The Scandalous Love Nest at No. 323 West 74th Street

Restoration continued in 2012 -- photo by Alice Lum

As the 20^th century approached, sumptuous mansions—many of them free-standing—were rising along Riverside Drive.  The recently completed Riverside Park and the magnificent views across the Hudson River created a viable rival to upper Fifth Avenue as the city’s most exclusive address.

As mansions crept up the Drive, the New York Orphan Asylum was in the way.   The orphanage building filled the block between 73^rd and 74^th Streets, and the institution owned the block directly north, between 74^th and 75^th Streets.   In 1893 the Asylum put the block front on the northern side of 74^th Street for sale.   Despite the institution across the street, it was a superb opportunity for developers or potential homeowners.

Grand houses quickly filled the northern side of 74th Street, despite the Orphan Asylum across the street -- photo Museum of the City of New York

A group of eight millionaires formed a syndicate and purchased the land with the intention of erecting fashionable residences for themselves and sharing the profits on any additional homes.  They divided the block into eleven building lots ranging according to their needs from 22 to 30 feet wide.   The syndicate then commissioned architect C. P. H. Gilbert to design the row of homes.  Each would be, according to an announcement in the Real Estate Record & Guide, “of the highest order.”

Gilbert had designed several mansions by now, and would soon be responsible for some of the most lavish homes in the city including the French Gothic Isaac Fletcher chateau.   For the row on 74^thStreet he would create eleven individually designed residences, none of which would hog the architectural spotlight.

Completed in 1896 they stretched from No. 303 to No. 323, nearest the Drive.  While each of the other mansions was faced in white limestone or buff-colored brick, No. 323 was dressed in red brick—a noticeable punctuation mark for the row.   The house sat on a white marble base above shallow steps leading back from the sidewalk.  Doric columns upheld two stories of bowed façade that created a sheltered portico.   White marble quoins ran zipper-like up with sides creating a pleasant contrast with the red brick.

photo by alice Lum

The mansion became home to William Crittenden Adams.   Born in San Francisco, Adams had a Civil Engineering degree from the Columbia University School of Mines.    Six years before the house on 74^th Street was built, he formed a partnership with his brother, Samuel F. Adams, as operators and speculators in Manhattan real estate.   By now a millionaire, he moved in with his wife, Grace Fairchild James Adams, and their three impressively-named children, Crittenden Hull, James Fairchild and Darwin James Adams.   Adams was apparently busy in the neighborhood for in his will he bequeathed the house and lot at No. 259 West 74^thStreet, a block away, to his son.

photo "Universities and Their Sons" 1900 (copyright expired)

Adams was a member of several of the most exclusive men’s clubs in town, including the Union League Club.  But it was his love and expertise of yachting for which he was best known.  Adams was a member of the Atlantic Yacht Club and the Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club.   

While Adams was busy sailing and developing real estate, the New York Orphan Asylum took advantage of soaring real estate values.   In 1901 it sold the entire block, from 73^rdto 74^th Streets and Riverside Drive to West End Avenue to steel magnate Charles M. Schwab.  The industrialist paid $865,000 for the block—the most ever spent on a building lot.   The houses along 74^thStreet which had faced the orphanage would, by 1906, overlook the largest, most sumptuous mansion ever constructed in New York City.

For a few years as his gargantuan French Renaissance chateau was being built, Schwab rented No. 323.  The location, directly across the street from the construction site, offered him unparalleled ability to oversee the massive project.

Gilbert focused attention on minute details like the lace-like carving along the window framing and the intricate fruit garland of the keystone -- photo by Alice Lum

Robert E. Tod purchased the house after Schwab moved into his new mansion.   Tod, with his brother John Kennedy Tod, ran the banking firm of J. S. Kennedy & Company which was founded by their uncle, John Stewart Kennedy.    Like Adams, Robert E. Tod was a major player in the yachting community.

While he was Commodore of the Atlantic Yacht Club at the turn of the century, he was instrumental in organizing an international yacht race that involved the German Emperor.  He offered prizes for the winners in a series of ocean races off the coast of Sandy Hook, New Jersey.  The regatta caught the attention of Sir Thomas Lipton of England while he was visiting in 1903.

Sir Thomas was impressed with the fervent interest in the races and offered a cup for a transatlantic race managed by the Atlantic Yacht Club.   Tod was put in an uncomfortable situation when a representative of Emperor Wilhelm II arrived, offering an imperial cup as the main prize.  With apparently delicate diplomacy Tod convinced Sir Thomas Lipton to withdraw his offer of the silver cup so as not to offend the monarch.

In 1913 Tod offered the house at No. 323 West 74^thStreet to a real estate firm as partial payment for an apartment building.    The company quickly resold it in December for $125,000.   The purchaser’s name was kept secret, causing much speculation.    The Sunmused “There is one other real estate mystery in Manhattan.  It involves the ownership of the fine dwelling at 323 West Seventy-fourth street…Various stories have been heard as to the real buyer, but none of them could be verified.  In fact, as has been said, it is one of the mystery properties of the city.”

The mystery would not be solved for years; and it would result in delicious fodder for parlor gossip.

When industrialist Jay Gould died in 1892 he left a staggering fortune of approximately $72 million to be divided among his six children.  While daughter Helen remained in the Fifth Avenue mansion living quietly and devoting herself to charity, her siblings, as later reported in a newspaper, “went out in the world.”  Among them was brother George.

George married Edith Kingdon and the couple had seven children.  But by now Edith’s once-striking figure was gone.  The socialite was obese and George’s eye began to wander.    That wandering eye landed on showgirl Guinevere Sinclair, a “Gaiety Girl” dancer.  Despite her career choice, Sinclair had been reared in a prominent family and her grandfather, Sir Edward Sinclair, had been Provost of Trinity College in Dublin.

The young and beautiful Guinevere Sinclair was the recipient of the house at No. 323 West 74^th Street—a gift of her new lover.   A son, George Sinclair, was born on April 15, 1915, then a daughter, Jane, in 1917.  Gould also purchased a magnificent Tudor-style country estate in Rye, New York for his lover.  The Gould family, including Edith, was well aware of the arrangement and the children were known among the family as “George’s bastards.”  Only New York society was kept in the dark. 

Edith tried valiantly to lose weight and regain her husband’s favor.  She went through diets and massages and took up golf.   Her attempts to appear thin included wearing a tortuously tight rubber suit under her clothing.    During a golf game in November 1921 with George, Edith suddenly dropped to the ground, dead of a heart attack.   Beneath her golf costume was the suffocating rubber suit.

Within six months George Gould married Guinevere Sinclair in a five-minute ceremony in Lakewood, New Jersey, about the time that another daughter, also named Guinevere, was born.    The newly-weds immediately sailed for Europe and clubrooms and ballrooms of New York society buzzed with rumors regarding the unknown bride.

Although the New-York Tribune reported that “All the mystery surrounding the marriage was swept away yesterday with the discovery of the records pertaining to the wedding on file at the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Trenton, New Jersey, “ it bemoaned that “Very little could be learned here yesterday about the new Mrs. Gould.”   The newspaper disclosed “It was said yesterday by friends of Mr. Gould that the marriage was no surprise to members of the Gould family, although none of them was present at the ceremony.”

The marriage would not last long.  A year later, in May 1923, the 59-year old George Gould died alone in France from heart disease.  It would be the beginning of a bitter fight for the $15 million estate.

The Gould family harbored bitter animosity against the former showgirl and her children.  Gould’s legitimate children fought in court for valuable paintings which they said were given to Edith during his lifetime, and the family mansions in Lakewood, New Jersey and Manhattan.    Finally on June 18, 1925 the estate was settled with Guinevere receiving $1 million in Liberty bonds which George had sent to her just before his death in Paris and a $4 million trust fund for the children.

Guinevere Sinclair Gould did not let grass grow under her feet.   Later that year she married the English viscount George St. John Broderick Dunsford.  Dunsford apparently had an eye for showgirls, for he had recently divorced another former actress.    By 1927 Guinevere, now Lady Dunsford, had purchased Estwell Park, a sprawling estate in Kent, England and lived there with her three children and new husband.

That same year, the house at No. 323 West 74^thStreet was divided into “non-housekeeping apartments.”  Five years later the designation was changed to simply “apartments.”  In 2002 architect Allen Strasen was commissioned by owner Van Velle to renovate the home.

Obscured by construction scaffolding are the white marble entrance steps and base -- photo by Alice Lum

A penthouse, invisible from the street, was added to the roof, creating a triplex apartment with the fourth and fifth floors.   Although no longer a private home; the impressive brick and marble exterior has been lovingly preserved.

The Kleeberg Mansion -- No. 3 Riverside Drive

In 1919, two decades after the fact, The Northeastern Reporter explained the rise of a string of lavish mansions at the foot of Riverside Drive, all designed separately by a single architect.

“In 1896 one John S. Sutphen was the owner of the entire block between Seventy-Second and Seventy-Third streets fronting on Riverside Drive.  He formed a general plan to improve and develop the land, and filed in the office of the register a map dividing it into lots.”  The first sale, according to the Reporter was in June, 1896, including a plot “to one Kleeberg.”

Philip Kleeberg’s deed included restrictions similar to the others.  Kleeberg, “his heirs and assigns, shall, within two years from the date hereof, cause to be erected and fully completed upon said lot, a first-class building, adapted for and which shall be used only as a private residence for one family, and which shall conform to the plans made of being made by C. P. H. Gilbert, architect.”

At the time developers intended that Riverside Drive would rival or surpass Fifth Avenue with palatial dwellings.  Its superb views from above the Hudson River and the manicured Riverside Park were its answer to Fifth Avenue’s Central Park.  Sutphen may have been friendly with the mansion architect Gilbert; or perhaps he chose him to do the work simply because he knew and trusted his well-earned reputation.

Philip Kleeberg and his wife, Maria, wasted little time in setting the gears in motion.  Within four months, on October 3, 1896, The American Architect and Building News announced Kleeberg’s plans to build a “four-story brick dwelling to cost $55,000, on Riverside Drive, near 73d St.”  Including the price of the land, $145,000 according to The New York Times, the outlay would be more in the neighborhood of $5 million today.

The Kleebergs were relatively young and the aggressive businessman’s fortune came from a variety of enterprises.  Originally involved in the wholesale lace business, he was by now also President of the Frog Mountain Ore Company, Vice-President of the Colonial Oil Company, and held directorships in the New York Petroleum Company, the William Radam Microbe Killer Company, the Alabama and Georgia Iron Company, and the Empire Steel and Iron Company.  Years later he would invent a calculator and in 1916 become President of the National Calculator Company.

Construction of No. 3 Riverside Drive took two years and as it neared completion, The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide gave a hint at the high-end details when it reported that the Hernsheim Architectural Iron Works was at work on a “bronze vestibule gate for the handsome dwelling No. 3 Riverside Drive, Chas. P. H. Gilbert, architect.”  Construction was completed in 1898 and the Kleebergs, who had lived at No. 56 East 73^rd Street, now defected in a nearly straight line across the park. 

Charles Pierrepont Henry Gilbert had produced a sumptuous confection in a frothy style so nebulous as to put architectural historians at odds.  The AIA Guide to New York City calls it “freely interpreted Dutch Renaissance;” while the Landmarks Preservation Commission argues it is “French Renaissance Revival.”  Late 19^thcentury American architects were not wont to concern themselves with historical purity; and elements of both styles can be detected in Gilbert’s design.

American Architect and Architecture (copyright expired)

The architect set the entrance to the side, allowing for a spacious parlor looking onto the park.  The mansion’s bow-fronted façade stopped at three floors, allowing Gilbert to provide a “terrace” at the fourth floor accessed by a long square-columned gallery to the side.  The elaborate stone gables, ornamented with spiky finials and florid s-shaped brackets, culminated in deeply-carved shells.  In a somewhat tongue-in-cheek gesture, Gilbert perched a stone cherub holding a bowl of fruit at the pinnacle.

High above it all a stone cherub (one has been lost) surveys Riverside Drive.  The "terrace" would be the scene of tragedy.

The Kleebergs’s marriage may have been a bit shaky.  The title to the new mansion was put in Maria’s name, as was expected.  And the family, including three sons, moved in and outside appearances were maintained.  However Philip reportedly acquired a second home on the Upper West Side for his own use. 

Gradually the row of houses around No. 3 was constructed.  By September 7, 1901 the Record & Guide reported “three lots of the plot have been sold, one to Philip Kleeberg, one to Colonel W.L. Trenholm, and one to Mrs. Prentiss, all of which have been improved.”

For years nothing other than the expected entertainments and social functions at No. 3 was the norm.  Then, six years later after moving in, a heart wrenching tragedy would occur.  The Kleebergs participated in the routines of wealthy New Yorkers.  Philip and Maria spent the first two months of the summer of 1903 in Europe and upon their return she left for “the country.”  Society women at the time would summer in resorts or estates like Newport and Bar Harbor, while their working husbands would join them on the weekends.

On August 18 the 48-year old socialite returned to New York, a bit early in the season.  Six days later she hosted a dinner party “and a number of Mr. and Mrs. Kleeberg’s relative and friends were present,” said The Sun on August 24.  Following dinner the party took a drive along Riverside Park, then returned to the terrace of the mansion where they sat and chatted.

At one point Maria Kleeberg excused herself, saying she was going to the bathroom.  When she did not return, her sister became concerned and followed.  The Sun reported “She opened the door just as Mrs. Kleeberg put a bottle to her lips.  Mrs. Sands knocked the bottle, which was filled with carbolic acid, to the floor.”

In doing so, Maria’s sister was badly burned on the hands.  She rushed downstairs and instructed the servants to find a doctor.  Three doctors were sent for, but none of them was at home.

Notoriety was one thing the wealthy desperately attempted to avoid; so it was only through desperation that an ambulance was called for from Roosevelt Hospital.  It caused precisely the attention the family was attempting to avoid.

“The arrival of the ambulance caused great excitement in the neighborhood.  One of the rumors which were circulated had it that some one had been murdered in the Kleeberg house.  At one time there were at least 300 persons in front of the house,” said The Sun.

By the time the ambulance had arrived, Maria Kleeberg was dead.  The police, attracted by the ambulance call and the crowd, attempted to investigate.  In an attempt to avoid even worse publicity and scandal, the doors were barred against the police.  No information was given out until Detective Culhane refused to allow the body to be removed until he was let in.

Forced to face reporters, Philip Kleeberg insisted there was no reason why his wife should have committed suicide.  His only explanation was that she may have had “a fit of the blues.”

Kleeberg soon transferred the title to his son, 21-year old Gordon S. P. Kleeberg.  The young homeowner was possibly a difficult man to work for.  On February 23, 1906 he placed an ad in the New-York Tribune seeking a coachman.  “Good, careful driver; competent; painstaking.”  He asked for the “best written and personal references.”  Later that year another advertisement was placed, for the same position.  Then on September 21, 1906 yet another advertisement appeared.  “Coachman—Thorough horseman; care of horses, carriages, and harness; strictly sober, honest, willing and obliging.”  It would seem that young Kleeberg had unusually bad luck in finding a coachman; or he was simply too difficult to work for.

In the meantime the home life of William Guggenheim, known as “The Smelting King,” had become rocky.  Born into the fabulously wealthy mining family, his domestic differences with his wife, Aimee, became such that the couple separated.  In 1908 he purchased No. 3 Riverside Drive.  But he barely had time to unpack his bags.

On May 3, 1910 the New-York Tribune reported that Guggenheim had sold the house to “a Mr. Hopkins, who will occupy it.”  The development of the block was reflected in the asking price--$200,000, or about $4.75 million today.  The Tribune said that a negotiated price of $165,000 was said to be the actual sale price.  In commenting on the sale, the newspaper said “The house is one of the finest in the lower part of the drive.”

It was not uncommon in the first decades of the 20^thcentury for wealthy purchasers of real estate to play a cat-and-mouse game with the press regarding their identities.  A little over a month later, on June 14, the New-York Tribune said “The new owner is said to be a woman, who by the purchase obtains control of half the block.”

Finally, on July 16, 1910, the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide ended the speculation, naming Mrs. Angie M. Booth as the buyer.  “Mrs. Booth is the owner of the adjoining property on the north, including the southeast corner of 73d st.”

Angie Booth was the wife of Henry P. Booth, and in a surprising turn of events, she resold the property prior to 1915—to William Guggenheim.  Angie Booth would live to regret it.  Rather than move back into the mansion, Guggenheim initially ran it as a boarding house; then rented it to Dr. William H. Wellington Knipe at $4,000 a year for the first year, and $5,000 a year for the next four years.  It was a hefty rental price; but Knipe had income-producing plans for the property.

Dr. Knipe was “one of the first physicians in New York to become interested in twilight sleep,” said The Sun on January 22, 1916.  “Twilight sleep” was a procedure used on women going into labor that was intended to reduce the pain of childbirth.  The Guggenheim mansion became Dr. Knipe’s “twilight sleep sanitarium.”

Angie Booth, who lived next door to the house, and Mary T.Sutphen whose own mansion was at the corner of Riverside Drive and 72^ndStreet, were outraged.  They filed suit to close down the sanitarium.

Recalling the restrictions in the original Kleeberg deed, their lawyer explained “The plaintiffs contend that the block is restricted to residential purposes and barred from trade and business.”  His female clients were a bit more pointed, calling the sanitarium “a menace to the peace and quiet of the neighboring landowners,” and “obnoxious and offensive.”

The Sun said that Knipe felt his neighbors were “needlessly alarmed” and “said he had talked with many of his neighbors and they told him they preferred the proposed sanitarium to the ‘exclusive’ boarding house formerly conducted here.”  One of these was Lydia Prentiss.

The wealthy woman, who lived at No. 1 Riverside Drive, was placed in an uncomfortable position when her neighbors knocked on her door, asking her to join them as a plaintiff.  The stalwart socialite held her ground, however, telling the press she “didn’t think women should lend themselves to opposing the development of any treatment that would alleviate or diminish the pains of childbirth.”  It most likely put an end to Lydia Prentiss’s invitations to tea at either the Sutphen or Booth residences.

Although the courts ruled in Dr. Knipe’s favor; things returned to normal on lower Riverside Drive.  Eventually William Guggenheim moved back in and used the mansion as his private dwelling, restoring peace among the neighbors.  Highly educated and erudite, he was the author of several publications, many of them patriotic.  Among them were Our Republic Triumphant; Peace by Victory at Last, but with a Warning; A Greater America; and What Price Government.  His ardent patriotism was evidenced in 1940 when Italy declared war against Great Britain and France.  In 1920 he had been decorated with the Commendatore dell’ Ordine della Corona d’Italia by the Italian Government.  Now he renounced and returned the title, saying that the declaration of war came as “a profound shock.”

He remained in the Riverside Drive mansion until his death at the age of 72 on June 27, 1941.  The house became the property of the Seamen’s Bank for Savings, which leased it to General Boleslaw Wieniawa-D’Lugoszewski and his wife and daughter.  The Polish Ambassador to Italy at the outbreak of war in 1939, he had also been the aide to Marshal Pilsudski, dictator of Poland.

The 60-year old diplomat was subject to what the Polish Consul General referred to as “dizzy spells.”  On the evening of July 1, 1942, the general received word that he had been appointed as Envoy to Cuba.  Shortly afterward, wearing his pajamas and bedroom slippers, he went to the roof “to get a little fresh air,” according to Sylvyn Strakacz, the Police Consul General.  Moments later he fell to his death.

Despite the Consul’s assertions that the fall was the result of recurrent dizziness; The New York Times said “Police of the West Sixty-eighth Street Station, who helped remove the general to the hospital were uncertain whether the death was an accident or suicide.”

Like William Guggenheim, Gordon Kleeberg could not stay away from No. 3 Riverside Drive.  On New Year’s Day, 1944 The New York Times reported “One of the finest town houses on the West Side figured in the news yesterday when Lieut. Col. Gordon S. P. Kleeberg purchased the building at 3 Riverside Drive which was erected by his father in 1896.”

Although the newspaper got the architect’s name wrong, citing Cass Gilbert rather than C. P. H. Gilbert; it correctly described the interiors.  “Among its features still in a good state of preservation are a marble stairway, solid cherrywood floors and bronze grill entrance doors.”  The article said “Colonel Kleeberg intends to remodel the building into small apartments after the war and occupy the terrace suite.”

As promised, in 1951 the 37-foot wide mansion was divided into two apartments per floor.  Happily, much of C. P. H. Gilbert’s interior detailing was preserved.  In 1995 it was purchased by real estate developer Regina Kislin for $10 million.  She and her husband, photographer Anatoly Siyagine, embarked on a long restoration project to bring the house back to a private home.

Much of the interior detailing survives.  http://streeteasy.com/building/philip-and-maria-kleeberg-house

Included in the renovation were modern touches that Maria Kleeberg would have found shocking—an indoor pool, sauna and gym, for instance.  Seventeen years later she put the 18-room house on the market for $40 million.  Real estate listings noted “six bedrooms, eight and a half bathrooms, a two-room staff suite, four terraces, and an elevator.”  When no buyers appeared, Kislin reduced the price to $30 million in September 2014.  

The magnificent Gilbert-designed mansion survives as a stunning reminder of the first days of the development of Riverside Drive when developers lured millionaires from the east side of Central Park.

uncredited photographs taken by the author

The Lost Billings Mansion -- "Tryon Hall"

Three years after marrying Margaret Cochran in 1772, Philadelphian John Corbin joined the militia.  1775 was the year of the Battle of Bunker Hill.  That year the intrepid Margaret Cochran Corbin followed the troops and her husband.  She cooked for the soldiers, did their laundry, and aided the sick and wounded.

The Battle of Fort Washington erupted on the cliffs above the Hudson River on November 16, 1776.  A “matross,” Corbin was responsible for loading a cannon while his partner fired it.  When Corbin’s partner was killed, he took over the firing while Margaret loaded.  Then Corbin, too, was killed.

Margaret Corbin took over the cannon, loading and firing it throughout the skirmish.  The British won the Battle of Fort Washington; but it was Margaret’s cannon that was reportedly the last to stop firing.   The heroic woman was taken off the battlefield with severe injuries to her jaw and chest and a nearly-severed left arm.   After her recovery she joined the Invalid Regiment at West Point.

A century and a quarter following the battle the land overlooking the Hudson River and the New Jersey palisades on the opposite bank was still largely undeveloped.   Riverside Drive was still being graded and carved into the landscape.  It snaked below the battlefield site which would soon catch the eye of Chicago industrialist and horse enthusiast Cornelius Kingsley Garrison Billings. 

At 40 years old, Billings stepped down as president of the People’s Gas Light & Code Company in 1901.  He relocated to New York City, living in a mansion on Fifth Avenue at 53^rd Street, and joined other millionaires engaged in trotter racing at the Speedway in upper Manhattan.  The racetrack had been established just three years earlier.    Billings purchased the land in Washington Heights above the cliff, conveniently close to the Speedway, for a stable and lodge.

The New York Times, on September 15, 1901, said that he would “erect there a residence, which, with its surroundings, promises to rival anything of its kind in the city.”  The newspaper said “Mr. Billings will build a mansion, and...a large stable, affording accommodations for sixty horses.”  A feature of the house would be “an observatory from which an unobstructed view in every direction will be afforded.”

The millionaire commissioned architect Guy Lowell to design his getaway—a 25,000 square foot edifice that coupled a handsome stables and exercise grounds for his thoroughbreds with a lavish casino for entertainment.  The country lodge which The Times had described was constructed separately nearby atop the cliff.

The expansive stables included a 'casino' for entertaining -- photograph by Wurtz Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Construction was completed in 1903 and, to celebrate, Billings planned a dinner in the stables building catered by the fashionable Sherry’s restaurant—the caterer of choice of New York’s wealthiest families.   But news of the affair, on which the high-toned guests were to be seated on wooden hobby horses, got out and Billings had to quickly change plans.

On March 29, 1903 the New-York Tribune reported “C. K. G. Billings, who was to give a hobby horse dinner at his stable at Washington Heights last night, abandoned the plan on account of the publicity which it received, and instead took his guests to Sherry’s.  Many curious persons, who were waiting at Washington Heights to see the widely-talked of feast were disappointed, for Mr. Billings and his guests were dining down town.”

What the newspaper failed to mention was that the Billings dinner was even more outlandish than was originally planned.   Painted backdrops of country scenes hid the French paneling of Sherry’s private dining room and the floor was strewn with hay.  The waiters donned the uniforms of grooms, and Billings’ millionaire guests in white ties and tails sat upon live horses around the table.

Millionaires in evening dress sit astride expensive steeds at Billings' unusual dinner party at Sherry's in March 1903 -- photograph 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=24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Romanced by the awe-inspiring location, Billings called back Lowell to enlarge the lodge into a year-round residence.   The project would go on for years with landscape architect Charles Downing Lay working on the grounds while the mansion was constructed.

The completed mansion in 1913 -- photograph by Wurtz Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Finally, in 1907, the complex of buildings was completed.   The Sun said of the estate “The Billings place is the finest along the upper drive.  Mr. Billings is constantly adding to the attractiveness of his place, which has already cost him well on to the million dollar mark.  It is called Fort Tryon Hall, because it rests on the site of the famous revolutionary fort.”  The fort had been named for British Major General Sir William Tyron, the last British governor of colonial New York.

Another view of the house shows the "observatory" tower -- photograph by Wurtz Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

The New-York Tribune described the entertainment structures on the estate “at the extreme upper end of Manhattan Island, where city and country may be said to meet.”  The newspaper said that the “bathing pool” was “part of a building which is really a ‘casino,’ devoted to games and sports of various kinds.  A squash court occupies part of the building, and elsewhere is a bowling alley, but the swimming pool is by far the most interesting detail of the building and is notable by reason of its unusual size.”

The newspaper noted that “the ceiling is of glass, and at one end is built a deep alcove which contains a fireplace where huge logs are burned and where bathers may warm themselves before a crackling fire.  Various trophies adorn the walls, and at the deep end of the pool a springboard makes diving possible.”

photograph by Wurtz Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

The mansion itself was a massive Louis XIV-style chateau built around a central courtyard.   The New-York Tribune said that around the courtyard were “galleries, from which the dwellers might look down upon a fountain and a garden of brilliant flowers.”  In the mansion Billings, his wife and two children, were waited upon by a staff of nearly two dozen.   

From the observatory the Statue of Liberty could be seen.  photograph by Wurtz Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

In 1909, in honor of the Hudson Fulton Celebration, the retired millionaire paid for a stele on the property—a monument to the Corbins and the battle that took place on the site.

A year after the house was completed, so was Riverside Drive.  But the steep cliff on which the mansion sat made construction of a viable roadway to the Drive an engineering impossibility—or so it seemed.  The west end of the property was 100 nearly vertical feet above the Drive.

Yet on August 10, 1913 The Sun reported that “It is costing C. K. G. Billings more than $250,000 to realize an ambition that he has had for several years.  Mr. Billings built some years ago a fine residence on the site of old Fort Tryon, overlooking Riverside Drive at 192d street…He wanted a driveway to Riverside Drive, but because of the obstacles that nature placed there the idea was given up as being impossible of accomplishment.”

But Cornelius Billings was unaccustomed to having impossibility get in his way.  “Turning off with his automobile at 181^st street did not suit him, for it is north of the point that the Drive is the best.”  Billings consulted with architects Buchman & Fox who surveyed the property.  The Sun said “It was intimated that the improvement would cost a lot of money, but Mr. Billings let it be known in his own way that money was not to stand in the way.”

The problem, of course, was how to engineer and design a roadway up the steep incline.  Billings told the architects that “he wanted a grade that would permit him to drive his automobile and fast horses over it with safety.”

The architects turned to military engineering to solve the problem.  Japanese commander General Nogi had reached the Russian defenses at Port Arthur by constructing z-shaped trenches.  “Instead of zigzag trenches Mr. Fox planned to get to the top of Tryon Hill by building the road in the form of the letter S with great sweeping curves at either ends.”

One hundred laborers worked on the year-long project, cutting into the solid bedrock and using massive derricks.  The granite removed from the cliff side was used to construct the “Roman” retaining wall and arched viaduct that quickly became a landmark for Riverside Drive motorists.  “At the lower end a balustrade on top of the viaduct is 53 feet above the road,” said The Sun. “At the north end the arch is not so high as the road is going up all the time.  This archway is 160 feet long and is built of finished granite and stone taken from the Fort Tryon hill.”

A postcard captured Riverside Drive snaking below Billings' "Roman Roadway."

Inside the viaduct were blind arches built into the retaining wall “to hold statuary if Mr. Billings should wish so.”  The sweeping S curve was so gentle that a grade of less than 6 percent was achieved.  A balustrade of granite lined the roadway and electric lights illuminated the “Roman viaduct” at night.

At the bottom and the top of the roadway were great gates, 20 feet high and ten feet wide that swung from 16-foot high granite pillars.   The columns were capped by bronze lamps.  The cost of the upper gates alone was $3,000—about $50,000 today.

The massive upper gates with their bronze lamps cost Billings $50,000 in today's dollars -- photograph by Charles Bayer, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult VPage&VBID-24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW1280&RH=915

By now the cost of the estate had ballooned to about $2 million.   The Daily Ardmoreite of Ardmore, Oklahoma, told its readers on January 16, 1917 that “the Billings house has for years been one of the show places on Manhattan Island.  It is virtually a country estate in the city, being surrounded by spacious grounds beautifully laid out and commanding unusually wide vies of river and hill scenery.”

On the hillside above the lower entrance gates is the monument Billings erected to the Corbins and the Battle of Fort Washington -- photograph by Charles Bayer, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult VPage&VBID-24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW1280&RH=915

Billings had other homes, as well.  He owned an extensive estate “Farnsworth, near Oyster Bay, Long Island; the several hundred-acre Curl’s Neck Farm on the James River in Virginia; a summer home in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin; and an estate at Colorado Springs.  By the time the Daily Ardmoreite wrote of Fort Tryon Hall, Billings was ready to move on.

He moved his family into a 21-room apartment on Fifth Avenue and 63^rd Street, paying $20,000 a year rent (around $25,000 a month today). 

On January 4, 1917 the New-York Tribune reported that “C. K. G. Billings has sold Tryon Hall, his magnificent home at Fort Washington Avenue and upper Riverside Drive.  The name of the purchaser or the price has not been announced.”  

That purchaser would become known a few days later when John D. Rockefeller, Jr., announced his plan to give the estate to the city as a park.   His $10 million vision included the purchase of two abutting estates; as well as the purchase and preservation as parkland the palisades along the opposite cliffs in New Jersey, to ensure that the views would not be defaced.  

As for the Billings mansion, The Sun was confident that it would survive.  “It is possible that Mr. Rockefeller’s plans will not affect very much the architectural treatment of the Tryon Hall property.  Mr. Billings had employed some of the most prominent landscape architects in the country to work on the estate and it is the opinion that there are few estates better laid out or prettier than the Billings property.”

Rockefeller, however, had other thoughts.  When his plans to demolish the mansion came to light, he was met with unusual resistance.  “Though the original plan included the demolition of Tryon Hall, protests from architects who wished the building’s fine French architecture kept intact have stayed the immediate carrying out of the plan,” reported The New York Times on January 7, 1917.  “While one proposal to utilize the hall as the official residence of the Mayor was laughed down, it was declared last night that the building might eventually be used as a museum for the preservation of relics associated with the history of the city and State.”

Rockefeller relented; then as the nation entered World War I, he temporarily turned the mansion over to the United States Government.  The Sun reported on May 12, 1918 that it was placed “at the disposal of the Government for use during the war, presumably for a hospital, and that Mr. Rockefeller stood ready to spend $500,000 in hospital alterations.”

The patriotic plan did come to pass and with the park still in the planning stages, the mansion was rented to Nicolas C. Partos for the summer season of 1918.  Partos was head of the Partola Manufacturing Company which made “candied medicine.”  His lease extended from May 1 to October 1 and the $25,000 rent included the stables, garage, “other outbuildings, and the swimming pool,” according to The Times.

photographer unknown.  From the collection of the Museum of the City of New York, http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWRF60HY&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

The city dragged its feet and Rockefeller’s dream of an expansive park to the city sat in limbo.  Partos’ three-month lease was extended for years—ending on the afternoon of March 7, 1926.  Around 3:00 that day a boy noticed smoke pouring from the roof.  Inside Mrs. Partos and daughter Irene were both in bed on the third floor with pneumonia.  Dr. Henry W. Berg was there attending to his patients.

Dr. Berg helped Nicholas Partos and a few of the seven servants in the house carry the sick woman and girl downstairs.  They were put in a limousine to be taken to Mt. Sinai Hospital.  Before the limo left the property fire equipment had arrived; but by now the smoke had erupted into a full-blown blaze.

Cornelius Billings had had an elaborate self-contained fire-fighting system installed on the grounds.  But according to The New York Times the following day, “it broke down at the first trial.”   City fire hydrants were 200 feet from the house and, because the mansion was 250 above sea level, the water pressure was weak.  Pumping engines were called for and, in the meantime, the house continued burning out of control.

The Times reported “Part of the house was a museum of art works.  Mr. Partos owned paintings attributed to Rembrandt and Hals, two Corots, and two valuable tapestries of the Louis XIV period, among other things.”

While Partos hurried to the hospital to be with his wife and daughter; more than 200 firemen arrived at the conflagration, along with more than 50 pieces of apparatus.  Thirty streams of water were focused on the blaze, but the fire continued well into the night.

The quality of construction, ironically, added to the problem.  “Scores of men were put to work with axes chopping through floors and walls in order to get at the concealed flames which prevented more than temporary victories in any part of the building.  The axes were turned aside by wire of thick mesh which reinforced stucco and plaster.”

As night fell the eastern turret crashed into the building “which spouted fire and smoke like a volcano.”  The Times described the scene as parts of the mansion collapsed.  “As night was setting in a section of the roof fell, filling the sky with a broad field of sparks.  For a time torrents of red rushed upward against the darkened sky.”

Earlier in the afternoon onlookers noticed the Partos’ pet German Shepherd at a window, trapped on the second floor.  “It stood up at the window and looked out, estimating the distance of the jump to the flower bed below,” said The Times.  “Then it turned around and resurveyed the situation inside the house.  Efforts to escape through the interior singed the dog’s coat and sent it back to the window.”

The fire fighters sprayed the window opening with water, soaking the dog and buying it time.  Suddenly, “without further study, it leaped through the window, rolled over and over among the flower beds and then limped away.”

The dog was luckier than the Partos collections.  “Besides the art objects, much valuable jewelry was reported to have been left behind in the buildings,” said The Times.  “The total loss [of artwork] was estimated last night in the neighborhood of $1,000,000.”

The magnificent Tryon Hall, described by The Times as “a huge rambling chateau with towers and turrets, conical steeples, oriel windows and great expanses of steep shingled roof” was reduced to a pile of smoldering rubble.

It was not until 1927 that Rockefeller was finally able to start work on his 67-acre Fort Tryon Park.  He brought in Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr., son of the co-designer of Central Park, who spent four years transforming the rocky terrain into a manicured landscape.   Eight decades later the last surviving remnants of Tryon Hall are the Billings gatehouse, the elegant entrance pillars and the wonderful Roman roadway.

many thanks to Alan Engler for suggesting this post