after the statue’s dedication, the Board of Aldermen met and resolved “that four lamps be placed about the statue of 'Sunset' Cox in Astor Place.”

The postal employees ignored the critics.   Additional donations were gathered and two additional bronze plaques were added to the pedestal.  One announced “Erected in Grateful and Loving Memory of His Services in Congress” while the other contained the names of the 187 cities in the United States from which contributions were sent.

Four years to the day after its dedication, the statue was turned over to the City by the postal workers.    The monument was draped in flags and flowers and large potted plants were arranged around it.  Louise Lawson was on the platform with Mrs. Cox and city dignitaries.  Games and entertainments had been planned following the formal ceremony, however a severe rainstorm spoiled the day.

Twenty-eight years after its unveiling, the statue should have been safe from further critique; but it was not to be.  The New York Times’ art critic Layton Crippen attacked vehemently.  In the May 7, 1899 New York Times illustrated magazine, he wrote “It has never been alleged…that the figure of Samuel S. Cox, in Astor Place, is a thing of beauty.  But it is equally certain that it is not decorative, and if its surroundings were in harmony with it the City of New York would have to be deserted.”

As plans were being made to extend Lafayette Street, it became obvious that the Cox statue would have to be relocated.   The question was where to put it.  On May 21, 1905 The Times argued that “the statue of ‘Sunset’ Cox, now on its travels, having been crowded out of Astor Place, would gain an explanation of its existence, and as much effect as its character would allow, if it were seen in connection with the Post Office, the subject’s services to the occupants of which it commemorates.”

No one listened.

The monument, which a Times reader in 1904 deemed “the unfortunate statue of Sunset Cox,” was moved to the southwest corner of Tompkins Square Park in November 1924.  Samuel Cox stands with his back squarely to the park, facing East 9^th Street instead.

The late 20^th Century was not kind to fountains and monuments in Tompkins Square and Samuel Cox’s statue was in sad shape by 1998.  That year the City Parks Foundation Monuments Conservation Program restored it.  The statue was cleaned, repatined, and received a protective coating.  The granite was cleaned and the lettering restored.

Louise Lawson’s first commission no longer gets brutal artistic criticism; however the statue is fondly called “Taxi” by locals because of the congressman’s upraised finger, appearing to hail a cab.

non-credited photographs taken by the author.