If you're a regular reader of Big Old Houses (and I sincerely hope that you are), you'll immediately recognize Lyndhurst (seen above), the astonishing "American Gothic" castle located in Tarrytown, New York, completed in its present condition in 1865. The celebrated (by architectural historians, anyway) Alexander Jackson Davis designed it, but it is better known for the villainous Wall Street manipulator who bought it in 1880, Jay Gould. After Mr. Gould's death in 1892, first his daughter Helen, and then her younger sister Anna (who became the Duchess of Talleyrand-Perigord) continued to own the house until 1961. That's the duchess, clutching her little dog after a prudent departure from Paris on the eve of the Second World War. Here's the girls' brother, George Jay Gould, virtuoso of the "wrong step" in everything from business to marriage to real estate. Frank Crowninshield's amusing 1908 book, "Manners for the Metropolis," warns social aspirants (tongue in cheek, OK?) to beware a certain category of acquaintances who are, as he puts it, "on the green, but not dead to the hole." That was George Gould, all right, and you could say the same about his spectacular house, Georgian Court, whose gates and garden facade are illustrated below. It's in Lakewood, New Jersey, a fleetingly fashionable resort deserted by society types with (as we say in real estate) rockets on their butts many (many) years ago. Both Lyndhurst and Georgian Court have been explored in depth in earlier columns. The topic of today's post is: Where are the people who owned them today? The answer is Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx, the greatest necropolis in America and (maybe) in the world. Three hundred thousand people, among them "Le tous" New York Society, share 400 acres of rolling hills, shimmering lawns, specimen trees and, in certain swankier districts, a stunning total of 1,271 private mausoleums, ranging in design from the merely expensive to the historically important. Woodlawn was founded in late 1863, the first "loved one" lowered into the earth in January of 1865. It caught fire with the plutocracy after the 1884 construction of the Gould family mausoleum, designed by one Hamilin French, an architect of whom I've never heard. Funny isn't it? Although loathed by the general public, the construction of Gould's mausoleum ignited a fashion for the cemetery. (Maybe understandable, if you think about it). The weeping beech beside the mausoleum is now bigger than the building itself. I wanted to go inside, but the key didn't work. Also at Woodlawn are former owners of another of my big old houses, Belcourt in Newport, R.I. They are Oliver Hazard Perry Belmont, charming son of Rothschild represent August Belmont, and his redoubtable wife, Alva. Mrs. B was many things - builder of palaces from Fifth Avenue to Newport, brave divorcee (from W.K. Vanderbilt, at a time when divorce was social suicide), braver champion of women's rights, and the mother who forced her daughter to marry the Duke of Marlborough. Her reasons for the latter were actually quite sound but, as all of us must learn (hopefully sooner than later), we must let our children make their own mistakes. Richard Morris Hunt, who designed 660 Fifth Avenue and Marble House in Newport for Alva, also designed Belcourt for her husband in 1894, before the Belmonts' marriage. Their mausoleum at Woodlawn is an immodest miniaturization of the chapel of St. Hubert in Amboise, France, designed by Hunt's sons in 1908. Alva Belmont, erudite student of Gothic art and a great one for fitting out her many houses with Gothic Rooms, was clearly the guiding hand behind Hunt and Hunt's design. Some years ago, a clever Woodlawn intern announced that the praying figure above the front door was actually Mr. Belmont. The story has currency to this day. Had that intern also been clever enough to look at pictures of Mr. Belmont, he would have realized the statue looks nothing like him. Considering Alva's mad preoccupation with Gothic accuracy, it might well depict some actual historical character from the middle ages. But her husband, it ain't. Here are Jonathan and Harriet Thorne, presently horizontal residents of Woodlawn, but formerly builders of another subject of my column, 1028 Fifth Avenue. The Thorne family has a railed plot, as opposed to a mausoleum, and within it rest numerous generations with room for numerous more. I'm assuming Mrs. Thorne is in here somewhere, but I forgot to look for her. (I'm bad). There are two main entrances to Woodlawn. This one is on Jerome Avenue, a little south of East 233rd Street, practically facing the last station on the #4 train. Yes, you can take the subway to Woodlawn. The second entrance is on the opposite side of the cemetery, at the corner of 233rd Street and Webster Avenue, across from the Woodlawn stop on Metro North. Proximity to the railroad (tracks were laid in 1865) vaulted Woodlawn over its great competitor, Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn. You could take a train to the former from 42nd and Park, as opposed to fighting downtown traffic and taking a ferry across the river to the latter. After 1871 you could even rent a special Woodlawn car at Grand Central, to whisk loved one and mourners alike directly to the Webster Avenue gate. Very early on, in 1867, Woodlawn adopted the so-called "landscape-lawn" plan which, the Thorne plot notwithstanding, substituted circular plots and a serpentine road plan for the usual right-angled geometry and abundant fencing of most cemeteries to that date. Woodlawn was - and still is - a for-profit undertaking, continued improvements to which included a fashionable replacement of the Jerome Avenue gate in 1915. You might think of Woodlawn as a sort of enormous coop, whose Cemetery Corporation owns the land and collects a form of maintenance from individual Cemetery Association members, each of whom who can build whatever he wants on his designated plot. In 2011 Woodlawn became a National Historic Landmark. So far none of the major mausoleum owners has attempted any architectural bollixing, and let's hope none does. You could loop around this place for hours, in part because roads followed in one direction look completely different when followed in another. Plus which, it's typical to admire some stunning vista of weeping angels, towering obelisks, specimen trees, etc., etc. without realizing you've already looked at it from three other angles. I will spare you Woodlawn's list of important architects and sculptors, which you probably wouldn't remember, and limit myself instead to a short "statue tour." Not every business heavyweight or society leader was buried so magnificently. Birdie (Mrs. Graham Fair) Vanderbilt, owner of the beautiful French mansion at 60 East 93rd Street seen below (one of my BOH favorites), rests beneath a comparatively simple bench. Society leader Percy Rivington Pyne, builder of 680 Park Avenue, lies beneath a simple slab in a sort of sacred grove. Part of this simplicity may stem from the fact that Mr. Pyne died 60 days before the stock market crash of 1929, which fact did not deter the powers that be from taxing his estate at its pre-crash value. I wanted to check out three more individuals whose houses appeared on Big Old Houses. We'll take the scenic route to the first. This fierce looking individual was Henry H. Cook, a prototypical Victorian macher who summered at Tanglewood (today's warm weather home of the Boston Pops), and kept a big and not particularly beautiful house on Fifth Avenue and 78th Street. He was the man who developed the famous Cook Block, located between Fifth, Madison, 78th and 79th Streets, whose original restrictive covenants, despite no longer being in force, have managed to preserve the grandest and most intact mansion block on Manhattan. Cook's house was replaced in 1912 by Horace Trumbauer's palace for tobacco baron James B. Duke. William Sloane, of the W. & J. Sloane furniture emporium family, hired society architects Delano & Aldrich to build Merestead in the country and 686 Park Avenue in town. The Sloane family mausoleum looks a sight better indoors than Mr. Cook's. The last (and possibly the richest) of those persons whose houses I've written about, is Standard Oil heir Edward Harkness, seen below with his wife Mary. James Gamble Rogers designed the Harkness house in New York, at 75th and Fifth, as well as the mausoleum below, whose walled garden was designed by Beatrix Farrand. Woodlawn's elaborate funerary architecture was originally complimented by equally elaborate landscaping, much of which has disappeared from lack of maintenance. The Harkness plot is an exception. The people I've written about in Big Old Houses belonged to an important group at Woodlawn, but they constitute a small - if highly visible - fraction of the cemetery's total number of "loved ones." Somewhere on these 400 acres is an example of pretty much every style of monument you can think of, sitting on top of a whole lot of people you've heard of, and a whole of others you haven't. Did you know that Herman Melville is buried at Woodlawn? So is Thomas Nast, Joseph Pulitzer, Irving Berlin, Admiral Farragut, Fiorello LaGuardia, Robert Moses, Duke Ellington and the Queen of Salsa, Celia Cruz. The biggest private plot covers six and a half acres; the smallest accommodates a simple slab with enough room to walk around it. Some people, like Col. William Boyce Thompson who, together with the staircase in his beautiful Yonkers mansion is illustrated below, built a mausoleum, had a change of heart, and sold it to someone else. Thompson sold his to a Brooklyn resident named Ernest Arata. For years I've been telling people they'd be amazed by this place. My visit today was a result of a call from Eline Maxwell at the Woodlawn Conservancy, suggesting I write about it for Big Old Houses. Good idea; I'm glad I did.

Most of the opulent buildings by Gilded Age architect Richard Morris Hunt were destroyed, but a handful remain in New York City and Newport.

photo from Fifth Avenue New York City, 1911 (copyright expired) William W. and Thomas M. Hall were prolific developers at the turn of the last century. At a time when millionaires were lining Fifth Avenue across from Central Park with lavish palaces, the brothers joined the trend with speculative residences that held their own among the custom-designed mansions. In 1899 they purchased the plot at 987 Fifth Avenue, just south of 80th Street, and commissioned the firm of Welch, Smith & Provot to design an opulent townhouse. The $86,000 purchase price of the lot was evidence of the exclusive nature of the neighborhood. It would equal about $2.6 million today. In the meantime, a remarkable story had played out in the Midwest. William B. Leeds was born in Indiana in 1856. The New-York Tribune would later say of him, "His parents were poor and he made his first business venture in a very humble role--that of florist in his native town of Richmond." In 1883, following his marriage to Jeanette Irene Gaar, the daughter of a Richmond banker, he was given a job with the Pennsylvania Railroad by a relative of his new wife. In an astonishing Horatio Alger-worthy story, while working as a train conductor Leeds met and became friends with Daniel G. Reid who had a similar job on the railroad. Within a few years the two young men left the railroad, pooled their savings, and purchased the controlling interest in a small tin plate mill in Richmond. Energetic, ambitious and resourceful, they grew their business, acquiring more and more mills until they had formed the American Tin Plate Company which dominated the industry. In 1901, the partners sold their corporation to the United States Steel Company for $46 million (about $1.3 billion today). Leeds and Reid both returned to the railroads--now as controlling owners and executives of several lines. Like his partner, William B. Leeds moved to New York City. He had obtained a divorce in 1900 and, as reported by the New-York Tribune, "soon after Mr. Leeds married Mrs. Nannie May Stewart Worthing, also of Richmond, who had obtained a divorce from her husband, George Worthington." The implication of extra-marital dalliance was clear. His son by his first marriage, Rudolph, was sent off to the exclusive Phillips Andover Academy in Massachusetts. Now William shopped for a new home, what The Virginia Enterprise deemed on April 19, 1901 "a gift for his bride." That gift was No. 987 Fifth Avenue. In March he paid W. W. & T. M. Hall $260,000 for the new mansion--more than $7.5 million in today's dollars. The architects had produced a five story bowed-front confection of brick and limestone. Its Beaux Arts facade was frosted with fussy French inspired decorations--broken pediments, garlanded cartouches, and iron window railings. A stone balcony with wrought iron railings girded the fifth floor. It along with the heavy bracketed cornice and crown-like balustrade gave the mansion a somewhat top-heavy appearance. Rather surprising to some society columnists, Nonnie (familiarly known as Nancy) managed to slip into fashionable circles rather quickly. On December 10, 1903 The Saint Paul Globe rather meanly wrote "Another member has been admitted to the ultra-fashionable set. The newest 'arrival' is Mrs. William B. Leeds, the wife of the tinplate millionaire. Mrs. Leeds forced her entry through the Long Island set, and, thanks to the Belmont family, she was introduced to every one worth while...Two years ago the second Mrs. Leeds did not exist for the New York set. When Mr. and Mrs. Leeds settled in the house in No. 987 Fifth avenue, her neighbors said: 'Who, pray, is Mrs. Leeds, anyway?' Nonnie "Nancy" Leeds - original source unknown The catty columnist continued, "But Mrs. Leeds did not unbend and the neighbors saw a correctly gowned and graceful young woman going to and from her splendid victoria. In Palm Beach last spring she put forth her claim as candidate for the right set. Her husband is said to be worth $30,000,000 and this was her passport." The neighbors included Hugh A. Murray (left), William J. Curtis next door, and the twin mansions of brothers Irving and Horace Brokaw. from Fifth Avenue New York City, 1911 (copyright expired) Nancy entertained lavishly in her new home and in the summer estate William leased on Long Island. Her charm won over socially important women like Mrs. George Gould, Mrs. Henry H. Flagler and Mrs. Perry Belmont. The Saint Paul Globe said "soon Mrs. Leeds was seen motoring with Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt Jr., and coaching with the Whitneys." The Indianapolis Journal described her as "petite, with very delicate features. She dresses remarkably well, prefers tints rather than colors, and is an extremely dainty figure in organdie or any light fabrics." While Nancy was busy edging her way into high society, her husband focused on spending money. On February 10, 1902 he launched his new 261-foot yacht the Norma, named for Nonnie. The vessel, which cost him $500,000, had electric lighting and heating, and telegraph. The Evening World reported that each of the vessel's eight state rooms had its own bath. "A very elegant library extends the full width of the ship. Galley, pantry, dining-room and smoking-room are situated in the main deck-house. The women's sitting room is on the shade deck." Leeds "elegant quarters" included a private office, state-room and bath. Even though Leeds already owned a country home in Lakewood, New Jersey, in February 1902 he paid Thomas F. Young $200,000 for 400-acres near Theodore Roosevelt's Sagamore Hill in Oyster Bay, Long Island. The Evening World reported "Mr. Leeds intends to build a large country place in the fashionable colony." The Music Room is pictured above. Below is the Dining Room with its stained glass windows, beamed ceiling and highly unusual marble mantel. photographer unknown from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York In the meantime, young Reginald had managed to spark a news story that was reported across the country. In the fall of 1902 both William and Nancy were ill. While she rested in the Fifth Avenue mansion, William went to Hot Springs, Arkansas late in September to recuperate. Sixteen-year old Rudolph read with interest the reports on the ongoing coup in Columbia. In mid September he slipped away from his prep school "to help General Uribe-Uribe overthrow the government there," according to the Iowa newspaper the Evening Times-Republican. The teen managed to get to Colon, where he purchased a ticket for Panama. But by now his father had learned of his adventure. Leeds contacted the American Consul General at Panama, H. A. Gudger, who was waiting when the train arrived. "So when Mr. Leeds, full of martial enthusiasm, left the train and approached the first native who looked like a rebel, asking to be directed to the nearest camp, he was promptly captured by Mr. Gudger." Reginald was packed onto the next steamship to New York. William's masculine library (above) was a contrast to Nancy's very French "salon." photographer unknown from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York Reginald had a new half brother at the time. William B. Leeds, Jr. was born on September 19, 1902. Nancy redid one room of the mansion into a "playroom," a boy-cave that would make even an Astor or Vanderbilt child envious. One end of little William's playroom shows shelves for toys which, when carefully put away, could be hidden behind curtains. photographer unknown from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York A large staff of servants meant that motherhood did not interrupt Nancy's social calendar. In February 1903 she took a risk which was sure to make the social columns when she planned a benefit "winter garden party" on Lincoln's Birthday at the Lakewood estate. The New-York Tribune, on February 8, asked "What will happen in the event that a blizzard should chance to come, is of course a question, but the plan is to have a corps of young women in summer gowns and shade hats serve at tea tables among the trees on the lawn, while other summery young ladies wander about among the throng selling home-made candy, cake and valentines, and fancy and useful articles." That summer, while the Oyster Bay house was being constructed, the Leeds summered in fashionable Saratoga. The Indianapolis Journal noted that Nancy "has already made many friends at Saratoga...among her friends are Mrs. Sydney Smith, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Oliver H. P. Belmont." William Leeds was operated on for appendicitis that year. He seemed to have come through the procedure with no problems; but then on December 3, 1905 The New York Times reported that he "is suffering from partial paralysis as a result of an operation for appendicitis performed two years ago." The newspaper insisted, however, that "his condition was not serious and he was not even confined to his bed." Leeds recovered, but it was obvious that the paralysis was not a result of his operation, but a stroke. William and Nancy continued to broaden their social horizons, including buying the former Frederick W. Vanderbilt cottage, Rough Point, in Newport for half a million dollars. But Leeds's health problems continued. Towards the end of 1906 he suffered another stroke which again resulted in partial paralysis. He traveled to Paris to consult a specialist. (While her husband recuperated, Nancy went shopping, spending $340,000 on pearls at the Paris jewelry shop of Bernard Citroen.) After about a year in France, the Leeds returned to New York in November 1907. Two weeks later William suffered yet another stroke. Once again his condition was downplayed in the press. The New-York Tribune, on November 24, assured "The physicians who attended Mr. Leeds said that quiet and rest for a few days would put him in shape again." William, Nancy and little William returned to Paris. On the morning of June 23, 1908 the 52-year old died in their suite in the Hotel Ritz. The New-York Tribune mentioned "Intimate friends in Paris to-day estimated his wealth at $35,000,000. Four days later a funeral was held in Holy Trinity Church, "the American Church in Paris," according to the New-York Tribune. The newspaper noted "Many prominent Americans were present." On July 1 Leeds's casket was taken aboard the German steamship Kronprinz Wilhelm. It arrived in New York on July 7 and the following afternoon a second funeral was held in the Fifth Avenue mansion. William B. Leeds A National Register of the Society, Sons of the American Revolution, 1902 (copyright expired) William's will left nearly his entire estate to Nancy and William, Jr. Rudolph, now 22 years old and married, received $1 million--a relative sliver of the total which prompted The Richmond Palladium to opine "It would surprise none of Mr. Leeds' friends if the proceedings for probate were followed by a spirited contest." But Rudolph accepted his father's decision, saying "The will of my father has been read and I am perfectly familiar with its contents. The provisions of this will are entirely satisfactory to me." Following her period of mourning, Nancy resumed her social life. She sent William Jr. to the New Jersey estate where he attended the Montclair Academy. He was reportedly surrounded by a staff of 20 servants and was escorted everywhere by two private detectives. The six-year old had his own chauffeur and footman. Nancy spent less and less time at No. 987 Fifth Avenue. On January 1, 1911 The Sun reported "Mrs. William B. Leeds now has a home in London. Few American hostesses have entertained so elaborately as she since the end of her period of mourning allowed her to give parties. She has been welcomed there with a cordiality that indicates that she will probably find it to her taste to live there permanently." Later that year, in July, The Sun mentioned that Rough Point "has been closed most of the time." But it was rumored that Nancy would make a brief appearance in Newport. "The expectation is now that Mrs. William B. Leeds will spend a few weeks at the resort. She has a home in London and has taken a place in Scotland." By the time of that article Nancy had sold No. 987 to Walter Lewisohn. In reporting on the sale the Record & Guide pointed out that the Leeds had spent about $70,000 in "interior decorations and alterations." The New York Times added "Although the house was magnificently fitted up by the Halls, Mr. Leeds added a marble hall and staircase and refitted the interior." Included in the $350,000 sale price was "a portion of the furniture collected abroad by Mr. Leeds," said the Record & Guide. photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York As a side note, Nancy married Prince Christopher of Greece in 1920, becoming Princess Anastasia of Greece and Denmark. While visiting his mother the following year William met the 17-year old Princess Xenia of Greece. Within 24 hours they were engaged, causing Nancy to weep for three days and nights, according to reports. Walter Lewisohn and his wife, the former Selma Kraus, had one son, Walter, Jr. Lewisohn was 31 years old when he purchased No. 987. The Yale-educated broker was also vice-president and director of the Salt Lake Copper Co., an officer in the Tennessee Copper Co. and the Lewisohn Exploration & Mining Co., and a partner in the firm of banking firm Lewisohn Brothers. The Lewisohns maintained a summer estate new Eatontown, New Jersey. Selma's entertainments in the Fifth Avenue house were often grand, like the dance and supper she gave on Tuesday, January 27, 1914. The entrance hall (above) and the first floor landing photographer unknown from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York Walter and Selma were drawn into a murder investigation in 1920. They had dinner with Joseph Bowne Elwell and Selma's sister, Viola Kraus, on June 10 at the Ritz-Carlton Roof, then attended the midnight show at the New Amsterdam Theatre. After the show everyone went their separate ways. The following morning Elwell was found in the front hall of his home with a bullet hole in his head. On June 14 the Lewisohns, Viola and her estranged husband were taken to the Elwell house for questioning. The were released without suspicion; however the taint of the investigation remained for years. The case was never solved. Shortly afterward Lewisohn suffered heavy losses in the stock market. It was all too much for him to handle and on May 22, 1923 Selma committed him to the Blythewood Sanitarium for the Insane in Greenwich, Connecticut. With her income gone and the Lewisohn fortune greatly depleted, Selma took to the operatic concert stage as Mme. Marie Selma. She sold No. 987 to Elizabeth Carmichael in 1920 for $375,000. Carmichael leased the furnished house to wealthy tenants like Colonel John F. Daniell, charging $40,000 a year. But following the Stock Market crash, she lost it in foreclosure to the Franklin Savings Bank in May 1933. After it sat vacant for more than five years, the bank sold the mansion in December 1939. Writing in The New York Times, Lee E. Cooper said the old residence "has joined the long list of fine old Manhattan homes which are marked for early demolition." But it received a reprieve of sorts, instead being converted to three- and four-room apartments within the year. By the time No. 987 was sold again in 1959 the balustrade was gone and a sixth floor had appeared, set back on the roof. Rather surprisingly it survived for nearly a decade. Then, on January 31, 1968 The Times announced that the three old mansions at Nos. 985, 986 and 987 Fifth Avenue had been purchased by developer Bernard Spitzer. Within the year the once elegant homes were gone, replaced by the 25-story 985 Fifth Avenue. Among the building's most visible residents was the builder's son, New York Governor Eliot Spitzer.

Like an Elizabethan sore thumb, the new house starkly stood out between its Queen Anne neighbors -- photo by Wurts Bros, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWNO1JL7&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915 In 1881 developer and architect Theodore Weston began construction of four harmonious Queen Anne style residences stretching along East 64th Street from the southwest corner of Madison Avenue towards Central Park. The brick-and-brownstone mansions burst forth with the balconies, quirky dormers and turrets expected of the visually-entertaining style. No. 28 had at least two owners before the turn of the century. The Williams family was here in the 1880s and that of George Henry Warren was in the house in the 1890s. The architectural harmony of Weston’s string of homes was about to come to an end when, on October 24, 1900, The New York Times reported that G. H. Warren had sold “to a Mr. Bush the four-story dwelling 28 East Sixty-fourth Street.” The following day the mysterious Mr. Bush was identified as “Mr. G. A. Bush, who will occupy [the house] with his family." In fact, the buyer was Irving T. Bush and his wife, the former Bella (familiarly called Belle) Barlow. Irving T. Bush -- photograph Library of Congress The 31-year-old businessman was the son of wealthy industrialist and oil refinery owner Rufus T. Bush. Like his father, Bush was an avid yachtsman and the two had circumnavigated the globe in 1888. When Rufus Bush died two years later, leaving his wife and two sons an estate of about $2 million, Irving could have lived off his inheritance. Instead, the 21-year-old went to work for Standard Oil as a clerk. The large bank account did not hurt, however. In the mid-1890s Bush envisioned a gigantic warehouse, manufacturing, and shipping complex on the site of his father’s Brooklyn oil refinery. He constructed the Bush Terminal—the first industrial complex of its kind in New York and the largest multiple-tenant industrial park in the country. It was his first personal business success. The title to the 64th Street property was not transferred until August 1901. Bush put the mansion in Bella's name, as was customary. At the time of the transfer the New-York Tribune made note of the exclusive neighborhood. In the corner mansion next door to the new Bush house, at No. 30, lived Seth Low, one of the city’s most recognized educators and politicians, and among its wealthiest. The Bushes' maintained a handsome summer home in Lakewood, New Jersey. The Bushes' domestic tranquility within the house was short-lived. According to The New York Times, in the spring of 1904, the couple separated, "Mrs. Bush taking her two children and going to California." She had discovered that her husband was having an affair with Maude Howard Beard. On December 24 that year the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide announced that the architectural firm of Kirby, Petit & Green was at work on plans for a 6-story dwelling costing $60,000 (about $1.5 million today). The Guide hinted at the appearance, describing “a brick and terra cotta front, metal and glass skylights, tin roof, elevator, terra cotta cornices and coping, steam heat, electric light, etc.” The out-of-date Queen Anne mansion was demolished and in its place rose an Edwardian dream home. Victorian houses obsessed with the damaging effects of sunlight on expensive textiles and artwork. Interior shutters, window blinds and heavy velvet hangings shut out the direct rays of the sun, creating what must have been dusk-like interiors. By now, however, doctors stressed fresh air and sunlight as the two major components of a healthful environment and the trend carried over into residential architecture. The new Bush mansion was as much glass as it was masonry. The architects drew heavily on Elizabethan country house designs, lining the brick façade with limestone quoins and clustering windows. The deeply recessed entranceway sat behind four large stone columns on a porch just above the sidewalk. Inside there were seven bedrooms and baths (three fewer than the number of servants bedrooms), a conservatory that extended to the rear, a 24 by 22 foot library, and an elevator. The house was put on the market in 1908, but not sold. (New-York Tribune, October 28, 1908 copyright expired) In the meantime, while Belle was living in California with the children, Irving and Maude Beard were raising social eyebrows. In the fall of 1906, The New York Times reported that they had "been the subject of gossip" in Lakewood "for two seasons. After the departure of Mrs. Bush for California, Mr. Bush and the widow were frequently seen riding and driving about the resort, and they dined and lunched together at the Country Club of Lakewood." The scandal resulted in Bush being asked to resign from the Lakewood Country Club. It came to a head on November 21, 1906 when The New York Times reported, "Mrs. Belle Bush, wife of Irving T. Bush...has brought suit against her husband for divorce in this State, charging him with infidelity." The article said that before leaving with her children two years earlier, "Mrs. Bush spoke bitterly about a woman, a former neighbor, as having caused the trouble between herself and her husband." Belle Barlow Bush was granted a divorce in January 1907 and full custody of the children. Irving immediately married Maude Beard. Irving and Maude maintained the expected routine of wealthy New Yorkers and in February 1915 newspapers noted they were spending the winter season in Pinehurst, North Carolina. A month earlier they had announced the engagement of Maude’s daughter, Rose Howard Bush, to Arthur Tucker Ellsworth. Rose had taken the Bush name when her widowed mother married Irving. By now Europe was embroiled in world war and New York debutantes were volunteering for war relief work. Rose’s sister, Maud, worked with the Red Cross and related causes as the United States was pulled into the conflict. And like many other society girls doing such work, she fell in love with a dashing (and wealthy) military man. On December 26, 1919 Irving and Maude announced Maud’s engagement to Ensign Arthur Lincoln McElroy. Irving T. Bush retained ownership of the house on East 64th Street; but he and Maude moved on. By early 1921 he had converted the mansion to apartments with a gallery space at street level. On March 20 that year the New-York Tribune reported “There is a new gallery to be added to the already long list in the city, the Mesnard gallery, at 28 East Sixty-fourth Street. It makes a creditable start, with American paintings among which good examples of Emil Carlsen, Childe Hassam and the late William M. Chase are conspicuous.” Irving Bush sold the house in 1927 to Roland Moore who intended to move his Chinese antiques business into the mansion. But after owning the property for a year, he decided to remain at his East 57th Street location. When he sold No. 28 to Halsey & Flint in September 1928, the new owners already controlled the adjoining property at the corner of Madison Avenue. The end of the line for the Irving T. Bush house was on the horizon. In 1932 construction began on architect Morrell Smith’s neo-Georgian Bank of the Manhattan Company building, which survives today. The last slice of Theodore Weston’s 1882 Queen Anne row remains at No. 26—Bush’s former next door neighbor—sadly altered and out of context. A handsome bank structure replaces both the Bush mansion and the corner house. No. 26, the last slice of Theodore Weston's row still stands. (photo by the author)

Alfred Duane Pell enlarged the already-massive house by annexing No. 2 East 74th Street -- photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York, http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQXZ31D&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQXZ31D&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1 In July 1907 C. F. Carter wrote an article in The Scrap Book entitled “Palaces of Unrest.” In it he said “On Fifth Avenue, at the southeast corner of Seventy-Fourth Street, stands a palace which is a monument to blighted hopes.” Carter was referring to the massive brownstone mansion of Wilhelm Pickhardt. Born in Berghauser, Germany on October 22, 1834, Pickhardt studied architecture. But at the age of 21, following the death of his father, he sailed to America. Instead of taking up architecture, he became a member of F. Bredt & Co., a firm that imported dye stuffs, colors and chemicals. After briefly returning to Germany, Pickhardt founded the New York City firm of William Pickhardt & Kuttroff, which also imported chemicals and dye stuffs. He married Beresford Strong, of Wicklow, Ireland and the couple would have five children--four boys and a girl. Ambitious and creative, he also dabbled with inventing and won patents in 1879 for a “new and improved air heating and cooking apparatus,” and a “ventilating and sewing connection for houses.” By now the man who C. F. Carter said came “from a very humble beginning” had amassed a significant fortune. The family lived in a fine home; but apparently not all was idyllic in the Pickhardt household. The same year that the two patents were granted the New-York Tribune reported on a search for “Sidney and Adrian Pickhardt, sons of William Pickhardt, who ran away from No. 735 Madison-ave. yesterday.” The following year, in October 1880, Pickhardt purchased the 60 by 125 foot plot of land at the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue and 74th Street for a staggering $217,500—over $5 million today. The choice of location was impressively far-sighted. Manhattan’s wealthiest citizens were still erecting their palaces and chateaus 20 blocks to the south; and the land across from Central Park was mostly undeveloped or occupied by comparatively modest brownstone rowhouses. “It was the dream of his life to have a palatial home of Fifth Avenue,” remarked Carter over two decades later. The New York Times would remark that it “was intended to eclipse the marble palace of A. T. Stewart.” Plans were filed by architect Henry G. Harrison in July 1881 “for a six-story stone front dwelling.” The estimated cost to erect his gargantuan mansion at the time was $290,000. But there would be problems for both owner and architect. Fifteen years later The Times said “In building it, Mr. Pickhardt was rather finicky, changing his plans and his builder from time to time, and expending vast sums to suit his varying whims.” The excavation for the lower levels demanded by Pickhard was unheard of. “As much as $100,000 was spent in work below the level of the street in concreting the ground to a depth of several feet, and in building massive foundations, which reach more than forty feet below grade,” reported The New York Times. At the same time construction began on the family’s private stables at Nos. 120 to 124 East 75th Street. Pickhard had purchased that land in December 1881 for $40,000. Harrison was sent abroad “at Mr. Pickhardt’s expense and made a tour of the principal European cities, intent on adding to his knowledge of house building,” said The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide in 1895. But Pickhardt’s whims and changes were too much for Harrison. “Finally, after many changes in the original designs and repeated tearing down and rebuilding, the architect was compelled to abandon the work in utter despair,” said The Guide, “and was succeeded by a German builder who subsequently died during a visit to Europe.” The plans for a six-story mansion had, by 1888, been changed four-stories. Considering the many alterations and many architects--upwards of a dozen by some estimates--after seven years of construction the overall appearance of the still uncompleted Renaissance Revival structure was not unpleasing. Still, the split staircase and double-height portico gave the Fifth Avenue façade as much the appearance of a library or academy as a private home. The massive home smacked of a civic or educational institution -- photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York, http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQXZ31D&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1#/SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQXZ31D&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915&PN=1 Wilhelm transferred the property to his son Carl in March that year and construction was suspended a few months later. The Record & Guide considered “The building of the house had been a hobby with the owner for so many years that it is possible that he lost interest in it when the structure was all but finished, and turning his attention to a new but it is to be hoped a less expensive hobby, tired of his former one.” C. F. Carter had a different opinion as to why construction came to a halt. “Unfortunately, the secret processes upon which the prosperity of the firm depended were discovered by rival manufacturers. There came a long period of litigation, during which the firm’s profits were tied up…Being without funds, the palace, which had already cost a million dollars, was left to stand unfinished.” In the meantime, the family lived on East 82nd Street and enjoyed its 25,000 acre estate in the Adirondacks at Schroon Lake, New York. In 1882 Pickhardt imported deer from Germany with the intention of cross-breeding them with American deer. There was question as to whether the two species would pair. “The American deer is wild and undomesticated, while the German species is comparatively ‘civilized,'” said The Times. Pickhardt also maintained the Wilbrook Stud Farm on the estate, where “he took great interest in the breeding of fine horses,” according to the New-York Tribune later. In 1895, fifteen years after his Fifth Avenue project was begun, Wilhelm Pickhardt was not well and the unfinished mansion was put on the auction block. Paint, Oil and Drug Review said “He had been in bad health for a year and a half as a result of an attack of the grip, combined with Bright’s disease and dysentery.” Pickhardt sailed to Carlsbad, Germany “to take the water-cure.” Before reaching his destination Pickhardt died suddenly on June 24 in Cologne. On January 17, 1895 auctioneer George R. Read advertised the “Peremptory Sale of the Superb 5th Av. Cor. Property” with “Magnificent extended view over the finest part of Central Park” as well as the “very elegant stable and lot” on East 75th Street. Little was said of the brownstone mansion with its elaborate interiors including a $50,000 organ. There was good reason for this. Called by many “Pickhardt’s Folly,” The New York Times noted that the house was a “disadvantage” to the property. “The Pickhardt house is unfinished and has many whimsical devices which are no more satisfactory to the average buyer than they were to the original owner. To tear it down would cost much; to finish it in a manner to satisfy a purchaser would cost much more.” But a few days before the auction, The Times tried to bolster potential sales. It said the property “includes the large mansion…built by Mr. William Pickhardt, but never occupied. The dwelling has been very unjustly termed a ‘freak’ house. It is nothing of the kind. It has many features which are exceedingly good, and not much outlay would be needed to make the mansion fit for the wealthiest and most fastidious occupant.” Luckily for George Read, there was just such a person. Although, as The Record & Guide said “Previous to the offering of the property there were many wiseacres who declared it would be found impossible to dispose of so valuable a parcel at public sale,” the mansion and lot were sold for $472,500—less than half of what the structure alone had cost to date. The New York Times noted, however, that “The house itself…does not figure in the total, as it did not in the estimates of the value of the property.” Two weeks after the sale The New York Times put to rest the “great deal of curiosity” regarding the new owner. “It seems that the…purchaser was Mr. A. Duane Pell, who will put the mansion in habitable condition at a cost of about $150,000.” The newspaper said “after the necessary changes are made, [the total cost] will foot up the sum of $622,500.” The 40-year old bachelor was, according to the New York Evening Telegram, “a member of one of the oldest families in the city, being a descendent of John Pell, the first landlord of Pelham Manor.” Pell’s widowed father, George Washington Pell, was a wealthy, retired merchant. Astoundingly, the massive mansion was not large enough for Alfred Duane Pell. He was an avid collector of antique china and silver and envisioned his home as a de facto museum. On February 20, 1895 The New York Times noted “In the Fifth Avenue mansion he will have an opportunity of displaying his collection to advantage, as the building will be adapted to the purpose.” He set an army of construction workers loose inside the mansion; then, in March 1896 purchased the two adjoining Fifth Avenue properties for $425,000. As construction continued, Pell moved in along with his elderly father. In July 1896 the 77-year old George W. Pell died in the house. Alfred continued expanding and purchased the mansion directly behind. On June 6, 1897 The New York Times noted “About a year and a half ago Mr. Pell purchased the spacious mansion on Fifth Avenue and Seventy-fourth Street, built by Mr. William Pickhardt. This is one of the largest and most beautiful houses in the city, and by a recent purchase of the adjoining house, 2 East Seventy-fourth Street, with the Fifth Avenue mansion, the structure when completed will be considerably larger than the Cornelius Vanderbilt house, at Fifth Avenue and Fifty-eighth Street.” That summer Pell surprised New York society when he proposed to Cornelia Livingston Crosby. “He is a man of marked positiveness of character, and although he has been considered by match-making mammas one of the most eligible parties in the city, it was not thought that he would ever marry,” said The Times. The newspaper approved of the match. “She is a woman of much strength of character and rare cultivation, shares Mr. Pell’s artistic tastes and the engagement is considered an eminently suitable one in every way.” In announcing the engagement the Milwaukee Journal spoke not only of Pell’s large fortune, but of the house. “Mr. Pell has moved his now vast collection to his new home, and a while ago it was reported that the house and collection would be bequeathed to the city for a museum. Mr. Pell’s marriage will probably cause some change in these plans.” Cornelia and Alfred not only shared an interest in collecting silver and china; but a bloodline as well. “The Crosbys are related to the Schuyler, Clarkson, De Peyster, Nicoll and Livingston families of New York,” said The Milwaukee Journal. The Pells were descended in part from the Livingstons. Alfred and Cornelia Pell spent their time entertaining and traveling. On May 26, 1899 The Times reported “In town there have been the series of receptions given by Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Duane Pell at their residence on Fifth Avenue, opposite the Park. There will be one more before the close of the season.” A year later the newspaper mentioned that they “are at Temple Grove, Saratoga. Mr. and Mrs. Pell intend later in the year making a trip to Europe and a visit to the Far East.” Their extensive travels necessarily included collecting; and before long the collection was taxing even the cavernous rooms of No. 929 Fifth Avenue. On November 16, 1902—just before Alfred Duane Pell was somewhat unexpectedly to be ordained an Episcopalian priest—The Times said “Mr. Pell purchased the great Pichardt [sic] residence, on Upper Fifth Avenue, and in it to-day nearly every room is devoted to the china collection. Mr. Pell has complained that he has hardly room and has thought of purchasing another house as an annex to his museum.” The newspaper noted that each year the couple traveled with the specific purpose of adding to their collection. “Mr. Pell belongs to but one large club, the New York Athletic, but he never practices gymnastics in the rooms where his china is placed on exhibition.” The Pells’ free-wheeling schedule of entertainments and traveling was slightly impeded following Alfred’s ordination. He offered his services as pastor to the Church of the Resurrection without a salary in 1902. Nevertheless, the house was still the frequent scene of receptions and teas; often for the Colonial Dames of America of which Cornelia was a member. After over two decades in their hulking mansion, the Pells prepared to move on in 1916. On June 24, 1916 The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide reported that Harry Fischel had purchased the mansion and “will erect on this corner a twelve-story high-class apartment house from plans by Warren & Wetmore.” The Times reported the sale price at $750,000 . Within months Wilhelm Pickhardt’s “monument to blighted hopes” was gone. Warren & Wetmore's 1917 apartment building survives today -- photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQGFL0A&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

One of my favorite Fifth Avenue Mansions. A very little known house that, from the outside, looks dull and dreary.The inside, however, is all marble, gilt, crystal and opulence. The layout couldn't be better than a Hollywood movie set of a Fifth Avenue Mansion. It has it all! Mr. Salomon died in 1919, and, after the dispersal of his fine art and antiques collection, the house was demolished in 1924. Today, on the site of 1020 Fifth Avenue is now one of Fifth Avenue's finest apartment buildings, which was designed by Warren & Wetmore. More pictures to come. Click HERE to see 1st and 2nd floor stairhall. Click HERE to see the 2nd floor Master Bedroom. Links: In an Earlier Time of Boom and Bust, Rentals Also Gained Favor, New York Times William A. Salomon Obituary, New York Times

A view up Fifth Avenue with the Heckscher Building, or Crown Building, and residence of Cornelius Vanderbilt. ca. 1921, New York City.

Take a stroll back to the late 1800s and early 1900s to see some of the grand homes and New York mansions that lined Fifth Avenue.

Before the limestone towers of Fifth and Park Avenues completed their social ascendence, the mansion was the only acceptable way for the extravagantly wealthy to live in the city

Imagine you were living in the 1880’s, ensconced in a grand mansion located on the most fashionable stretch of 5th Avenue. Given to you by your late father, he also left you a personal fortune of 10 million dollars; half outright, and half in trust. Looking out your windows, gazi

On the avenue dubbed the “Millionaire’s Colony” in the late 19th century thanks to its unbroken line of ornate mansions, one house stood out as the most insanely overdone: William…

Before the limestone towers of Fifth and Park Avenues completed their social ascendence, the mansion was the only acceptable way for the extravagantly wealthy to live in the city

Carriages dropped off guests at the bronze gates by using the semi-circular drive-- catalog of sale of Astor Mansion (copyright expired) The indomitable Caroline Webster Schermerhorn Astor, the Mrs. Astor, met her match in 1893. After a lengthy feud, her next-door neighbor and nephew, William Astor, demolished the brownstone mansion erected by his father, John Jacob Astor III, and began construction on the towering Waldorf Hotel. It was a brilliant move intended to show his aunt exactly who had the last word in the family fight. Caroline Astor held on for a year before The New York Times reported on November 4, 1894 “The announcement that a huge hotel is projected for the southwest corner of Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street has been received without surprise.” It was not simply co-existing with a hotel that nudged the 64-year old socialite to move. Society had long since moved northward along Fifth Avenue towards Central Park. The Astor mansion was increasingly surrounded by commerce. Caroline’s son, John, oversaw the project of erecting an immense double mansion for himself and his mother on Fifth Avenue at the northeast corner of 65th Street. Richard Morris Hunt was given the commission to produce the French Renaissance chateau which would take two years to complete. “Colonel” John Jacob Astor would live in the more desirable southern half, 840 Fifth Avenue, with its additional windows on 65th Street; while Caroline Astor would take the northern residence at 841. A postcard depicted the mansion on a pleasantly-quiet Fifth Avenue. Hunt designed the houses to seamlessly appear as a unit—rivaling the block-engulfing Cornelius Vanderbilt mansion at Fifth Avenue and 57th Street enlarged by George Post in 1893. As the dual mansion neared completion on January 5, 1896, The New York Times hoped that Carolina Astor would throw an opening ball. “An interesting rumor states that Mrs. Astor is to give a housewarming before the close of this month. Mrs. Astor’s house, at 841 Fifth Avenue, and that of her son, John Jacob Astor, at 840 Fifth Avenue, are so built that they can be made into one house When all the rooms of this great residence are thrown open, they will offer a greater space for dancing than any other private house in the city. Even if Mrs. Astor decides not to give the ball, Col. and Mrs. Astor will give a number of dinner parties.” Guests entered through magnificent bronze entrance gates into a glass-domed entrance hall. From here they entered, left or right, into the separate homes. As The Times indicated, the entertainment spaces were designed so they could be joined into a single ballroom or dining room, for instance. In true Hunt fashion, the interiors were intended to awe. The fireplace of the combination ballroom-picture gallery, for instance, dwarfed the Astor guests. Enormous carved female figures flanked an inset oval portrait above the mantel. The stained glass skylight was supported by titanic, muscular telamons. photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWN5O8Q2&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=899 Despite her advancing age and questionable health, Caroline Astor continued her regimented schedule. According to Eric Homberger in his Mrs. Astor’s New York, “Each morning after breakfast the day’s meals would be discussed with the staff, led by Thomas Hade, who had been with her since 1876, and her longtime companion, Miss Simrock. Correspondence was attended to. The day’s other business might be transacted on the telephone.” There were the expected rounds of afternoon receiving or being received; dinners, musicales, and dances to attend or host. The lavish interiors were, for the most part, in the French style -- photograph from the collection of the Library of Congress Among the most anticipated social events of the year was Caroline’s annual ball. Her ball was followed, one week to the day each year, by John Jacob Astor’s ball. In reporting on the latter in 1905, The New York Times remarked “the John Jacob Astor house is a replica of Mrs. William Astor’s, and the same porte cochere and street entrance serve both residences. Last night both houses were thrown into one, as they were a week ago. There were boxwood trees lining the crimson-carpeted steps leading from the street to the entrance, and in the large main hall were palms and vases with cut flowers…After all the guests had arrived a supper was served by Sherry at small tables placed in the dining room and halls, after which the cotillion was danced in the beautiful picture gallery and ballroom into which both of the Astor Houses open." What appeared to be a Brussels tapestry was, in fact, one of a series of finely-executed wall paintings -- catalog of sale of Astor Mansion (copyright expired) It was the last of Caroline Astor’s annual balls. In 1906 she suffered what contemporary accounts deemed a major nervous breakdown. Possibly it was a series of strokes that afflicted the grand dame, instead. The Evening World later said “since then [she] had discontinued even the large dinners of which she yearly gave three or four.” It signaled the beginning of the end of the woman who had ruled Manhattan society for decades. In 1907 Caroline Astor shut herself inside the Fifth Avenue mansion. On October 31, 1908, The Evening World reported “For more than a year she has received nobody but her physician and her daughter, Mrs. Wilson. The only sign of life about her house since April last came from the windows of her room.” photographer unknown, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWN5O8Q2&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=899 There was apparently one exception. Although on bad days her once-sharp mind was clouded and confused, that was not the case when she permitted a rare interview with the Delineator in October 1908. The New York Times quoted the article and Mrs. Astor’s thoughts on her eventual demise. “I am not vain enough to think New York will not be able to get along very well without me. Many women will rise up to take my place. But I hope my influence will be felt in one thing, and that is in discountenancing the undignified methods employed by certain New York women to attract a following.” Caroline Astor was, no doubt, referring to her arch rivals Theresa “Tessie” Oelrichs and Marian “Mamie” Fish. Both women were known for their lavish entertainments which might be termed “theme parties” today. “They have given entertainment that belonged under a circus tent rather than in a gentlewoman’s home. Their sole object is notoriety, a thing that no lady ever seeks, but, rather, shrinks from.” Three weeks after the article was published, Caroline Astor was dead. On October 31, the day after her death, The Evening World wrote “Mrs. Astor has been sick for over two years, but death was the result of an old heart trouble, which recurred four weeks ago…Owing to Mrs. Astor’s advanced age, seventy-eight years, her relatives have known for some time her sickness would result fatally.” Jack Astor wasted little time in taking over his mother’s half of the house. On November 8, one week after her death, The Sun reported “Mr. and Mrs. John Jacob Astor will now occupy the entire dwelling at 840 and 842 [sic] Fifth avenue as their town residence, as this was the arrangement of Mrs. Astor originally. Sliding doors open the halls into one and the ball room covers the rear of the double dwelling.” Astor tore down walls, removed the twin staircases and installed a bronze-domed reception hall. The library was relocated, and the ballroom was now one gargantuan room—possibly the largest in New York City. And there was one other renovation John Jacob Astor would make in his life—divorce. The remodeled reception room dazzled -- catalog of sale of Astor Mansion, (copyright expired) Inside the walls of 840 Fifth Avenue things had not been idyllic for Astor and his wife, Ava. And on November 6, 1909, The Los Angeles Herald noted that “The papers in the suit for divorce which Mrs. John Jacob Astor is reported to have brought against her husband are now complete…It is reported that papers recommend a decree in favor of Mrs. Astor. The custody of the daughter, Alice, 7 years old, is said to have been given to Mrs. Astor, while Colonel Astor, it is reported, will be given the custody of the son, William Vincent, 17 years old.” Above the mantel in the marble-walled and floored Dining Room hung the portrait of the original John Jacob Astor -- catalog of the sale of the Astor Mansion (copyright expired) A few months later, on March 18, 1910, The Norfolk Weekly New-Journal brushed off the hoop-la. “The John Jacob Astor divorce attracts little attention in the atmosphere of New York’s smart set. Couples that live in domestic peace and harmony are more of a news feature down there.” Two weeks earlier renovations to the mansion had been completed and on March 3 Astor gave a housewarming dinner “of almost two hundred covers…in his newly constructed residence, 840 Fifth Avenue,” as described by The New York Times. “There will be a cotillion afterward, to which a hundred additional guests have been invited.” No longer in the shadow of either Caroline or Ava Astor, John Jacob Astor opened his doors to over three hundred guests that night; not only celebrating a new house, but a new life. Off the reception room was the Entrance Hall with its massive fireplace and groin-arched ceiling -- catalog of the sale of the Astor Mansion (copyright expired) The mansion was not completely done; however. A year later on February 7, 1911 The New York Times explained “Col. Astor gave last year a Mi-Careme dance as a housewarming to his remodeled residence, but at that time the central feature of the huge new central hall—an immense fountain—had not been completed. This fountain, built of shaded gray convent marble and about ten feet high, with spouting dolphins at its top and infant Neptunes with tridents seated below, apparently ready to spear the goldfish swimming at their feet, is the most noticeable figure of the now finished hall.” A stylish carriage pulls up to the entrance via the semi-circular drive in 1897-- photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWN5O8Q2&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=899 The installation necessitated another massive entertainment. On February 6, 208 guests were invited for dinner and another 300 arrived for dancing afterward. “The house itself is too handsome to need extraneous ornamentation, and a few vases of cut flowers formed the only decoration in the drawing and reception rooms and library,” said The New York Times. “Col. Astor had assisting him in receiving his guests Mrs. Ogden Mills and his niece, Mrs. Theodore Douglas Robinson. They stood in the drawing room at the left of the entrance, where the late Mrs. Astor was wont to receive.” Astor had every reason to be pleased that the mansion was now completed. There would soon be a new Mrs. Astor with whom to share it. Jack Astor had become enamored with Madeleine Talmage Force, the daughter of William Hurlbut Force and Katherine Arvilla Talmage; and on September 8, 1911 The New York Times suggested “There was an impression last night among the friends of Col. John Jacob Astor that his marriage to Miss Madeleine T. Force would not be delayed more than a few days.” John Jacob Astor and his young bride, Madeleine Talmadge Force -- photos from the collection of the Library of Congress. If society was not shocked by Astor’s marrying so quickly after his divorce, it was taken aback by the age difference. Madeline was approximately the same age as her soon-to-be stepson, Vincent. The wedding went on despite any raised eyebrows and, following their quiet honeymoon at Ferncliff, the Astor country estate in Rhinebeck, New York, the newlyweds traveled to Europe. By the time they started home Madeleine was pregnant. The couple boarded the new RMS Titanic in Southampton, England on April 10, 1912. Only one of them would return to 840 Fifth Avenue. At midnight on April 14 the teen-aged Vincent Astor was awakened with the news that the Titanic had gone down. Two days later The Evening World reported, “William Vincent Astor was one of the many visitors who hung about the White Star offices yesterday and refused to depart with the meager assurances of the safety of all the passengers that had been offered. “The boy was still sitting in the great silent house this morning when an official of the White Star line called up and notified him that Mrs. John Jacob Astor and her maid had been saved,” the newspaper said. “‘But what of father?’ shrieked the boy through the phone and made no effort to choke back his sobs when the faltering reply came that no word had been received of the fate of Col. Astor.” John Jacob Astor, who had valiantly given up a seat in a lifeboat, died on the ship. Madeleine was home in the Fifth Avenue mansion within a few days. The Sun, on April 21, reported on the condition of the pregnant widow. “The nervous condition which caused her friends some alarm on Thursday night has passed almost entirely away and Dr. Reuel B. Kimball, the Force family physician, said that it had not been necessary to give Mrs. Astor a single drop of medicine.” Vincent Astor was visiting his mother on August 14, 1912 when Madeleine gave birth in the Astor mansion. The New York Times said “The baby, who will be the sixth to bear the name of the founder of the Astor fortune, and who comes into an estate of $3,000,000, is said to be strong, well formed, and to bear a striking resemblance to his father.” Madeleine and her son lived on in the hulking Fifth Avenue chateau. As the baby grew, his mother found that his expenses were outweighing his income. On June 5, 1915, The Evening World reported “Three-year-old John Jacob Astor, posthumous son of Col. John Jacob Astor, who lost his life on the Titanic, is having a difficult time, his mother, Mrs. Madeleine Talmadge Force Astor says, in getting along on the allowance of $20,000 a year which Surrogate Cohalan instructed her to spend on him.” The boy’s annual allowance would amount to just under half a million today. But by the same time the following year, Madeleine and little John Jacob Astor would be packing their bags. In June 1916 she married William K. Dick, a friend since childhood and a millionaire in his own right. At 28 he was just four years older than Madeleine. The Washington Times reported on June 18, 1916 “By her marriage Mrs. Astor will relinquish possession of the Astor mansion at the northeast corner of Fifth avenue and Sixty-fifth street, as well as the income on $5,000,000 which Colonel Astor set aside for her in his will, to be held as long as she should remain single. These will revert to William Vincent Astor, Colonel Astor’s son by his first marriage to which the bulk of the $87,000,000 estate was left.” Young Vincent Astor was now married to the former Helen Dinsmore Huntington and the couple now were the sole residents of 840 Fifth Avenue. The new Mrs. Astor was active in social causes and entertainments in the mansion would be far different from those hosted by Caroline Astor or her son. Guests entered through what the American Art Association termed "superb bronze gates" catalog of the sale of the Astor Mansion (copyright expired On November 16, 1916 The Evening World opined “The first dinner ever given by Mrs. Vincent Astor in the home at No. 840 Fifth Avenue, which for several generations has housed the head of the house of Astor in America, was not, in the narrow meaning of the phrase, a social function. Yet it had a wider social significance than any entertainment ever given in the famous mansion.” Helen invited 100 men and women “who work for the ideals of the National Americanization Committee.” The group “aims to teach new citizens the English language, to impress upon them the value of American citizenship, loyalty to the flag, to make them Americans in spirit as well as in fact, and to bring about friendlier relations between employers and their employees.” The newspaper was impressed with Helen’s active stance on social causes. “Youngest of all the Astor hostesses, Mrs. Vincent Astor has already shown herself to be a woman of serious thought and purpose. She belongs to the new order of society girl, whose conception of life is that of service.” Helen’s socially-focused entertainments—which would have been so alien to Caroline Schermerhorn Astor—included meetings of the League of Foreign Born Citizens, a Herbert Hoover campaign meeting for women voters in May 1920; and, in February that year, a meeting of the Maternity Centre Association. Governor Smith spoke at that meeting which drew “a large and fashionable crowd,” according to The Sun on February 26. Less than 30 years after the bronze gates to the Astor mansion were first thrown open, its impending demolition was announced. On April 13, 1924 The New York Times wrote “Vincent Astor’s home at 840 Fifth Avenue is to be replaced by a twelve-story apartment house. The announcement marks a period in the history of Fifth Avenue. Here at 840 Vincent Astor’s grandmother, Mrs. William Astor, completed the decades of rule over New York society which made her to the entire world simply Mrs. Astor—the Mrs. Astor.” “The house contains the Astor art collection, one of the most famous private collections in the world, consisting of many noted paintings, tapestries, bronzes, and works in marble,” said The New York Times a year later as plans for its demolition were cemented. “In the main ball room, now devoted chiefly to the art collection, there hangs a picture of the dowager Mrs. Astor. Mrs. Astor used to stand under this painting and receive.” The great house, once the “social centre of the city” as described by The New York Times, was opened to the public on April 20 and 21, 1926 as the American Art Association, Inc. auctioned off everything. Not only were the bronzes, paintings, antique furniture, carpets and tapestries sold; so too were Mrs. Astor’s silver and china and the very architectural elements. Included in the auction catalog were “carved wood wall paneling, painted insets and ceilings.” In the place of the massive French chateau rose the Temple Emanu-El designed by Robert D. Kohn. photo by Jim Henderson

See the lost homes of New York’s great families, from the Astors to the Vanderbilts.

Grand mansions were built along New York's Upper West Side from the Revolutionary era through the Gilded Age.

Take a stroll back to the late 1800s and early 1900s to see some of the grand homes and New York mansions that lined Fifth Avenue.

In 1889 millionaire Collis P. Huntington purchased six adjoining lots on the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street for his s...

In 1889 millionaire Collis P. Huntington purchased six adjoining lots on the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street for his second wife Arabella and commissioned architect George B. Post to build a large residence in which he could house his large collection of antiques. Huntington new what he was doing when he purchased these lots from editor Robert Bonner because the surrounding area was becoming highly fashionable, prominent residences were popping up all over the place. For example catercorner the lot was the large mansion of Cornelius Vanderbilt II, across the street was the mansion of Hermann Oelrich and sideways was the mansion of Harry Payne Whitney. Soon after they hired Post he declined on the grounds that what Arabella wanted was to large so they went to Richard Morris Hunt who declined as well saying that they should give Post another chance, finally his plans were accepted and soon was finished in 1891. The house when completed in 1891 The interiors were said to have been poorly done and it a shame that Hunt did not have a hand in it. It was so bad that writer James Maher described it as "a wayward railroad station". The plan is awkward especially the cellar plan with rooms all jumbled together. But nevertheless the Huntingtons moved in and resided there but gave rarely any parties for even though their house was large it wasn't enough to get them in society so the atmosphere tended to be very quiet. The first floor contained a large great hall that housed the art collection, a dining room, salon, reception room and library that was in a separate wing of the house. Entrance Corridor Salon Great Hall Great Hall Skylight The Grand Staircase The Dining Room In 1900 Huntington died, leaving some $15 million of his $50 million to Arabella and the Fifth Avenue mansion while some $25 million was left to his nephew Henry E. Huntington. Arabella started buying major amounts of artwork with the large fortune she had been left and filled the Fifth Avenue mansion with artwork that was much more better and extremely more expensive than what she had bought before. Arabella became so enraptured with art that she even bought a hotel in Paris just to fill it with her artwork. In 1913 Arabella shocked everyone by marrying Henry, which reunited the Huntington fortune. Henry was know as a big spender and built a huge estate in San Marino, California to entice Arabella to move out west. She rarely went out there and only to oversee construction, she much more liked to live in New York and Paris and never visited the house. Arabella spent most of her time in the New York Mansion while Henry lived in California. By 1920 they were practically separated. Meanwhile commercial invasion continued in New York. By 1923 nearly every residential property surrounding the mansion had been demolished except for The Three residences behind Arabella, the two middle ones belonging to William Waldorf the end one belonging to H. Storr Wells The Cornelius Vanderbilt II mansion now occupied by his widow Alice And the Hermann Oelrich mansion which was now a bank. Sadly, though, in 1924 Arabella died in the mansion on September 14. Three years lather the mansion was demolished and replaced with Tiffany & Co. and New York City lost another one of it's Gilded Age mansions. *Note all photos of the interior come from American Architect and Building the rest come from the Museum of the City of New York

During the 1920s, humorist Rube Goldberg wrote a gag piece in the "The New Yorker" about a tourist who comes to New York. Everywhere he turns - from the docks to the Ritz, from Wall Street to a first night on Broadway - he keeps running into Otto Kahn. When Kahn finally appears on stage at two in the morning playing drums at a Harlem after hours club, the visitor loses his mind and is carted off to Bellevue. Yes, the great financier and patron of the arts, Otto Kahn (1867-1934), was the inspiration for Parker Brothers' Mr. Monopoly. Here he is in recognizable mode, tossing greenbacks. Kahn made a fortune as a partner in Kuhn Loeb, the great underwriter of American railroads, absorbed by Lehman Brothers in 1977. Kuhn Loeb in its day was second only to the House of Morgan, but no one was second to Otto Kahn as an investment banker of skill and imagination, a bon vivant of legendary charm, and an influential patron of the arts. Kahn gave millions to the Metropolitan Opera, despite a management loath to let him buy a box because he was Jewish. (When they finally did, he refused to use it, lending it instead to important visitors). He cultivated, subsidized and/or enjoyed close personal relationships with Nijinski, Stanislavski, Toscanini, Caruso, Pavlova, not to mention Isadora Duncan, Max Reinhardt, Paul Robeson, Will Rogers, the Moscow Art Theatre and Charlie Chaplin, to name only a few. Wags of the period said he wouldn't rest until he met every important person on earth. Kahn was the beau ideal of the cultivated, cosmopolitan New York millionaire of the 1920s - immaculately dressed, immensely rich, irresistably charming, seemingly ubiquitous and profoundly influential. In 1933, Senator Ferdinand Pecora, lead counsel of the U.S. Senate hearings on the causes of the Great Depression, wrote of him, "No suaver, more fluent, and more diplomatic advocate could be conceived. If anyone could succeed in presenting the customs and functions of the private bankers in a favorable and prepossessing light, it was he." Here he is playing golf, or perhaps simply posing, possibly at a club somewhere, but more likely on the links of his private golf course at Cold Spring, Long Island. And here is the house that was attached to that course. It is called "Oheka," the name being a conjunction of Otto Herbert Kahn. Perhaps Kahn himself gave it that unsophisticated name, although absent a dependable citation I tend to doubt it. (The place is called 'Oheka Castle' today). Kahn bought the estate's original 443 acres in 1919, having soured on country living in elite Morristown, New Jersey. Upon his marriage to Addie Wolff, her father, Kuhn Loeb partner Abraham Wolff, had given the newlyweds a house there called Cedar Court. In one attempt to conciliate tiresomely chilly - read that, "anti-Semitic" - Morristown society, Kahn gave the local field club a swath of land located between his house and the club. The management was sufficiently shamed into belatedly offering him a membership, in the wake of which an ungracious club member observed that Kahn "at least had the good taste not to use it." Kahn loved his 109,000 square foot Long Island mansion, designed by Delano and Aldrich, albeit not with their usual light touch. It was the only millionaire's estate in the direct line of the Northern State Parkway to escape the earth movers, thanks to a secret contribution to one of Robert Moses' pet funds. Kahn's wife Addie, shown here in high Gilded Age feather, was a cultured product of New York's so-called "Our Crowd." She was mostly in the background during her husband's flamboyant career, devoting herself to children, charities and the acquisition of a significant art collection. The spouses of the Kahn children speak in a way to the experience of their parents. Maud married Sir John Marriott; Margaret (Nin) married John Barry Ryan; Gilbert married Elizabeth Whelan; and Roger married Hannah Williams. Kahn's city house on Fifth Avenue and 91st Street was the largest private house in Manhattan. He bought the land in 1914 from Andrew Carnegie, who lived across the street. The Kahn house is attributed to architects J. Armstrong Stenhouse and C.P.H. Gilbert. Every big old house fan knows Gilbert, whose great mansions, built for vanished heavyweights with names like Woolworth, Bache and Converse, still hunker down on the Upper East Side. Nobody, including myself and even google, seems to know much about Stenhouse. The Landmarks plaque on the wall says the house was "modeled" after the Palazzo della Cancelleria in Rome. There's a house up here in Millbrook called Migdale, which local lore insists is a "copy" of Andrew Carnegie's Skibo Castle in Scotland. In truth, no two houses could look more dissimilar. In the case of the Kahn house and the Roman palace there is clearly a resemblance - in detail and composition, if not in scale and massing. An unknown architect designed the Cancelleria for a Roman cardinal who, it is said, won the funds to build it in a single night of gambling. Our cardinals apparently had different obsessions back then. Construction started in 1486 and took almost 30 years to complete. The Cancelleria is the earliest Renaissance palace in Rome. I was invited last week on a private tour of the Kahn house by its owner, the Convent of the Sacred Heart. Otto Kahn had lived here less than sixteen years when he died of a massive heart attack in 1934. His widow sold it almost immediately to the Convent, which has operated the house as a school for girls ever since. The scaffolding that obscured it on the day of my visit is part of ongoing roof repairs. The Carnegie house across the street, more correctly called the Smithsonian Cooper Hewitt National Design Museum, is also having work done. The big difference between Kahns's and Carnegie's houses is not visible from the street. The beautiful interiors at Kahn's are virtually intact. At Carnegie's, save for a few rooms on the main floor, the heart of the place has been literally ripped out. I've wanted to see the inside of 1 East 91st St. for years, but have had neither a child in the school, nor a reason to hire one of its grand rooms as a venue. So here I go. The luxurious vehicular entrance on 91st Street allowed visitors to arrive with dignity, even in a downpour. Interestingly, the apartment house at the other end of the block has a similar entrance on 92nd St. The George Fuller Company, which built 1107 Fifth Avenue in 1925, designed that drive-in especially for E.F. Hutton. In exchange for allowing the demolition of his house on the site, Hutton got an enormous triplex at the top of the new building, connected to a Kahn-like drive-in at street level. Among the many things I like about this front door is the peep hole - just like my apartment. Here's the entrance hall, front door on the left, Jesus welcoming us on the right, a miscellaneous clutter of desks and chairs, plants and rugs, lending an air of friendly democracy. There is an elevator, of course, whose original hand painted cab is protected by sheets of lucite. How delicious that it is still here. Why take the elevator when you can ascend to the piano nobile on this stair? A vast, dark paneled dining room, currently used as a chapel, is off limits to photographers. After a quick peek, we continued into the original drawing room, located on the Fifth Avenue corner of the building. Presently in use as one of two rooms housing the school library, its brilliant original decoration is amazingly intact. This enclosed spiral staircase leads to Kahn's bedroom on the floor above. I don't know whether or not he shared it with his wife, although in an establishment of this scale, and in this period, I think it unlikely. Otto Kahn was famous for mistresses and party nights at his suite at the Ritz. It seems unlikely he would bother to sneak anybody up to his room via this staircase, although that has been suggested. The book stacks, modern tables and overhead lighting obscure the architectural grandeur of the library pictured below. The fireplace may no longer be functioning and the upholstered pieces and old masters of the Kahn days long gone, but the room remains blessedly intact. The door on the balcony also opens onto the private stair to Kahn's bedroom. Here again it's obvious that if one simply looks beyond the superimposed distractions of institutional use, Kahn's bedroom is completely intact. The headboard would have gone where that projection screen is today, facing the fireplace in the middle of the opposite wall. Beyond the windows you can just make out the Carnegie house on the other side of 91st Street. The ballroom, rechristened the Music Room, is used for school assemblies, theatricals, and as a venue for private functions. There was a time when big old houses were sold complete with sconces, chandeliers and often a good deal of original furniture, all of which was once considered to be of little or no value. That's hardly the case today. Fireplaces, paneling and sometimes even stair rails don't always make it to modern day closings. Sacred Heart's seventy-eight years of uninterrupted ownership has fortunately left in situ much that might otherwise have disappeared. As if opera and railroad reorganization weren't time consuming enough, Kahn was enamored of Hollywood as well, and deeply involved with Paramount Pictures. Here he is posing with Douglas Fairbanks and Charlie Chaplin. I assume they're posing since Chaplin probably didn't walk around like that all the time. Kahn invested in Broadway too, famously putting $10,000 into "Lady Be Good" after he heard Gershwin play "The Man I Love." He quipped at the time that he preferred investing in artistic projects with no chance of making a profit. "Lady Be Good," to his surprise, yielded a whopping return. Here he is with Enrico Caruso. Ever the music lover, Kahn reportedly once told New York City's mayor that putting a piano in every house would do more to reduce crime than having a cop on every block. The main stair rises from a landing outside the ballroom. That's yours truly resting in the middle. If there's one thing missing in the Kahn house, it's the original bathrooms. I know nobody mourns these things except me. To my eye, however, they are often as visually interesting and, in a way, even as grand as major public rooms. Too bad institutional use always dooms them. The bathrooms may be gone, but the servants' staircase and elevator are very much in existence, complete with a fabulous original copper elevator cab. The only other "below stairs" survivor I saw was this fragment of pantry cabinetwork adjacent to the dining room. It looks deceptively modern and nobody loves it much, but I'm pretty sure it's original to the house. Two floors of finely proportioned bedrooms, designed for luxury and privacy, have escaped the institutional gutting that has ruined the upper floors of the Carnegie house across the street. The original floor plan remains intact, and the preserved spaces function perfectly as classrooms and offices. Since no one has seen fit to rip down the walls, the original finishes - box locks, overdoors, fireplaces, moldings, etc., etc. - are all still here. "The pen is mightier the the sword" - an appropriate motif in a mansion converted to a school There are terraces on the roof, out of bounds last week due to the construction, and a grand central courtyard, which was getting pretty dark by the time I got there. My last stop was a small - well, small by Kahn standards - office or reception room on the first floor. Beyond the foyer was a pleasant room, against whose western wall sat the great man's desk. My guide told me it was there because no one had ever been able to get it out the door. True or not, I'm glad it's survived. Groucho Marx knew Otto Kahn too. In fact, Roscoe W. Chandler, the millionaire mark in "Animal Crackers" was a parody of Kahn, who in real life was a constant target of petitions for money. In a speech at the University of Wisconsin, Marx recalled, "I knew a fellow named Otto Kahn. His close friend was Marshall P.Wilder, who was a hunchback. One day they passed a synagogue on Fifth Avenue and Kahn turned to Wilder and said, 'You know, I used to be a Jew.' 'Really?' said Wilder. 'I used to be a hunchback.'" Otto Kahn is buried in St. John's Episcopal Cemetery in Cold Spring Harbor, Long Island.

***Click HERE to view the introduction to this book.*** ***Photos and text from Mr. Vanderbilt's House and Collection, descri...

Architecture Magazine, 1901 (copyright expired) At the turn of the 20th century Frank Winfield Woolworth had come a long way from his ...

This massive mega mansion on 65th street fifth avenue was the New York City mansion of Caroline Astor and her son John, the richest man on the Titanic. This mansion was really a double mansion divided in half, Mrs. Astor lived in the left side and John and his family lived in the right side, the ballroom at the rear was shared. The Astors were a very wealthy family of slumlords, whose fortune came from the family's many land holdings and real estate properties, in fact the family at one point owned 29% of New York City. The Astor family fortune enabled them to live in luxurious mansions, eat of off of gold plated china, drive around in expensive Rolls Royce limousines and be attended to by a fleet of servants. Mrs. Astor, whose husband William was once the head of the family until he died, was the Queen of New York City society, the famous "400" as they were called, and also had homes in Newport,Paris and on the Hudson. Mrs. Astor had originally lived in a brownstone mansion at 34th street, but conflicts with her nephew William Waldorf, caused him to tear downs his father's mansion next door and build the Walorf Hotel. The noise and trafic caused by the hotel forced her to move to another location, she picked a lot on 65th street she owned and tore down her brownstone and had built a competing hotel (now the site of the Empire State Building). She hired architect Richard Morris Hunt to design the Mansion in the french style for her and her son on a 100 by 100 foot lot. 5th Avenue Elevation Plumbing in the basement Fifth Avenue Front Rear View Angle View Entrance Main Hall Main Hall Light Fixtures Stair Hall (one of two ) Stair Hall Chandelier Mrs. Astor's Drawing Room John's Drawing Room State Dining Room Library Morning Room Ballroom/Art Gallery Corner View and Musician's Balcony Fireplace Detail After Mrs. Astor died John had the double mansion converted into one large mansion. He had the dividing wall removed and also removed the double staircases, in the place he added a large great hall with a smaller staircase in the rear of the home. Also changed in the Astor Mansion was his dining room, which became the library, his drawing room, which stayed , his and his mom's reception room, opened up to create a large vestibule and his mother's drawing room, which became the morning room. After John went down on the Titanic his second wife Madeleine moved in on the terms that if she remarried she would have to give up the mansions and millions she inherited. Madeleine did many major renovations including turning the Guest room on the second floor into her bedroom and completely tearing out all of the guest rooms on that side and turning them into a private bathroom, dressing room, walk in closet and glass domed boudoir. Later on Madeleine remarried and the mansion went to John's son Vincent. Vincent and his wife preferred their Long Island estate to Newport and sold the Astor family estate "Beechwood" in Newport for $30,000 and also sold the Astor estate "Ferncliff" on the Hudson for $20,000. Vincent also wanted a smaller New York City residence and sold the Astor Mansion to developers for $130,000. The salon, library and all of the painting in the ballroom where bought by the Ringling Brothers Museum. Today a Temple stands on the spot where Mrs. Astor had received the famous "400". * Note Photos of Musician's balcony in ballroom came from Half Pudding Half Sauce Blog *Note Photos of the Main Hal and Library came from Mansions of The Gilded Age Blog

Original George Gould Townhouse in the late 1880s The second George Gould Townhouse designed by Horace Trumbauer in 1906, which replaced the previous one which had become out of fashion and too small. This house later became the home of Alice Vanderbilt after downsizing from her enormous townhouse at 57th street, which is now the site of the Bergdorf Goodman department store. It is rather ironic that while Alice never welcomed the Goulds into her home, eventually ended up living in theirs. The Gould town house lasted till the late 1950's being replaced by the apartment building called 857 Fifth Avenue. George Gould was the son of Jay Gould, the Railroad Tycoon and an arch enemy of Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt. The Commodre's grandchildren, after winning over New York Society, prevented Jay Gould's children from getting into the inner sanctums of Mrs. Astor's 400, due to Jay Gould's rivalry with the Commodore. Jay Gould's Fifth Avenue townhouse was at 47th street. His country house was Lyndhurst in Tarrytown, New York. George Gould also had a great estate at Lakewood New Jersey called " Georgian Court", which is now Georgian Court University. Another son Howard Gould, built Castle Gould/ Hempstead House in Sand's Point, New York on the Long Island sound. Hempstead House as it is now known, was sold to the Guggenheim Family shortly after Gould completed it and remained in the Guggenheim family for many years, before it became the Sand's Point Preserve and is open to the public. To read more about the George Gould townhouse and for interiors and floor plans get Michael Kathrens wonderful book, " Great Houses of New York, Acanthus Press.

When millionaire art collector Henry Osborne Havemeyer died, he left not only a spectacular fortune of almost $30 million to his wife, Louisine Elder Havemeyer, but also a sumptuous, art-filled mansion, facing the Central Park. Louisine also inherited the nearby stables, which they had shared with Col. Payne and their Long Island estate. Mrs. Havemeyer Was Instantly Turned Into One Of The City's Wealthiest Women Upon The Death Of Her Husband Mrs. Havemeyer's Imposing New York City Mansion Was Filled With Her And Her Husband's Large Art Collection The Stables That Were Shared With Col. Payne Were Quickly Turned Into Garages To House Mrs. Havemeyer's Fleet Of Rolls Royce The Havemeyer mansion sat on one of the most valuable plots of land in the city. The area surrounding the mansion soon became occupied by large, imposing townhouses, designed in all sorts of styles and periods. Next door the dingy brownstone that had occupied the lot made way for the grand residence of Mrs. Parsons. Mrs. Parsons's Marble Residence Was Surprisingly Modern Compared To The Other Townhouses That Surrounded It Next to Mrs. Parsons the residence of R. Livingston Beeckman had risen and on the other side of the Havemeyer mansion, down the avenue, had risen the palace of Mrs. Astor and her son John, along with the residence of William Watts Sherman. Soon The Avenues Surrounding Mrs. Havemeyer Were Filled Fine Townhouses And Grand Mansions, Occupied By The City's Wealthiest People Mrs. Havemeyer continued to use her husband's fortune to support several of the causes her husband had supported, such as the Republican Party and Trinity Church, and would regularly give away around $1 million a year. The interiors of her New York City mansion would regularly be host to numerous fundraisers and charity balls, sometimes raising up to $80,000 in one night. The Drawing Room Of The Havemeyer Mansion Was Often Used To Hold Fundraisers And Charity Dinners While Mrs. Havemeyer was busy raising money and hosting fundraisers, the world around her and her house was changing. By the 1920's The great mansions that had lined the avenue surrounding the Havemeyer mansion were now being replaced with massive skyscrapers and tower-like apartment buildings. When The Massive Apartment Tower Rose Across The Street From Mrs. Havemeyer, The Surrounding Residents Got Their First Taste Of Commercial Invasion With rising taxes putting an end to many of New York City's great homes, Mrs. Havemeyer and a few others stayed on. Thanks to Mr. Havemeyer's fortune, Mrs. Havemeyer was able to still afford her New York City home and live in the same kind of luxury she always had lived. The Beeckman Mansion (Now Occupied By Mrs. Henry White), Parsons Mansion And The Havemeyer Mansion Were The Only One Left On Their Block Skyscrapers Were Starting To Replace The Grand Townhouse Along Fifth Avenue And Many New Yorkers Traded Their Townhouses For Apartments When Mrs. Havemeyer died in 1927, The New Yorkers who were still clinging to their townhouses knew exactly what would happen to the Havemeyer Mansion. Apparently Mrs. Havemeyer knew too, because in her will she had the house scrapped of all of it's decorative features and donated them to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She left an estate of $9 million, small compared to the fortune she had been left by her husband, but she had given many gifts in her lifetime and had still continued to donate and spend around $1 million a year, even with taxes on her mansion rising to $100,000 a year. She left $1 million to her children and another million to various charities. She donated most of the mansion's furniture to museums and the art collection went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Havemeyer Mansion Was Quickly Torn Down, Along With The Parsons Mansion And Replaced With Another Vulgar Skyscraper The Only One That Remains Is The Former R. Livingston Beeckman Mansion, Now The Mission of Serbia

A delightful juliette balcony clings to the bowed bay. Opened in October 1864, The Sheltering Arms received homeless children between 6 and 12 years old. The older children were trained to make their way in the world as servants or by crafts like woodworking. By the 1890's William M. Kingsland was its president. In its October 1897 Annual Report the orphanage noted that "A delightful excitement was caused in September by the gift of one hundred dollars from Mr. and Mrs. William M. Kingsland to celebrate their Golden Wedding. First a feast of ice cream and cake was in order on the 16th, the wedding-day itself; afterwards each family of children made an excursion, the destination whereof was left to their own choice." The $100 gesture was, of course, not the only celebration for the wealthy couple's 50th anniversary; yet there seems to have been no lavish entertainment. While they summered in Newport or in their country estates (Belaire was outside of Lenox, Massachusetts, and Incleuberg was near Scarborough-on-the-Hudson, New York), spent months abroad and hobnobbed with the socially elite; they apparently led relatively quiet lives. Mary J. Macy was the daughter of William H. Macy, the president of the Leather Manufacturers' National bank and vice-president of the United States Trust Company. Her husband's ancestors had arrived from England around 1665. His uncle, Ambrose C. Kingsland, had been mayor of New York City from 1851 to 1853, and was a partner with William's father, Daniel C. Kingsland, in the importing firm of D. A. Kingsland & Co. (later D. A. Kingsland & Sutton). The company did "a large business with England, china and the East Indies, the firm's vessels being constantly employed between those countries and the United States," according to the Portrait Gallery of the Chamber of Commerce years later, in 1890. William M. Kingsland was a trustee of the Seamen's Bank and the Leather Manufacturers' Savings Bank. His social position and interests were reflected in his memberships, including the Metropolitan, Union and Knollwood Clubs, the New York Yacht Club and the St. Augustine Yacht Clubs, the Ardsley Club and the Newport Casino. He was also a member of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the New York Botanical Gardens, the American Geographical Society and the St. Nicolas Society. The Kingslands lived at No. 116 Fifth Avenue at the corner of 17th Street, in what for decades had been one of Manhattan's most exclusive neighborhoods. The mansion had been in the Kingsland family since 1848. But as the turn of the century arrived, commerce was infiltrating the blocks of brownstone and brick mansions, prompting moneyed families to move further north. In June 1902 speculator Benjamin W. Williams purchased the two empty lots at Nos. 1026 and 1027 Fifth Avenue from John W. Simpson. He commissioned the architectural firm of Van Vleck & Goldsmith to design two Beaux Arts-style mansions on the plots. Completed in 1903, they formed a striking ensemble with the other residences on the block, especially the Jonathan Thorne mansion on the northern corner, at No. 1028, designed by C. P. H. Gilbert and constructed concurrently. No. 1026 (right) was the stepsister of sorts to the marble-fronted No. 1027. With the Thorne mansion (left) which faced the side street., the homes formed a striking grouping. Viewed separately, No. 1026 presented a majestic bearing. Faced in limestone, it featured a two-story bowed bay that sprouted a charming cast iron balcony. Three tightly-grouped dormers punched through the copper-clad mansard. But Williams had focused more money and attention on its sister house. No. 1027 was faced in white marble and at 40-feet was wider by about four feet. The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide called No. 1027 "the finest dwelling house ever erected in this city." All this, coupled with the Financial Panic of 1903, caused No. 1026 to sit vacant for nearly three years. Finally, on February 7, 1906, it was announced that the Kingsland had purchased the mansion. The Record & Guide quoted the sale price at $510,000," or about $14.3 million today. The couple sold No. 116 on February 21 and moved into their sumptuous new home. William would not enjoy it for long. Three months later, on May 30, he died at Incleuberg at the age of 86. His funeral was held at St. Mary's Chapel in Scarsborough, New York, three days later. Kingsland's death resulted in a feeding frenzy of relatives. When his father died in 1873, he left his $3 million estate to William "for his lifetime." Now that that lifetime was over, "his will was declared invalid," according to the New-York Tribune. A court battle ensued that dragged on until January 21, 1910. The following day the New-York Tribune reported "There will be divided at once among 147 beneficiaries $2,000,000." Mary, it explained, "inherits no part of the estate outright, but throughout her life will receive an income of $8,000 a year." The yearly stipend, worth about $213,000 today, added to Mary's own fortune and the substantial inheritance she had received from William directly. Like her husband, Mary held memberships in exclusive organizations. She belonged to the Colonial Dames and the Mayflower Descendants' Club, for instance. While the aging widow continued her philanthropic activities, she lived quietly within the 32 rooms and 9 baths of the spacious Fifth Avenue mansion. She continued to spend her summers at her country estates. It was at Belair on August 10, 1919 that Mary died at the age of 91. Her friendly relationship with her next door neighbor, George C. Clark at No. 1027, was evidenced in his being named the executor of her estate. But when he died on February 24, just six months before Mary, turmoil ensued. Mary's estate was valued at just under $10.6 million. The Sun reported on November 25 "Soon after her death last August certain cousins filed objections to her will." While Mary had named "relatives, friends and old family retainers" in the will, she had overlooked two grand-nephews, Oliver J. Macy and T. Ridgeway Macy. They alleged that they "are entitled to a share in the estate." Even while the estate was tied up in court, an attempt was made to sell mansion directly. The price was $10,000 less than the Kingslands had originally paid. New York Herald, March 14, 1920 (copyright expired) The battle was finally settled in July 1922, with the disgruntled nephews unsuccessful. The original bequests went to specifically-named relatives, and large amounts went to institutions like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the New York Association for the Blind, and the Society for the Relief of Ruptured and Crippled. Interestingly, The Evening World pointed out that "The furnishings of Mrs. Kingsland's home at No. 1026 Fifth Avenue were valued at $52,741"--more than three quarters of a million dollars today. In the meantime, in order to liquidate the estate's assets the Fifth Avenue mansion was sold at auction on June 17, 1920. While the heirs hoped to realize half a million dollars, it sold for what was most likely a disappointing $351,000. The buyer, Dunlevy Milbank, was a member of the law firm Masten & Nichols. The son of Joseph and Ella Dunlevy Milbank, his family's fortune came from railroads and the dairy industry (his grandfather was a founder of the Borden company), and from banking. Dunlevy was a chief supporter of the Children's Aid Society. His wife, the former Katherine Fowler, was a patron of the musical arts and a benefactor of young working women. Prior to moving into No. 1026, the family had lived at No. 39 East 68th Street, a wedding president from Katharine's parents in 1876. The couple had two children, Thomas and Ella. Many of the entertainments in the Milbank house centered around music. On November 26, 1922, for instance, The New York Herald reported that Katharine would be hosting the a "lecture-recital, 'La Musique Russe'" given by Jeanne de Mare in the house the following Tuesday. The vocalist was back three years later. On November 16, 1924 The New York Times reported "The first of a series of lecture musicals now being arrange for the Winter will be held early in January at the home of Mrs. Dunlevy Milbank, who has just returned to 1,026 Fifth Avenue, after having spent most of the Summer at Ridgelands, her country place at Port Chester. Jeanne de Mare will speak on modernist music." When The People's Chorus of New York was organized in 1927, Katharine became its first chairman. The organization provided vocal training for the poor. She was a supporter of the summer outdoor Stadium Concerts, as well. But music would take backstage to debutante entertainments in the winter season of 1931-32. Ella had attended the exclusive Chapin School in New York City and the Ethel Walker School in Simsbury, Connecticut, before spending a year in Paris studying sculpture. Among her coming out fetes was a dinner dance at the Ritz-Carlton. The demolition of No. 1025 Fifth Avenue revealed the depth of the Kingsland mansion. Ella slipped into hostess mode along with her mother. On December 2, 1937 she opened the mansion for a tea for "a large group of the season's debutantes." Ella was chairman of the debutante committee for the annual December Ball at the Ritz-Carlton and her guests would be assisting in the arrangement for the event. The heiress and her mother had other things on their mind at the time. On December 14 Ella's engagement to William Ward Foshay was announced. The wedding took place in the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas on Fifth Avenue at 48th Street on February 24, 1938. Katharine's entertainments continued to surround music. In December 1938 she hosted a reception and tea for Metropolitan Opera soprano Muriel Dickson. In 1926, six years after the Milbanks purchased No. 1026, the former Thorne mansion was sold to the newly-founded Marymount School of New York. In 1935 the institution purchased No. 1027. Dunlevy and Katharine lived on at No. 1026 until 1950, when they, too, sold to the Marymount School. Interestingly, they moved back to No. 39 East 68th Street where they had started out their married lives. Dunlevy died in 1959 and Katharine in April 1967 at the age of 82. As the Fifth Avenue palaces fell to be replaced by modern apartment buildings, the Marymount School properties survived as a stunning slice of Gilded Age New York. photographs by the author

photo by Alice Lum In 1904 Julius Forstmann arrived in the United States from Germany with plans to set up a woolen mill. The 33-year old German established the Forstmann-Huffmann Woolen Mills of Passaic, New Jersey and before long was one of the leading figures in the industry. And one of the wealthiest. Problems came as war clouds formed over Europe. Forstmann supplied woolen goods to Germany, which ended up in the construction of German Army uniforms. With the U.S. entry into the war in 1917, Forstmann’s plant was seized by the Alien Property Custodian and he was subpoenaed to appear before Deputy Attorney General Alfred L. Becker on April 2, 1918. In his strong German accent, Forstmann declared himself “a loyal citizen of the United States” and denied any “German taint.” Julius Forstmann was cleared of any suspicion of anti-American conduct and eventually regained control of his mills. With the end of the war, things settled back to normal for Forstmann, whose fortune was growing daily. In 1922 he commissioned the famed mansion architect Charles P. H. Gilbert to design an imposing townhouse at 22 East 71st Street where millionaires like Robert Chesebrough (the inventor of Vaseline) had already settled. Although other wealthy New Yorkers were trending towards neo-Georgian or Regency homes in the early 20’s, Forstmann nudged Gilbert back to the tried-and-true Italian Renaissance style that was all the rage at the turn of the century. For the double-wide lot, Gilbert produced a distinctive 25-room, limestone-fronted mansion, completed in 1923. Five stories high over an American basement, it rose to a mansard roof pierced by arched dormers. The house that cost Forstmann $700,000 spoke silently of refinement and taste. Guests entered through a dramatic arched entrance way, nearly a story-and-a-half tall into an spacious foyer and reception hall of polished stone floors under a coffered ceiling. A sweeping staircase with an ornate bronze railing flowed along one wall. It was a house that a century later the AIA Guide to New York City would call “contented, self-satisfied.” Julius Forstmann's limosine waits outside No. 22 East 71st Street -- photo Museum of the City of New York collection Although rarely remembered today, Julius Forstmann was at the time one of the wealthiest men in the country. In 1929 he contracted for the construction of the largest yacht in the world, the 333-foot diesel-powered Orion. The ship was built at the Krupp shipyards in Germany and required a crew of over fifty men. To celebrate her launch, the Forstmanns took the Orion on at 30,000-mile cruise around the world in 1930. The Great Depression, it seems, had little effect on the Forstmann’s lifestyle. photo trulia.com Julius Forstmann’s health declined in the second half of the 1930’s and on October 27, 1939, he died at the age of 68 in his bedroom at No. 22 East 71st Street. Forstmann left a fortune of $50 million. The Forstmann reception hall was impressive, if not "warm" -- photo trulia.com Three years later the Forstmann heirs sold the house in a cash deal. The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New York hired architect Robert J. Reiley to convert the mansion into a convent and the Catholic Center for the Blind. The modeling and booking agency, IMG, took over the space for a short time before it was purchased in 2004 real estate developer Aby Rosen for $15.65 million. Within only a few months, the high-end art dealers, Salander-O’Reilly Galleries, signed a 10-year lease on the 22,000 square foot mansion for an unrealistic rent of $1.8 million a year. In lieu of a security deposit, Lawrence B. Salander handed over an Edouard Manet painting, “La Femme aux Chiens.” photo by Alice Lum By the Fall of 2007 it was obvious that the gallery could not make it and the firm filed for bankruptcy. A few months later the Forstmann house was on the market for $75 million. The Manet, by the way, was returned to Salander so it could be sold to pay back the nearly $1 million in back rent. Two years later Julius Forstmann’s elegant limestone home still sat unsold. Rosen reduced the price in 2010 to $59 million, and again in 2011 to $50 million. The house served as the setting of Cromwell’s Auctioneers and Appraisers, where Hugh Grant’s character, Michael Felgate, worked in the 1999 film “Mickey Blue Eyes.” It sits regally and patiently waiting for a new owner, a grand slice of the privileged life during the 1920’s.

The Astor mansion at 65th Street and Fifth Avenue, circa 1900. Designed by society's famed architect, Richard Morris Hunt, who had designed many a mansion for the Vanderbilt family, the mansion was built by the John Jacob Astor IV, the Astor family playboy, for him and his mother, Caroline, the self-appointed queen of New York society and known to everyone as simply, THE Mrs. Astor. Mrs. Astor had originally reigned at a four-bay brownstone on 34th Street ~ currently today the present site of the Empire State Building. Due to a social fued between herself and her nephew, William Waldorf Astor, the neighboring townhouse at 34th Street, owned by her nephew, was demolished and replaced with a 13-story hotel, named, interestingly enough, "The Waldorf Hotel". All the dirt, dust, noise and traffic the hotel brought forced Queen Caroline to move from her home of 40 years. Replacing her home, a 17-story hotel built by son John, named rightfully, "The Astoria". Despite the family's feud, business, was, after all, business, so the two fueding cousins decided to merge the two hotels to form the "Waldorf~Astoria", New York City's most luxurious hotel. Carolus Duran's famed portrait of Caroline Astor, which she regally greeted guests in Front of. It now hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Ar. Circa 1890's. Mrs. Astor made sure her new home would be the epitome of luxury. She and her son asked Hunt to create matching residences for them both, exact duplicates. The mansion, on the outside, would appear to be one palatial fortress, on the inside would be two matching residences facing each other, one for the queen, the other for her son and his family. Connecting the two residences was a sumptuous ballroom, which also housed Mrs. Astor's expansive collection of European art. Both homes would rise to a towering five-stories. Mrs. Astor filled her side(the left) of the mansion with the finest French antiques, many of which had come from her brownstone at 34th Street. Dominating her reception room was Carolus Duran's portrait of herself, which she greeted guests in front of. Wearing her signature diamond stomacher, her 200-stone diamond necklace and her diamond star-shaped tiara, she held the most lavish parties of the season, including her annual Patriarch's Ball, which officially opened the New York social season. Her ballroom, capable of holding 1,200 guests, 800 more than her famous '400'. The Ballroom/Art Gallery in the Astor mansion at 65th Street. Circa, 1902. The dining room in the Astor mansion at 65th Street. Circa 1908. The stair hall in the Astor mansion at 65th Street. Circa 1908. The mansion underwent massive renovations carried out by her son, after her death, to transform the home into a single residence. The partition wall was removed and the two staircases were replaced with one, baronial bronze great hall. Rooms were taken out and moved. Walls and floors were ripped apart and replaced. Furniture was sold and bought. Bedrooms were torn apart to make bigger ones. Fixtures were replaced. Moldings were updated. The only room not to be touched, save replacing the furniture, was the now out-dated ballroom, which it was said John kept as a tribute to his mother. The home was completely transformed. The Great Hall in the renovated Astor mansion at 65th Street. Circa 1912. After a mere 33 years in the Astor family, the mansion was sold by Caroline's grandson, Vincent, in 1926 for around $1 million. Had her son John not died in the sinking of the Titanic in 1912, it is likely the home would have survived much longer than it did. The wrecking ball finally put an end to Mrs. Astor's 5th Avenue palace, 18 years after her death, to be replaced by the Temple Emanu-El.

The free-standing mansion boasted a private piazza to the side. photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City ...

In the first years of the 20th century, the Flagler mansion (far left) sat next door to an elegant clubhouse -- NYPL Collection By 1882, Cleveland-based oil tycoons Henry M. Flagler and John D. Rockefeller were spending more and more time in New York City. The Standard Oil Corporation was the leader in the American oil refining field. Within three years the firm’s headquarters would move to New York and in preparation Henry Flagler scouted out a home for his family. The Fifth Avenue neighborhood just north of St. Patrick’s Cathedral already boasted brownstone mansions and in 1882 Flagler bought the house at 685 Fifth Avenue. Like Rockefeller, he preferred a comparatively unassuming brownstone to the more opulent mansions making appearances along the avenue. Located at the southeast corner of 54th Street it was four stories tall, including the handsome mansard roof, and stretched a luxurious 30 feet wide. Sitting squarely in what would become Rockefeller and Flagler family territory, the mansion announced Flagler’s financial and social position. Flagler’s move to New York coincided with a turbulent time in his life. A year earlier his wife, Mary Harkness Flagler, had died. As her health had failed, Flagler began a romantic interest in Mary’s caregiver, Ida Alice Shourds, and in 1883 the couple married. It began the end of his interest in New York and the Fifth Avenue mansion. Following the wedding Henry and Alice traveled to Saint Augustine, Florida. While the city and the area were delightful, the accommodations were not. Flagler offered to buy millionaire Franklin W. Smith’s newly-completed Villa Zorayda—a Moorish-inspired mansion—for his honeymoon. Smith refused and Flagler walked away with the realization that there was untapped financial potential in Florida real estate. Although he held his seat on the Board of Directors of Standard Oil, Flagler set off for Saint Augustine in 1885 to begin construction of the 540-room Ponce de Leon Hotel. And in order to ensure guests could reach his new venture, he bought up railroads—the beginning of the Florida East Coast Railway. Henry M. Flagler -- NYPL Collection Because Henry and his wife spent the bulk of their time in Florida, the mansion on Fifth Avenue required little full-time household staff. Flagler hired an outside cleaning firm to handle tasks normally done by uniformed maids. In 1890 James E. Garner, the proprietor of Manhattan House Cleaning, noted in his advertisement in Lain’s Business Directory that “the exquisitely furnished house of Mrs. Flagler, 685 Fifth Avenue" was among "the many buildings and dwellings I have cleaned." While his father was building hotels and railroads, Harry Harkness Flagler remained in New York. More interested in a gentleman’s lifestyle than one of a businessman, Henry had left Columbia University in 1893 after three years. Shortly afterward his engagement to Annie Louise Lamont, who lived nearby at 555 Fifth Avenue, was announced. Annie was one of two daughters of Charles A. Lamont “who left a fortune of several million dollars to his wife and two daughters,” according to The New York Times. The pair was married in the Madison Avenue Baptist Church on April 25,. 1894. Published accounts of the wedding do not mention that Harry’s father or stepmother attended the ceremony. Relations between the father and his only son had already been strained. Marrying a beautiful young woman with a fortune was, perhaps, not a bad idea for the younger Harry. The Flaglers had not yet abandoned Fifth Avenue and New York altogether. On October 6, 1894, The New York Times noted that “Mr. and Mrs. Henry M. Flagler are at their home, 685 Fifth Avenue, having closed their cottage at Mamaroneck-on-the-Sound.” The tensions between father and son boiled over in 1897. Flagler had his wife committed as mentally incapacitated that year. Soon after he used his influence to have insanity added to state law as grounds for divorce in Florida. A divorce was granted in August 1901 and ten days later Flagler married Mary Lily Kenan, reportedly the niece of his doctor. The bride was about 40 years younger than the 67 year old groom. The New York Times said, quite frankly, “When the statute under which the divorce was granted was, as a bill, introduced in the Florida Legislature, it was charged that it was drawn solely in the interest of Henry M. Flagler so as to permit him to cast off the insane wife and wed a younger woman.” It was the last straw in a series of events that infuriated the tycoon’s son. Harry Harkness Flagler vowed never to speak to his father thereafter. Even while the domestic drama was brewing, it seemed in March 1900 that perhaps Henry M. Flagler was renewing his interest in New York. The New York Times noted that he bought the country estate of J. T. Tower at Millbrook, New York “consisting of a mansion and a tract of about eighty acres.” Two weeks later that illusion was dashed. On April 14 the newspaper reported that “Henry M. Flagler, according to a report current yesterday, has sold his house 685 Fifth Avenue, southeast corner of Fifty-fourth Street. Mr. Flagler, it is said, will in the future spend very little time in this city—only a few weeks out of the year—and has on this account deemed it advisable to dispose of his home.” The comparatively staid Flagler house on the corner stood in start contrast to the opulent Criterion Club next door. photograph "Both Sides of Fifth Avenue" J. F. L. Collins, 1911 (copyright expired) The mogul’s separation from the city was underscored on October 9 when The New York Times reported that “Henry M. Flagler, the New York millionaire who has opened up the east coast of Florida by dotting it with hotels and by building a railroad system connecting all of the principal towns and orange shipping points, has announced his citizenship in Florida…He arrived from the East yesterday, and will in the future spend the greater part of his time in the State.” The Fifth Avenue house was purchased by a Flagler relative, Charles W. Harkness, for $300,000 – about $7 million today. By now Manhattan was dotted with mansions built by Standard Oil money—two Rockefeller mansions on West 54th Street and the William Rockefeller mansion at 689 Fifth Avenue; the residences of William and Edward Harkness; and Henry H. Flager's home on Park Avenue. A near tragedy occurred on January 24, 1909 after Charles Harkness was dropped off at home of his brother, Edward, at Fifth Avenue and 75th Street. His chauffeur, Barth Anderson, apparently took the opportunity to go to his home at 257 West 129th Street. At the corner of Seventh Avenue and 129th Street, the limousine struck 8-year old Theresa Jaeger. Although, after examination by a doctor, the little girl was deemed “not mortally injured” and was taken home, The New York Times took advantage of the opportunity to run the headline “Machine Owned by Standard Oil Man Runs Down Eight-Year-Old Girl.” Charles Harkness died on May 1, 1916, and a year later the house was acquired by millionaire lawyer Samuel Untermyer. The New York Times noted that “Mr. Untermyer owns 'Graystone,’ the palatial estate in Yonkers, which was formerly the home of Samuel J. Tilden.” Although the Fifth Avenue neighborhood was becoming increasingly commercial, Untermyer lived on in the outdated brownstone mansion for years--despite repeated rumors that it would be demolished. On October 1, 1924, The New York Times reported that “the city home of Samuel Untermyer” had been leased to the No. 685 Fifth Avenue Corporation “as a site for a business building.” Samuel Untermyer was quick to refute the article. In a letter to the editor published two days later, the attorney said called the details of the article “new to me,” and protested “I herewith request that you give equal prominence to this denial of that alleged transaction.” Finally, in 1926 Untermyer gave in. He leased the land to the Midi Realty Corporation for 21 years with three renewals. Before the end of the year a renovation by the architectural firm of Cohen & Siegel resulted in the parlor floor becoming a “restaurant with dancing.” Kitchens were in the basement and all floors above were deemed by the Department of Buildings “not to be used.” A 17-story building (left) replaced the Flagler mansion -- NYPL Collection Empty floors and a restaurant in a building sitting on valuable Midtown real estate made no financial sense. Within two years the Flagler mansion was gone, replaced by a 17-story office building that included a magnificent two-story penthouse. The building survives today with a substantially-altered base. photo - cpcexecutive.com

When the mansion was completed in 1903 it was flanked by private, brick carriage houses. They would not survive long. Architectural Record June 1903 (copyright expired) When 21-year old Harley T. Procter entered his father’s soap-making firm, Procter & Gamble, in 1868 he had big ideas. William Procter and James Gamble had founded the Cincinnati firm in 1837. In 1863 Gamble’s son, James Norris Gamble, developed an inexpensive bar soap little different from scores of soaps on the market—except his floated. Some attribute this to his unintentionally whipping the ingredients too long, infusing the bars with extra air bubbles. As it turned out, women liked the floating soap which was easier to find in the dirty, soapy water. Nevertheless, when Harley Procter came on as sales manager, the company was still a small, local operation with just three salesmen. He instituted gutsy advertising techniques that would make Procter & Gamble a national name. In 1869 Procter & Gamble’s entire advertising budget was $3,000 and relied mainly on “calling card” advertising. Harley T. Procter would eventually move to full page, colored advertisements for its floating “P&G White Soap.” And then on a Sunday in 1879, he listened to the passage from Psalms 45:8, “All their garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces whereby they have made thee glad.” The term “ivory” struck Procter as implying refinement. He renamed the bar “Ivory Soap,” personally designed the paper wrapper, and patented the notched bar. Harley T. Procter’s advertising brilliance garnered him a huge personal fortune. Like other Ohio millionaires—the Rockefellers and Flaglers, for instance—Procter and his family spent more and more time on the East Coast where high society thrived. They spent their summers in leased estates in Lenox and Newport, and in 1896 purchased a five-story mansion at No. 21 East 80th Street. In October 1899 the full block of property from Fifth to Madison Avenue, between 51st and 52nd Street, became available as the Catholic Orphan Asylum prepared to move to Fordham Heights. Wealthy property owners, most notably the various Vanderbilts, briefly panicked in fear of commercial buildings or hotels invading the mansions district. But developers who managed to acquire plots were quickly bought out. Instead limestone and marble mansions soon began rising. Although Harley T. Procter, who still listed his permanent address in Cincinnati, had a home in a very fashionable neighborhood off Central Park, he joined the mansion-building frenzy thirty blocks to the south. On September 23, 1900 The New York Times reported that he had purchased property at the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue, “including five lots on the avenue and two on the street.” The article added “The plot is now being excavated preparatory to the erection of a new house by Mr. Procter.” The millionaire soap maker apparently was not done with his building plans. Almost simultaneously he bought the two brownstone houses on the opposite side of 52nd Street, facing the Asylum block. He set architect Donn Barber to work designing a double-wide mansion on that site, plans for which were filed in January 1901. Even while Procter was busy with his sudden burst of real estate and construction projects, his humanitarian side appeared as well. He read in the newspapers of a 28-year old Seventh Regiment sergeant killed by a violent gang of strikers at the Croton Dam on April 16, 1900. He immediately wrote a letter to the editor of The New York Times which read in part, “The noble ending of the life of Sergt. Robert Douglass in defending the liberty of others in their right to work has aroused my sympathy for the wife and two children who have been deprived of his care and support.” Procter enclosed a check for $100; a generous gift equal to about $3,000 in 2016. The double house at Nos. 15-17 East 52nd Street was completed in 1903 and the Procter family moved in. The $100,000 Beaux Arts mansion competed with its Fifth Avenue neighbors. Donn Barber had included all the frothy ornamentation of the Belle Epoque, including a high mansard with round windows and overblown dormers, multiple stone balconies with French-style iron railings, and a profusion of ornate carvings. It bubbled over like a sudsy bar of Ivory Soap. The Architectural Record was offended by the excess. “The Fifty-second Street house is Manhattanese French of the most extreme and offensive type—the kind of French which by its exaggerations and its florid detail helps to bring into disrepute the whole French tendency in American design.” Harley T. Procter might have been reading the architectural critiques. That same year, on February 1, 1903, The Times reported that he had bought the brick carriage house next door, at No. 11 East 52nd Street. He immediately commissioned the architectural firm of Trowbridge & Livingston to design a toned-down French Gothic mansion on that plot. The newer house, half the width, was substantially toned-down. photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York The Procter family was becoming permanently rooted in New York. The year that they moved into the 52nd Street mansion, Harley Procter scouted property on Staten Island for a new, spacious Procter & Gamble soap plant. And he continued to enjoy the life of an East Coast millionaire. On August 15, 1903 American Gardening noted that he “has taken the famous garden estate of ‘Shadowbrook,’ at Lenox, recently occupied by A. P. Stokes, but which was closed down a short time ago.” Now securely ensconced near Vanderbilt Row, Procter sold the 80th Street house in 1905. In only a few years he would probably regret the decision. Despite every effort, the mansion district in the 50s was doomed and already commercial buildings were inching their way up Fifth and Madison Avenues. But in the meantime, lavish entertainments were held in the 52nd Street house, and the Procter and his wife, the former Mary E. Sanford, enjoyed the lifestyles of Manhattan millionaires. When son William married Emily Pearson Bodstein on February 3, 1910, it was in fashionable Grace Church. And as the Coaching Parade in Lenox neared later that summer, The New York Times reported “Harley T. Procter has been out this week with his famous bays on a coach, perfecting the horses for road work and trying out his various hitches for the coaching parade.” By now the Procters had moved next door to No. 11. Harley Procter put No. 15-17 on the market in 1908 when they moved out, for $525,000. When it did not sell, he leased the mansion, as he did his other properties on the block. The house at No. 11 featured interesting windows that pushed open from the bottom. photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York On December 6, 1911 the Procters announced the engagement of their son Rodney to Beatrice M. Sterling. Two months later The American Contractor reported that Procter had brought Donn Barber back to do $50,000 in renovations to No. 15-17 East 52nd Street. But modernizing the house—less than a decade old—could not lure a buyer, nor stop the invasion of commerce. In January 1912 Procter leased the house to “Thurn,” a society dressmaker who had been located on Fifth Avenue at 38th Street for two decades. The 21-year lease, for a total of $500,000, reflected the high-end business and wealthy clientele. It would translate to about $49,000 per month today. The Times noted that Sidone Thurn would make “extensive renovations.” Harley T. Procter photo Advertising Hall of Fame In 1916 Harley Procter finally sold the mansion. Robert E. Simon renewed Thurn’s lease and the dressmaker would continue to cater to New York’s wealthiest socialites here for decades. Socialites gathered at Thurn on the afternoon of Wednesday, December 18, 1918 for a benefit “musicale and fashion fete” to aid L’Union Des Arts. Thurn’s fashion show, which included “special importations from Paris,” was highlighted by music by Metropolitan Opera stars May Peterson and Robert Couzinou; and the Societe des Instruments Anciens. The announcement made special note of “Jewels by Cartier.” The Sun noted on the morning of the event “Among those interested are Mrs. Henry P. Davison, Mrs. Whitney Warren, Mrs. Charles B. Alexander, Mrs. Henry D. Whiton, Mrs. Lydig Hoyt, Mrs. Otto Kahn, Mrs. Walter Maynard and Mrs. Ogden Reid.” Early on the morning of May 15, 1920, Harley T. Procter died of diabetes at No. 11 East 52nd Street at the age of 73. Of his $3.6 million estate, Mary received $1.5 million; sons William and Rodney, both of whom lived on Park Avenue, and married daughter Lillie who lived in Greenwich, Connecticut, each received about $650,000. Despite the changing neighborhood, Mary continued to reside at No. 11 for several years. In 1933, in the darkest days of the Great Depression, Thurn’s lease next door expired and the long-term tenant moved out. The mansion, a relic of more elegant times, sat vacant for four years. Then, on August 11, 1937 The Times reported that it had been sold by the Bowery Savings Bank “to an investor.” The newspaper announced that it “will be replaced with a two-story building containing stores and showrooms.” In 1938 the little building, designed by A. Goldhammer, was completed and became home to the high-end restaurant Henri. The eatery was a well-known spot in Midtown until 1951 when the structure was razed. It was replaced by an annex to Warren & Wetmore's 1926 now-named Omni Berkshire Place Hotel. photo by Richard Johnson

The Apthorpe[1] or Apthorp mansion (both names are in common use – the family vault uses Apthorp) carved its place in American history early in the Revolutionary War. In the estate’s elaborat…

If you're a regular reader of Big Old Houses (and I sincerely hope that you are), you'll immediately recognize Lyndhurst (seen above), the astonishing "American Gothic" castle located in Tarrytown, New York, completed in its present condition in 1865. The celebrated (by architectural historians, anyway) Alexander Jackson Davis designed it, but it is better known for the villainous Wall Street manipulator who bought it in 1880, Jay Gould. After Mr. Gould's death in 1892, first his daughter Helen, and then her younger sister Anna (who became the Duchess of Talleyrand-Perigord) continued to own the house until 1961. That's the duchess, clutching her little dog after a prudent departure from Paris on the eve of the Second World War. Here's the girls' brother, George Jay Gould, virtuoso of the "wrong step" in everything from business to marriage to real estate. Frank Crowninshield's amusing 1908 book, "Manners for the Metropolis," warns social aspirants (tongue in cheek, OK?) to beware a certain category of acquaintances who are, as he puts it, "on the green, but not dead to the hole." That was George Gould, all right, and you could say the same about his spectacular house, Georgian Court, whose gates and garden facade are illustrated below. It's in Lakewood, New Jersey, a fleetingly fashionable resort deserted by society types with (as we say in real estate) rockets on their butts many (many) years ago. Both Lyndhurst and Georgian Court have been explored in depth in earlier columns. The topic of today's post is: Where are the people who owned them today? The answer is Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx, the greatest necropolis in America and (maybe) in the world. Three hundred thousand people, among them "Le tous" New York Society, share 400 acres of rolling hills, shimmering lawns, specimen trees and, in certain swankier districts, a stunning total of 1,271 private mausoleums, ranging in design from the merely expensive to the historically important. Woodlawn was founded in late 1863, the first "loved one" lowered into the earth in January of 1865. It caught fire with the plutocracy after the 1884 construction of the Gould family mausoleum, designed by one Hamilin French, an architect of whom I've never heard. Funny isn't it? Although loathed by the general public, the construction of Gould's mausoleum ignited a fashion for the cemetery. (Maybe understandable, if you think about it). The weeping beech beside the mausoleum is now bigger than the building itself. I wanted to go inside, but the key didn't work. Also at Woodlawn are former owners of another of my big old houses, Belcourt in Newport, R.I. They are Oliver Hazard Perry Belmont, charming son of Rothschild represent August Belmont, and his redoubtable wife, Alva. Mrs. B was many things - builder of palaces from Fifth Avenue to Newport, brave divorcee (from W.K. Vanderbilt, at a time when divorce was social suicide), braver champion of women's rights, and the mother who forced her daughter to marry the Duke of Marlborough. Her reasons for the latter were actually quite sound but, as all of us must learn (hopefully sooner than later), we must let our children make their own mistakes. Richard Morris Hunt, who designed 660 Fifth Avenue and Marble House in Newport for Alva, also designed Belcourt for her husband in 1894, before the Belmonts' marriage. Their mausoleum at Woodlawn is an immodest miniaturization of the chapel of St. Hubert in Amboise, France, designed by Hunt's sons in 1908. Alva Belmont, erudite student of Gothic art and a great one for fitting out her many houses with Gothic Rooms, was clearly the guiding hand behind Hunt and Hunt's design. Some years ago, a clever Woodlawn intern announced that the praying figure above the front door was actually Mr. Belmont. The story has currency to this day. Had that intern also been clever enough to look at pictures of Mr. Belmont, he would have realized the statue looks nothing like him. Considering Alva's mad preoccupation with Gothic accuracy, it might well depict some actual historical character from the middle ages. But her husband, it ain't. Here are Jonathan and Harriet Thorne, presently horizontal residents of Woodlawn, but formerly builders of another subject of my column, 1028 Fifth Avenue. The Thorne family has a railed plot, as opposed to a mausoleum, and within it rest numerous generations with room for numerous more. I'm assuming Mrs. Thorne is in here somewhere, but I forgot to look for her. (I'm bad). There are two main entrances to Woodlawn. This one is on Jerome Avenue, a little south of East 233rd Street, practically facing the last station on the #4 train. Yes, you can take the subway to Woodlawn. The second entrance is on the opposite side of the cemetery, at the corner of 233rd Street and Webster Avenue, across from the Woodlawn stop on Metro North. Proximity to the railroad (tracks were laid in 1865) vaulted Woodlawn over its great competitor, Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn. You could take a train to the former from 42nd and Park, as opposed to fighting downtown traffic and taking a ferry across the river to the latter. After 1871 you could even rent a special Woodlawn car at Grand Central, to whisk loved one and mourners alike directly to the Webster Avenue gate. Very early on, in 1867, Woodlawn adopted the so-called "landscape-lawn" plan which, the Thorne plot notwithstanding, substituted circular plots and a serpentine road plan for the usual right-angled geometry and abundant fencing of most cemeteries to that date. Woodlawn was - and still is - a for-profit undertaking, continued improvements to which included a fashionable replacement of the Jerome Avenue gate in 1915. You might think of Woodlawn as a sort of enormous coop, whose Cemetery Corporation owns the land and collects a form of maintenance from individual Cemetery Association members, each of whom who can build whatever he wants on his designated plot. In 2011 Woodlawn became a National Historic Landmark. So far none of the major mausoleum owners has attempted any architectural bollixing, and let's hope none does. You could loop around this place for hours, in part because roads followed in one direction look completely different when followed in another. Plus which, it's typical to admire some stunning vista of weeping angels, towering obelisks, specimen trees, etc., etc. without realizing you've already looked at it from three other angles. I will spare you Woodlawn's list of important architects and sculptors, which you probably wouldn't remember, and limit myself instead to a short "statue tour." Not every business heavyweight or society leader was buried so magnificently. Birdie (Mrs. Graham Fair) Vanderbilt, owner of the beautiful French mansion at 60 East 93rd Street seen below (one of my BOH favorites), rests beneath a comparatively simple bench. Society leader Percy Rivington Pyne, builder of 680 Park Avenue, lies beneath a simple slab in a sort of sacred grove. Part of this simplicity may stem from the fact that Mr. Pyne died 60 days before the stock market crash of 1929, which fact did not deter the powers that be from taxing his estate at its pre-crash value. I wanted to check out three more individuals whose houses appeared on Big Old Houses. We'll take the scenic route to the first. This fierce looking individual was Henry H. Cook, a prototypical Victorian macher who summered at Tanglewood (today's warm weather home of the Boston Pops), and kept a big and not particularly beautiful house on Fifth Avenue and 78th Street. He was the man who developed the famous Cook Block, located between Fifth, Madison, 78th and 79th Streets, whose original restrictive covenants, despite no longer being in force, have managed to preserve the grandest and most intact mansion block on Manhattan. Cook's house was replaced in 1912 by Horace Trumbauer's palace for tobacco baron James B. Duke. William Sloane, of the W. & J. Sloane furniture emporium family, hired society architects Delano & Aldrich to build Merestead in the country and 686 Park Avenue in town. The Sloane family mausoleum looks a sight better indoors than Mr. Cook's. The last (and possibly the richest) of those persons whose houses I've written about, is Standard Oil heir Edward Harkness, seen below with his wife Mary. James Gamble Rogers designed the Harkness house in New York, at 75th and Fifth, as well as the mausoleum below, whose walled garden was designed by Beatrix Farrand. Woodlawn's elaborate funerary architecture was originally complimented by equally elaborate landscaping, much of which has disappeared from lack of maintenance. The Harkness plot is an exception. The people I've written about in Big Old Houses belonged to an important group at Woodlawn, but they constitute a small - if highly visible - fraction of the cemetery's total number of "loved ones." Somewhere on these 400 acres is an example of pretty much every style of monument you can think of, sitting on top of a whole lot of people you've heard of, and a whole of others you haven't. Did you know that Herman Melville is buried at Woodlawn? So is Thomas Nast, Joseph Pulitzer, Irving Berlin, Admiral Farragut, Fiorello LaGuardia, Robert Moses, Duke Ellington and the Queen of Salsa, Celia Cruz. The biggest private plot covers six and a half acres; the smallest accommodates a simple slab with enough room to walk around it. Some people, like Col. William Boyce Thompson who, together with the staircase in his beautiful Yonkers mansion is illustrated below, built a mausoleum, had a change of heart, and sold it to someone else. Thompson sold his to a Brooklyn resident named Ernest Arata. For years I've been telling people they'd be amazed by this place. My visit today was a result of a call from Eline Maxwell at the Woodlawn Conservancy, suggesting I write about it for Big Old Houses. Good idea; I'm glad I did.

William H. Vanderbilt's mansion (left) shared an entrance vestibule with the home of daughter Margaret Fitch. Emily Vanderbilt Sloane's home was entered on 52nd Street (right) photo by Wurts Bros. from the collection of the New York Public Library In 1878 the Vanderbilt family was busy changing the face of Fifth Avenue. Cornelius Vanderbilt II began construction of his massive brick and limestone palace at the southwest corner of 57th Street, plans were underway for three mansions for the William Henry Vanderbilt family between 51st and 52nd Streets, and the following year William Kissam Vanderbilt’s wife, Alva, would engage Richard Morris Hunt to start work on the “Petite Chateau” on the northwest corner of 52nd Street. By the turn of the century this section of Fifth Avenue would be familiarly known as “Vanderbilt Row” or, with a touch of sarcasm, “Vanderbilt Alley.” William Henry Vanderbilt’s idea was an interesting one. He would erect three near-matching homes, one for himself and wife Maria Louisa Kissam, and two for his daughters, Margaret and Emily. (Margaret had married Elliott Fitch and Emily was now Mrs. William Douglass Sloane.) John Butler Snook is routinely credited with the design of the harmonious mansions, since his name appeared on the plans filed with the Department of Buildings. He may be getting more credit than is deserved, however. According to author Wayne Craven in his Gilded Mansions: Grand Architecture and High Society, an executive of Herter Brothers complained to the editors of an architectural journal on April 11, 1886 “It is a matter of record…that Herter Brothers were the architects of [Mr. Vanderbilt’s house]…and are the only persons responsible for the designs, both of the exterior and the interior…We might add that of the two gentlemen named by you, Mr. Atwood was employed by our firm at the time as a draughtsman and Mr. Snook by Mr. Vanderbilt as general superintendent.” That argument may never be settled; however two years after construction began, the Triple Palace at Nos. 640 and 642 Fifth Avenue, and No. 2 West 52nd Street, was completed. Vanderbilt had originally envisioned the grand Italian Renaissance palazzos clad in gleaming white marble. In the end, the less glamorous brownstone was used instead. Some historians feel that an aging Vanderbilt changed his mind when he realized that he may not have that many years left to enjoy his house. Using the easily obtainable brownstone would significantly speed the construction process. Art and architecture critic Helen W. Henderson had another opinion. In 1917 she offered that he “stipulated that the material should be white marble, then greatly in vogue; but Vanderbilt owned a quarry of brownstone and the native produce was employed.” More than 600 construction workers and 60 European sculptors and craftsmen had labored on the triple mansion. William’s and Margaret’s homes were entered via a common centered courtyard. Emily’s entrance faced 52nd Street. The daughters’ homes, sharing a plot the same size as their father’s, were necessarily about half the size of their parents’ 58-room house. For occasions of elaborate entertaining, their adjoining mansions were constructed so the drawing rooms could be opened into a single, enormous ballroom. William K. Vanderbilt's "Petite Chateau" can be seen across 52nd Street to the north (right). photo by Byron Co. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQ4RZN1&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915 Unlike William Kissam’s and Cornelius’s chateaus with their towers and turrets and ornamented gables; the houses of the Triple Palace were restrained and dignified in comparison--which is not to say they did not abound with ostentatious decoration. As the mansions neared completion in 1881 Vanderbilt addressed a potential problem. He would have no stumbling of dainty feet on the paving stones as high-class visitors moved from their carriages to the entrance. On August 6 The New York Times reported that “What is claimed to be the largest pavement stone ever quarried in the United States, is now resting upon blocks in front of the main entrance of William H. Vanderbilt’s new house.” The 25 foot, 2 inch long stone was 15 feet wide and 8 inches thick. It weighed over 22 tons. With no seams between his paving stones, Vanderbilt did not have to worry about embarrassing and dangerous tripping. Tucked away on the 51st Street side was Wm. Henry's glass and metal conservatory. photo from the collection of the New York Public Library The families moved into the homes in January 1881; although they would not be totally finished until 1883. Work on furnishing the mansions and completing the ornamental details would go on around the Vanderbilts’ home life. By March 1882 Henry and Louisa felt the mansion was guest-worthy and a housewarming party was held. Two thousand invitations were sent out by liveried messengers. The guests that night entered through the covered double vestibule with its mosaic-encrusted walls and stained glass ceiling. They turned left into William’s doorway and entered interiors intended to astound. Carved woodwork was inlaid with mother-of-pearl ornamentation; the painted ceiling of the 45-foot long dining room was done in Paris by E. V. Luminais; and the Japanese Room was designed by John La Farge. Herter Brothers, the preeminent furniture and decorating firm of the day, was responsible for the interior design throughout, including the custom furniture and built-in cabinetry. photo American Architect & Building News, July 5, 1886 (copyright expired) In December 1883 the art gallery was ready for showing off. Vanderbilt sent out 3,000 invitations to “an art reception” and on December 21 The Times reported that “More than 2,500 gentlemen promenaded the parlors of William H. Vanderbilt’s house.” Considering the large number of visitors and the high value of the bric-a-brac in the mansion, Vanderbilt had a crew of 11 detectives roaming the crowd. It was a good move on the millionaire’s part. “They recognized one man in the crowd whom they knew came without invitation, and he was shown to the door. Early in the evening a few ladies made an attempt to join the company. They were politely ushered out," reported The Times. An orchestra played while the guests rifled through the Vanderbilt treasures, and in the dining room Delmonico “served up a collation.” The Times was a bit astonished at the presumptuous free-wheeling of some art students. “They took down the books from the shelves of the elegant library, poked the blazing logs on the andirons in the private parlors and wandered at will into the richly furnished bed-chambers. They handled rare and costly specimens of china and bric-a-brac with reckless audacity, looked inquisitively over the photographs and visiting cards, and commented on the collection of family relics in the sealed glass case.” Vanderbilt had a printed catalog “bound in old gold” prepared for the event and he personally pointed out to guests whom he personally knew the “gems of art in his picture gallery.” Vanderbilt's massive fortune of $200 million would amount to about $5 billion today photo from the collection of the New York Public Library At the time of the entertainment, Vanderbilt’s health had already begun to fail and was under the care of a physician. “He had no definite conception of what trouble he was suffering from, though his greatest annoyance came from indigestion,” said The New York Times later. On December 8, 1885 Vanderbilt rose as usual, at 7:00. He went about his usual business, including a visit to the studio of sculptor J. Q. A. Ward to sit for a bronze bust. The day continued as normal with Vanderbilt in the best of spirits and seemingly the best of health. At 2:20 that afternoon he said in his private study chatting with Robert Garrett, President of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company. “Mr. Vanderbilt was speaking, when suddenly Mr. Garrett perceived indistinctness in his speech. The next instant the muscles around his mouth began to twitch slightly. Then they were violently convulsed. I another moment the great millionaire’s arms bent under his body, he toppled forward, and pitched headlong toward the floor,” related The Times the following day. “In a moment bells were ringing and feet were flying in every part of the house. The butler, the footman, and the other servants were hastening breathless from the basement. Mrs. Vanderbilt and George W. Vanderbilt, her youngest son, were hurrying, pale with terror, from above. In a minute all were in the study, where Mr. Garrett was bending over his host’s body. The ruddy firelight did not light up the pallid features now. The ghastliness of death was upon them.” Within five minutes of the massive stroke, William Henry Vanderbilt lay dead on his study floor. Cornelius and Frederick sat overnight in Vanderbilt’s bedroom where the “body of William H. Vanderbilt, the richest man in the world…rested all Tuesday night in an ice box in his bedroom, which is the second story front room of the Fifth avenue mansion.” Earlier that day undertaker W. H. Billier fastened rosettes of crepe bearing black silk streamers to the electric bells of the Fifth Avenue and 51st Street entrances. “The white curtains of all the windows were pulled down, forming a striking contrast to the rain-soaked brownstone walls,” commented The Sun the following morning. Among the few admitted to the death chamber other than family members was John Quincy Adams Ward. The sculptor took a cast of Vanderbilt’s face. “He said it was a very successful one, and that with its aid, and with photographs he would be able to complete the bust without difficulty,” said the newspaper. As with all up-to-date mansions of the 1880s, there was an Asian-themed room. In the Vanderbilt house a reeded ceiling and upper walls, Japanese fans and Oriental bric-a-brac created the ambiance. photo from the collection of the Library of Congress. On the morning of December 10, while the pall bearers and close friends of Vanderbilt gathered in the parlors, the family assembled in millionaire’s bedroom for a last look and a brief prayer. Afterward Louisa was assisted to her own suite, too overcome with grief to attend the funeral service at St. Bartholomew’s Church. The streets had been cleared of traffic and after the coffin was closed and placed in the hearse, “the carriages began to fall in line before the door.” The order of the 15 carriages that pulled away from the Vanderbilt mansions was directed by social protocol. “In the carriage first following the hearse were Cornelius Vanderbilt and wife, with George Vanderbilt. In the second carriage rode William K. Vanderbilt and wife. The third vehicle contained J. S. Webb and wife, the fourth Mr. and Mrs W. D. Sloane, and the fifth Mr. and Mrs. Twombly.” And so on. A detachment of 180 policemen kept the crowds around the church at bay. Vanderbilt’s will was read two days later. He had earlier told his family “The care of $200,000,000 is too great a load for any brain or back to bear. It is enough to kill a man. I have no son whom I am willing to afflict with the terrible burden…So when I lay down this heavy responsibility, I want my sons to divide it, and share the worry which it will cost to keep it.” And indeed the will divided Vanderbilt’s massive estate nearly equally among his children. As for Louisa, she got a life interest in the Fifth Avenue mansion and an annuity of $200,000 and $500,000 “for disposal by will.” She remained in the house and “At her death the residence and works of art are to go to George W. Vanderbilt, and at his death to his eldest son, or, should he not have a son, to William H.; or Cornelius, sons of Cornelius, according to their survival.” Vanderbilt was determined that his mansion and its artworks should remain a Vanderbilt house, “it being the purpose of the testator to convey them to a male descendant of the name of Vanderbilt.” As for the other two mansions, “His daughters are given the houses in which they live,” said The New York Times on December 13. In 1894 Munsey's Magazine published a charming illustration of the Vanderbilt homes -- copyright expired. De facto Manhattan royalty, Margaret and Emily entertained lavishly in their abutting mansions. On March 19, 1892 The Times commented on a dinner party hosted by Emily. “One of the most elaborate of the Lenten dinners yet given took place last evening in the oaken dining room of Mrs. Eliott F. Shepard, 2 West Fifty-second Street…In the centre of one [table] was a mound of Madame Cuicine roses, and the embroider of the cloth and the tints of the china and the table settings were pink to match the color of the flowers. A second table was all in yellow, the flowers being daffodils relieved with some lilies of the valley. The third table was decorated in deep red, and the flowers used were the rich red meteor roses. The flowers were from Hodgsons’s conservatories.” As the marriage of William and Alva’s daughter Consuelo to the Duke of Marlborough in November 1895 neared, the Vanderbilt mansions were thrown open to society. On November 6 The Times said “Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s residence at 640 Fifth Avenue was opened yesterday afternoon, as were also the houses of Mr. and Mrs. William Douglass Sloane and Mrs. Elliott F. Shepard in the adjoining building.” The newspaper noted “Mrs. William H. Vanderbilt, the grandmother of the future Duchess of Marlborough, has always made a great pet of Miss Consuelo Vanderbilt, who has also been a favorite with her uncles, aunts, and cousins. All her relatives desire to make her wedding day as bright as possible.” It would be among the last great events that Louisa Vanderbilt would see. Exactly a year later, on November 9, 1896, the Vanderbilt mansion was hung with black crepe. “The residence of Mrs. Vanderbilt, at the corner of Fifty-first Street and Fifth Avenue, where the body lay, was besieged all day yesterday by friends and acquaintances of Mrs. Vanderbilt, but her sons denied themselves to all except close friends,” said The Times that day. As intended by his father, George W. Vanderbilt took over the massive mansion. In the meantime, Margaret shut the doors of No. 642 Fifth Avenue for a long mourning period. It was not until Valentine’s Day 1898 that she began entertaining again. It was a cotillion for the Sloane’s second daughter, Lila. “Mrs. Sloane has only just come out of mourning for the death of her mother, Mrs. William H. Vanderbilt,” remarked The New York Times, “and her function of last night was the first to which she has bidden society for a long time. It was a dinner dance, and the most notable affair of the kind this season.” Eighty “well-known and fashionable people” filed into the mosaic-paved inner court. To ensure that they did not mistakenly turn to George’s mansion, Margaret stationed “a retinue of liveried servants…in the Sloane side of this court.” The Times said they “formed a human path through whose rows of dark plush breeches the prospective revelers might find their way.” Emily’s and Margaret’s drawing rooms were thrown open “and a better ballroom was thus secured than the Sloane picture gallery would have made,” said the newspaper. In 1905 George negotiated a 10-year lease on No. 640 with Henry Frick. According to The New York Times later, Frick “spent thousands of dollars in alterations, eliminating the garden in front and adding a massive entrance.” The steel man paid $100,000 in rent, “making this Vanderbilt house the most costly private residence under lease in the city,” said The Times. Frick could afford the rent. In 1910 he hung Frans Hals’s “Portrait of a Woman” on the wall here. He paid art dealers Knodler & Co. more than $140,000 for it—about $3.3 million by today’s standards. Among Frick's "improvements" was the closing of the open courtyard. By 1923 when this photograph was taken, soaring business buildings were closing in. photo by Byron Company, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWQ4RZN1&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915 By now the grand mansions of this section of Fifth Avenue were being converted for business or simply being razed. When Henry Frick moved into his new white marble mansion further up the avenue, Cornelius III took over No. 640. By 1927, when his father’s massive chateau at 57th Street was demolished, there were no Vanderbilt mansions left on Fifth Avenue other than 640. But Cornelius III and his wife, Grace, stubbornly stayed put. Cornelius, a brigadier general, was highly interested in military matters while Grace focused on entertaining and charity events. Eventually surrounded by business buildings, the couple spurned all offers from developers. And in the meantime, they entertained not only the highest ranks of military and society, but royalty. Cornelius "Neily" Vanderbilt was not only a military officer, but an inventor, yachtsman, inventor and engineer. photo from the Library of Congress In 1919 the house was crowded with European titles and wealthy socialites as Grace gave a reception with music for the Queen of the Belgians. In 1927 it was Prince William of Sweden who was the guest of honor at a reception on January 9. And in 1927 1,000 guests and a “fleet of officers” were entertained in honor of Rear Admiral Charles F. Hughes. Cornelius Vanderbilt III died on March 1, 1942. Although he had sold the Fifth Avenue mansion to William Waldorf Astor estate in 1940, he and Grace remained living there until his death. Now Grace was forced out. She moved into the William Starr Miller house at No. 1048 Fifth Avenue. On November 22, 1945 The New York Times said the mansion “is fast being demolished by wrecking crews preparing for the erection of a commercial building on the site.” Three weeks earlier the house had been opened for a public auction of the rooms and interior decorations. Since then buyers had been removing mirrors, paneled walls, chandeliers, inlaid floors, and mantels. “Paramount Pictures, Inc., paid $3,500 for the carved panels, mirrors and other fixtures of the ballroom, $975 for those of the dining room and $1,250 for those of the study,” reported the newspaper. Within days the last of the great Vanderbilt houses on Vanderbilt Row was gone. photo by the author

Behind the mansion can be seen a portion of the conservatory and the elaborate carriage house. Next door, separated by a private "alley" is the John Sloane house. -- photo Bryon Company from the Collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UP1GH8AN1R&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894 By 1850, 29-year-old year old Josiah M. Fiske had developed a prosperous flour business in Boston. That year, hoping for even greater successes, he moved to New York City and established the firm of Josiah M. Fiske & Co. The flour and grain firm had offices at No. 18 South Street and when Fiske took his brother-in-law, Edward M. Smith as a partner, it became Smith, Fiske & Co. The New York Times would later remark that “its members made large fortunes.” By 1875, Fiske was among the wealthiest of New York’s merchants. At a time when the city’s millionaires were still erecting grand brownstone homes on Fifth Avenue south of 59th Street—the neighborhood known as “Millionaire’s Row”—Josiah Fiske broke ranks. The massive new Lenox Library filled the Fifth Avenue block from 70th to 71st Streets facing Central Park. Fiske purchased the corner lot to the south, at No. 884 Fifth Avenue, and began building. Another Upper Fifth Avenue pioneer, Jabez Bostwick, was simultaneously building his mansion at the corner of 61st Street. The two independent-minded tycoons would now sit in their luxurious mansions and wait for society to come to them—as it eventually would. Fiske’s property stretched 33 feet along 5th Avenue and 175 feet down 70th Street. The completed house was a riot of styles and angles that challenged the viewer’s eye to pause on any particular feature. Venetian-style arches, borrowed from Ruskinian Gothic, coexisted with a mansard roof, a conical-capped open corner turret, and balconies of differing styles. The conservatory shared a rear garden. Behind it all a three-story carriage house was a near doll-house version of the mansion. Fiske and his wife, the former Martha T. Smith, moved in with their staff of servants. Like all socialites, Martha was active in charities and gave of her time and money. Her gifts were both large and, then again, not so great—she annually donated “a box of cut flowers for Christmas” to the New York Society for the Relief of the Ruptured and Crippled. Around 1882 Josiah retired from active business life, although he kept busy with directorships in the American Exchange Bank, the Central Trust Company, the New-York Guarantee and Indemnity Company; and with his memberships in the Union League Club and the New-England Society. The sprawling Lenox Library sits on the opposite side of East 70th Street from the Fiske house (seen at right) -- photo State Historical Society of Colorado In 1886 the Fiskes began construction of their Newport estate, Honeysuckle Lodge, deemed by the New-York Tribune to be a “palatial summer house.” By now, back home in Manhattan, the northward-moving tide of millionaires was arriving. Next door to the Fiskes was the imposing home of John Sloane, separated by a ten-foot private alleyway on the Fiske property. Only the southern corner of the block remained to be developed. With Josiah Fiske’s retirement, Edward Smith was the principal partner. He gave trusted employee George Whitfield Collord additional responsibility. Collord (frustratingly, his name is spelled both “Collord” and “Collard” in newspapers of the time and in documents today) was in his 30s, unmarried, and lived in Brooklyn with his mother and five sisters. It was a lifestyle much different from that at No. 884 Fifth Avenue. In 1891 Josiah Fiske showed symptoms of heart disease, “though he was loath to admit it, his general health being so good,” said The New York Times. A year later, at around 10 a.m. on December 23, 1892 the 70-year old left the Fifth Avenue house with his nephew, William Blodgett. The pair was headed downtown for a directors’ meeting at the American Exchange National Bank. At the bank, Fiske climbed the short flight if iron stairs to the main banking office, then headed toward the office of President Coe in the rear. “As he reached the note teller’s window,” reported The Times the following day, “which is at the foot of four or five stairs leading to the President’s office, he reeled and would have fallen had not his nephew caught him in his arms.” The bank staff assumed that Fiske had simply fainted, however they called for Dr. Symonds of the nearby Equitable Life Insurance Company and for Mrs. Fiske. Symonds arrived within three or four minutes. “An examination of a few seconds told him that Mr. Fiske was dead. He imparted the sad news to those about.” Martha arrived just a few moments after the coroner had left. Friends of the family took care of the grieving widow and attended to the removal of the body to the Fifth Avenue mansion. Martha Fiske stayed on in the hulking house on Fifth Avenue. Her philanthropic nature made her the victim of a swindle in 1897 when she fell for the a con-man’s line. Seventeen-year old Thomas Nolan knocked on the door of 884 Fifth Avenue and explained that he was collecting Christmas money for poor messenger boys. The kindly widow donated $5 (equivalent to $100 in today’s dollars). Before being discovered the teen had collected money from some of the wealthiest families in town, including Mrs. Seth Low, C. P. Huntington, Woodbury G. Langdon and others. Nolan found himself in Yorkville Court on November 30, 1897 and Martha Fiske was out $5.00. On December 11, 1901 a small wedding took place in the parlor of No. 884 Fifth Avenue with only about twenty relatives and intimate friends present. A week later, on December 17, the New-York Tribune wrote “A marriage notice appeared in The Tribune on the following day, but exited no unusual interest until yesterday, when the identity of the contracting parties became known.” The “contracting parties” were Martha T. Fiske and George W. Collord. The Tribune reported “The bride is seventy-three years old, and is reputed to be worth between $2,000,000 and $3,000,000…The bridegroom is fifty-three years old.” With Edward Smith’s death a few years earlier, Collord had become a member of Smith, Fiske & Co. Now the somewhat unlikely newlyweds would make their homes in the Fifth Avenue and Newport mansions. Upscale neighborhoods in New York City were quiet during the summer months. Residents closed their homes and traveled to their summer estates. Even the fashionable churches were closed for three months—there being too few congregants in town to make services worthwhile. It was also an opportune time to have repairs done on the houses, with no one at home to be disturbed by the hammering and sawing. In August 1903, while Martha and George were in Newport, the Fifth Avenue house was surrounded in scaffolding so workmen could repair the stonework. The Sloane house next door was also shuttered while the family was summering at Lenox. Around 3:00 on the afternoon of August 31 a woman noticed a man going up the 35-foot ladder that led to the scaffolding over Martha’s conservatory. Suspicious, she reported the man to Policeman Devine. The policeman enlisted the aid of Detective Devlin who was nearby and the two scaled the ladder. At the top of the scaffolding they noticed that a window of the Sloane house was open. While the patrolman stood watch, Detective Devlin entered the Sloane mansion. In every room the contents of bureau drawers had been dumped on the floor. He quietly moved down the hall until he reached a door slightly ajar. The New-York Tribune reported “Opening it noiselessly, he saw [the thief] bending down over a jewel box. So absorbed was the man in his work that he did not hear the detective enter, and until Devlin pressed a revolver to the burglar’s temple he thought he was alone in the house.” When Gustave Allicker arrived with the policemen at the East 67th Street police station, his pockets were found to be filled with solid silver items including a stamp box, bill clips and a sponge holder. A “burglar protective company” was put on guard at the Fiske house scaffolding. Martha continued her generous philanthropies. Among her gifts were the Fiske Dormitory at Barnard College and $10,000 towards the erection of buildings for the Newport and Army and Navy Young Men’s Christian Association. In 1908 George and Martha chose to spend the winter season abroad, rather than in the Fifth Avenue house. On January 23 she died suddenly while in the Shepheard’s Hotel in Cairo. The 80-year old woman left an estate of several million dollars. About half a million was bequeathed to the Presbyterian Hospital of New York, the New York Hospital of New York, Barnard College, the Newport Hospital and the Cambridge Home for the Aged. The Metropolitan Museum of Art received fifteen paintings in memory of Josiah M. Fiske. “The paintings are generally by well known and popular masters of the last part of the nineteen century,” explained the New-York Tribune. The Newport and Fifth Avenue properties were still owned by the Josiah M. Fiske Estate and with Martha’s passing, were offered for sale. The Newport estate was purchased by T. Suffern Tailer in 1909. On July 13, 1910 The New York Times remarked that “There are two Fifth Avenue houses which have been in the market and are worth the sum mentioned. They are the Josiah M. Fiske house, on the southeast corner of Seventieth Street, and which has been held at $1,000,000, and the Mrs Mary I. Burden house on the southeast corner of Seventy-second Street, worth about the same.” A Victorian confection, the Fiske mansion was decidedly out of style in 1910. The house sat unsold for two years until April 9, 1912 when it was sold at a reduced price of $750,000. The New York Times called it “one of the oldest private houses north of Fifty-ninth Street,” and said “it has been purchased by a prominent western capitalist who intends, it is understood, to improve the corner with a high-class modern residence.” Instead, the western capitalist resold it that very day “to other interests.” In the meantime, George W. Collord had moved to 260 West 73rd Street where he died on March 16, 1914. A month later banker C. Ledyard Blair purchased the old Fiske mansion and immediately demolished it. He contracted architect Thomas Hastings of Carrere & Hastings to design a new residence for the site. As it rose in September 1914 The New-York Tribune called it “a five story dwelling house of marble and limestone façade, relieved by Ionic columns and a balcony.” Blair’s marble mansion lived a shorter life than the brownstone residence of Josiah Fiske. In 1928 it was replaced by a 14-story apartment building designed by Rosario Candela, which survives today. photo http://www.businessinsider.com/most-expensive-homes-sold-in-nyc-2012-2012-12?op=1