Born on September 6, 1850, Harriet Mears Starin came from an old New York family; her ancestors first arriving in America in 1696.  Her father, John Henry Starin, had increased his already substantial fortune by organizing the first railroad agency for shipping freight, and establishing the Starin Line, a fleet of steamboats for the same purpose.  He purchased Glen Island in the Long Island Sound as the the family's summer estate; but then in 1890 with "a lavish expenditure of money," he transformed it to a pleasure resort.  The family mansion became its clubhouse.

Harriet married James Dyckman Spraker on December 14, 1870.  He ran a wholesale grocery business at No. 93 West Street, the success of which was reflected in his memberships in the Manhattan Club and New York Athletic Club.  The couple had three children, Laura Belle, Marguerite, and John Starin.  By 1888 they were living in an upscale home at No. 62 West 45th Street.

Laura Belle married the well-known journalist A. B. de Guerville in 1896.  The following year John Dyckman Spraker died.   With her significant inheritance, Harriet and her two teen-aged children (Marguerite was 19 and John was 17-years-old) continued to live comfortably in the 45th Street house.

Harriet's financial lot was increased through another misfortune  On March 22, 1909 her father died.  She inherited $10,000 outright (each of the children received $5,000); half interest in Starin Place, a 144-acre country estate in Fultonville, New York which she shared equally with her sister; and one-third of the balance of the estate, after bequests to charities.

Included in that "balance" was Glen Island.  On January 25, 1910 The Sun reported that Harriet, her sister Caroline and Caroline's husband had sold the property for about $600,000--in the neighborhood of $16 million today.  Three weeks later the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide noted that Mrs. Hugh Gordon Miller had sold the four-story brownstone residence at No 14 East 73rd Street.  The unnamed buyer was Harriet Spraker.

She hired architect William A. Boring to remodel the out-of-date house into a modern residence.  His plans filed on March 18, called for front and rear extensions, new interior walls, and windows cut into the facade at a cost of $40,000.   Boring apparently left at least one of the original walls standing, because Department of Buildings documents still record the construction an "alteration."  But the result was arguably a new building.

Completed within the year, the limestone-faced mansion was now five stories tall.  Boring's restrained Beaux Arts design forewent the gushing ornamentation of some other homes in popular style, opting instead for quiet elegance.  A few steps above the sidewalk the centered double-doored entrance sat within a delicate carved frame.  Above the service entrance to the left was a handsome panel depicting an urn of flowers.

The close groupings of three openings at the second and third floors were fronted by dainty French grills.  A stone balcony with iron railings ran the width of the fourth floor windows which were united by a carved frieze and cornice.  Foliate-carved panels flanked the top floor openings, under a stone bracketed cornice.


The interior woodwork was fabricated by Theodore Hofstatter & Co., which may have also been responsible for some of the furnishings.  Like the similar firms of W. & J. Sloane & Co. and Herter Brothers, Theodore Hofstatter & Co. sometimes provided complete rooms--woodwork (like paneling, bookcases and even staircases), textiles and custom-made furniture.

Before ground had been broken John Starin Spraker married Helen Morgan Newcomb.  The wedding took place on January 20, 1910.   When the newlyweds returned from their honeymoon, they moved into the 73rd Street mansion with Harriet and Marguerite.

Some things apparently did not satisfy Harried in her new home.  In July 1911, only months after she moved in, the well-known architect John H. Duncan filed plans for "general alterations" costing $2000.

Harriet circulated in society.  Both she and her son were members of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and her name appeared in the social columns.  But interestingly, her entertainments never seem to have been held in the 73rd Street mansion.  The dinners and luncheons she hosted were held in fashionable restaurants like Delmonico's; and even when she gave a luncheon for Laura Bell on August 8, 1922, it was held at Sherry's.

It was Marguerite who finally had people in; but that was not until nearly two decades after the house was completed.  Still unmarried, she hosted a dinner here on February 27, 1931.  The New York Times reported that she would "afterward take her guests to the Pierre for supper and dancing."  One wonders if Harriet was displeased at the domestic upheaval; because that was the only mention of an entertainment in the residence by newspapers.

John and Helen acquired their own country residence at Ardsley-on-Hudson; while his mother and sister continued to summer at Starin Place in Fultonville.  The women traveled there the last week of May 1933 to spend the summer.   Harriet, who had been in ill health for some time, died there on June 3 at the age of 83.

Interestingly, John and Marguerite left their home of two decades.  On December 3, 1934 The New York Times reported that they and Laura Belle had leased the mansion to William Kerrigan.  They continued to lease it until January 1943 when "an investor" bought it.  It was the end of the line for the mansion as a private home.

In 1945 renovations were completed that resulted in one apartment on the ground floor and two each above.  The grand double-doored entrance was closed off and a window inserted for the apartment.  A subsequent alteration in 1986 divided the ground floor into one apartment and a doctor's office, and joined the second and third floors as a duplex apartment.

In 1994 the newly-formed Simon Dickinson, Inc. gallery moved into the fourth floor.  Operated by Ian G. Kennedy and Simon Dickinson, both long-time executives at Christie's Fine Art Auctioneers, it specialized in old masters.  By 2004 the Salmon Lilian Gallery was here.

While some of Boring's interior details survive...

like this lonely but wonderful mantel on an upper floor...

most have been scrapped.  photos via streeteasy.com

Despite the abuse at ground level, the exterior of Harriet Spraker's mansion still exudes its 1910 elegance.  Inside is a different story.

photographs by the author

photo by Beyond My Ken

Born in Germany in 1849, Philip Braender arrived in the United States as a teenager just after the end of the Civil War.  He began his career as a "mason builder" in 1871, but quickly moved into real estate development.  From 1877 to about 1892 Braender focused on erecting apartments, most of them for the German immigrant community.  The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide later remarked "there is scarcely a block between 63d and 125th street which does not contain evidence of his workmanship, in the shape of five-story flats."

During the last decade of the century he had branched out into other areas of the city.  In November 1907 he purchased the three five-story buildings at the southwest corner of East 4th Street, and the two smaller buildings on the side street.  It was a corner that had seen tremendous change.  Around 1843 the upscale Waverly House hotel opened on the site, amidst the mansions of some of Manhattan's wealthiest citizens (Cornelius Vanderbilt erected his 40-foot wide home at No. 10 Washington Place nearby in 1846).

The posh hotel sat in a quiet residential neighborhood.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York

But the second half of the 19th century brought commerce.  The mansions disappeared, to be replaced by businesses, as did the Waverly House.  Now Philip Braender had grander plans for the corner.

On January 8, 1908 The American Architect and Building News reported that architect William C. Frohne was "preparing plans for a sixteen-story loft building."  The estimated cost, said the article, was $1 million; more than 27 times that much today.

Later that year the Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide added "The three lower stories will contain stores and have elaborate show windows.  The upper exterior will be of light brick and terra cotta, with copper trimmings."  Frohme had included all the latest amenities:  "electric elevators, high-pressure heating, and an electric power plant."  (An independent generator was a near-necessity at a time when power from outside companies was not always dependable.)

Frohne released this rendering in July 1908.  Note the elaborate cornice crowned with torches.  Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide, August 1, 1908 (copyright expired)

The soaring structure was completed before the year's end.  It was originally to be called the Braender Building; but during construction the name was changed to the Merchants' Building as evidenced in a carved cartouche above the Broadway entrance.

Each of the rusticated limestone piers sat on polished granite bases.  The cast iron show window enframements took the form of bundled sheaves.  Above the third floor cornice stern-faced owns raised their wings to uphold a decorative stone band carved to mimic the cast iron bundles around the storefronts.  The band reappeared above the 13th floor.  Fearsome lions' heads took the place of owls on the 14th floor.  Far from street level, they were executed in less expensive terra cotta, along with the banded and fluted columns of the 15th and 16th floors, which incorporated female faces into their Corinthian capitals.

photo by Phyllis Winchester

But the most striking element of Frohne's design was the effusive copper cornice, fabricated by Max Kestenbaum.   Although the original rendering showed gigantic torches lining the edge, they were downsized to a regimented row of anthemia, each the height of a man.  Upheld by enormous brackets, the massive cornice must have been blinding in the sunshine before the shiny copper obtained its green, weathered patina.

Architects' and Builders' Magazine, January 1909 (copyright expired)

Even while the Merchants' Building was under construction, apparel and textile firms scrambled to lease space.  In September 1908 the Royal Tailoring Corporation of Chicago rented two floors, a total of 18,000 square feet.  It was among the first of the more than a score of tenants who would manufacture clothing and millinery here.

Four years after moving in many of the apparel firms were rocked by a wide-spread labor strike.  Unions, which were becoming more powerful, sought improved working conditions, reduced hours, and better pay for their members.  But their strong-handed methods included intimidation of those workers who stayed on the job--too often resulting in physical injury or death.

Workers in J. L. Taylor & Co.'s factory were terrified by mobs of union members waiting for them on the street; to the point that they were afraid to leave the building.   On January 8, 1913 The New York Times reported "At the factory J. L. Taylor & Co., 693 Broadway, where disorder occurred on Monday night at closing time, there was renewed intimidation of the workers last night.  Automobiles took away 100 of the girl employees under police protection.  Twenty men employees, it was admitted by the manager of the factory, were prepared to spend the whole night in the place for fear of being beaten by strikers if they attempted to go to their homes."

Close inspection reveals that two tenants, William Rosenbaum  & Co. and Thos. A. Sullivan & Co. placed their names in metal lettering at the fourth and fifth floors.  Architects' and Builders' Magazine, January 1909 (copyright expired)

Philip Braender died in November 1916.  The Real Estate Record & Guide said "No less than fifteen hundred private houses, apartments and fireproof commercial buildings came from his hands."  Many of those structures, including the Merchants' Building, were still owned by his estate.

It was not labor problems, but an organized band of brazen thieves that plagued apparel makers in 1918.   On November 20 The Evening World reported "Silks and woolens to the value of almost $1,000,000 have been stolen from loft buildings in New York since the first of the year...They haul their plunder away in motor trucks."

The saavy burglars were aware of new forensic techniques and used a substance on their fingers to prevent prints.  "Cases are on record where they bored through brick and plaster walls to get their booty," said the article.  "They have smashed doors that were built like safe doors and have broken strong locks.  In some cases safes have been blown apart."

The Merchants' Building was on their list of targets.  Among the victims listed by the newspaper was Mark Bros., which had lost $2,000 in goods, nearly $33,000 today.

The Braender estate sold the building in September 1919 to Max N. Natanson for $900,000--in the neighborhood of $12.8 million today.  The following year in November Natanson sold it to Morris P. Altman.  The rapid-fire turnover of the property continued until, when Edward W. Browning sold it in September 1930, The New York Times remarked "the deal marked the nineteenth time the property had been sold since 1916 [sic]."

The Evening World, November 12, 1920 (copyright expired)

Despite the frequent buying and selling of the Merchants' Building, it continued to be fully-rented to apparel and millinery firms.  The same 1921 issue of The Haberdasher reported on three new tenants--the recently formed Shapiro Brothers, manufacturers of youths' and men's clothing; Benjamine Poe, neckwear;" Matthew Rosenbloom, shirts; and the new men's clothing firm Rosen-Edison Company, makers of their "Better-Made" brand.

The Good Value Hat and Cap Company was in Merchants' Building during the Depression years.  Workers at the time were paid in cash, a practice inconceivable today.  Once a week an employee would withdraw the weekly payroll from a nearby bank and then nervously return to stuff pay envelopes for each employee.  The routine was not lost on criminals, who sometimes watched the movements of cashiers and bookkeepers for weeks and then pounced.

Such was the case on October 16, 1931 when 20-year-old Lillian Elson returned from the Bank of America at Broadway and Third Street.  She stepped into the elevator with two other passengers.  Just before the operator closed the doors, three men joined them.  As soon as the doors closed, each of the men pulled out a pistol.  They ordered the operator to stop at the third floor, snatched the large envelope of bills from Lillian, and got off the elevator.  According to the passengers, they ordered "shoot up to the roof."

The men then ran down the stairs to make their escape.  But they neglected to pocket their weapons before reaching the lobby.  E. J. Rosenwald, who was entering the West Fourth Street entrance, saw the guns as they rushed past and shouted "Stop thief!"  His calls drew the attention of a 22-year-old soda clerk, Alfred Siegel.

As it turned out, Siegel was the last person the robbers would want to encounter.  He had been a football player in 1929 at De Witt Clinton High School and was currently awaiting appointment as a policeman.  The athletic young man took up the chase, focusing his attention on crook with the pay envelope.

John Virga apparently realized he was in imminent danger of capture, so he flung the payroll to the ground, hoping to distract his pursuer.  That did not work.   After a three block run, Siegel made a flying tackle on Washington Place.  The 27-year-old Virga was arrested and the envelope--containing $1,399.55 was recovered.

The cast iron sheaves of the storefronts, now painted blue, are mimicked in the stone course above the owls.  photo by Beyond My Ken

The Paper Box Makers Union had its offices in the building by 1929.  Labor unions had still not abandoned the practice of strong-arming strike breakers and owners.   After a five-year Federal investigation, officials arrived at the office on July 6, 1934 and arrested Charles Vonie, the union's business representative, and Joseph Parisi, the business representative of the Paper Box Drivers Union.  They were charged with coercion and conspiracy.  Assistant State Attorney General Benjamin Heffner said complaints had been made by manufacturers "who had charged they had been forced to sign union wage agreements."

Another millinery firm in the building at the time was the Goldy Hat Company.  The Great Depression significantly slowed business for apparel and millinery firms as Americans cut back on non-essential spending.  Joseph Markovitz had been working at Goldy Hat Company for about two years when he reported for work on October 21, 1935.  That morning he became one more victim of the Depression when he was told, according to The New York Times, "there was no work for him."

Markovitz was stunned.  He lingered, apparently trying to figure out what he would do now, how he would pay his bills, but could not come up with a solution.  "He remained there all morning, then went into the hallway, the police reported, and jumped from a window."  He had taken the time to write a note of apology which was found in his pocket.  "The body crashed through the wooden roof of a three-story building at 8 West Fourth Street," reported The Times.

Markovitz's tragic suicide was the first of three horrible occurrences to take place in the building.  The Mill Comb Manufacturing Company was a long-term tenant in 1940.  Its foreman, Aristide Blain, was a French-Canadian, earning the 43-year-old the nickname "Frenchy" among his co-workers.  What those colleagues may not have understood, however, was that while Blain did not mind the nickname, he was overly sensitive about other things.

On February 22 a 23-year-old bookkeeper, Frances Marks, was found murdered on East 101st Street.  Before long police announced that they were looking for a suspect in the case, known on the streets as "Frenchy."  Workers at the Mill Comb Manufacturing Company began teasing Blain, saying they heard he was wanted by the cops.  Blain took it all too seriously.

On Saturday night, March 23 Blain did not return home and no trace of him could be found.  Then, on Monday morning his employer, John Litterer opened the office to find Blain's body hanging from a door lintel by his belt.  A note to his wife was found on his desk:

I am wrongly suspected of murder but I am glad that you know I am as innocent as you are.  You and your daughters know I have always been home before 12 midnight.  I have so much other trouble that I decided to end it all.

Police confirmed that he "had nothing whatever to do with the murder, which is still unsolved," reported The New York Times.

Nine months later another body was found in the building--this time a victim of a gruesome murder.
At 6:10 on the morning of December 7, 1940 Raymond Franklin, a handyman in the building, arrived for work but could not get in.  Normally the night watchman, John C. Fischetti, answered his rings and admitted him.  Franklin forced a door and upon entering found the body of Fischetti near the chair where he normally sat throughout the night.  The pillow from that chair had been placed under his head--but it was the only evidence of kindness on the part of his murderer.  His skull had been fractured and a length of rope used to strangle him.  Police felt the motive was personal, since his belongings and a small amount of money were still on him.

It did not take detectives long to find the murderer.  Guiseppe Daviso was arrested on December 12 and charged with the crime.  The 46-year-old ex-con had asked Fischetti for a loan that night.  When the watchman refused, Daviso became enraged, striking him in the head, then strangling him.

Another victim around the time was William C. Frohne's copper cornice  By 1936 it had been removed, its scar covered over by patches of various materials.

The building continued to be home to apparel firms--like the Walforf Novelty Company which made trimmings, and the Leather Novelty Blocking & Stitching Company into the 1960's.  The owner of another, the Allied Fur Company, Norman Weissman, found a secondary way to make money.

On October 24, 1965 The Times reported "A detective posing as a fur buyer and two policewomen posing as models broke up yesterday what the police called a $200,000-a-week bookmaking operation when they raided a fifty-floor loft rented by a fur company."   While Weissman sold furs in the front offices, Arthur Sonnenschein, Martin Hirsch and Samuel Zorn ran a betting operation in the back.  All four men were arrested, and Sonnenschein was hit with a second charge of "having tried to bribe Deputy Inspector Paul F. Delise," who was in charge of the raid.

Two years later New York University owned the building.  While the school continued to lease space to manufacturers, it converted other sections for offices and storage.  When the "morgues"--or clipping libraries--of the defunct newspapers The New York Herald Tribune, The New World-Telegram and The Sun were donated to the university's School of Journalism in 1967 (more than 14 million clippings), they were brought to the 12th floor of the Merchants' Building.  Several hundred file cabinets were brought into the 8,000 square foot space to accommodate the collection.

A decade later NYU announced its intentions of converting the building to residences.  Democratic candidate for mayor Edward I Koch was not pleased.  He told the 400 guests at a gathering at the Americana Hotel on October 18, 1977 that the plan was "a clear perversion of a good objective.  We need housing but certainly not at the expense of jobs."

When New York Secretary of State Mario Cuomo asked rhetorically "Is it done in a sinister way?" Koch replied "I doubt it.  I think it's really an ineptitude."

As it turned out, Koch's opinion did not matter.  In 1980 the Merchants' Building was combined internally with nine other structures, including the 12-story 250 Mercer Street directly behind to create 277 cooperative apartments designed by architect Henry G. Greene.  Working on the exterior renovation was engineer Vincent Stramandinoli, who removed the materials from the old cornice where raw brick and the old steel frame were all that was left.

A much more reserved replacement cornice was fabricated which brings the Merchants' Building back--almost--to its 1908 appearance.

photograph by Phyllis Winchester

non-credited photographs by the author
many thanks to reader Phyllis Winchester for prompting this post

Once development got going on the Upper West Side, it steamrolled.  Beginning in the 1880's developers filled entire block fronts in a single sweep with harmonious homes designed by a single architect. 

The West Side residences, designed mostly in expressive historic revival styles were replete with turrets, gargoyles, dog-legged stoops and stained glass windows.  They bore no resemblance to the Parisian-inspired palaces of the Upper East Side.

Except, perhaps, on West 105th Street.

Developer-building John C. Umberfield joined in the building boom by purchasing the black front of 105th Street between the newly-completed Riverside Drive and West End Avenue.  He commissioned the architectural firm of Janes & Leo to design a striking row of high-end residences that would stretch from No. 302 to 320.  The firm had just completed The Alimar around the corner at No. 925 Wet End Avenue, an exuberant high class apartment building in the Beaux Arts style.

For Umberfield's string of homes, the firm would turn to the style again, creating a row of French-influenced mansions much more akin to their across-the-park cousins than their brick-and-stone West Side neighbors.  Construction began in 1899 and the row was completed a year later.  The homes were all highly similar, but discreetly individual.  The mansions were grouped in twos with each pair being nearly identical.  By arranging the row this way, the architects accomplished a harmonious flow and a sense of balance.

The row was designed as three pairs, No 312 being second from left.

The completed residences were offered for sale in 1900 for between $42,5000 and $50,000--just over $1 million today.  Umberfeld sold No. 312 to Charles de Corvova in April 1901.

Born in London in 1854, de Cordova was the sole proprietor of De Cordova & Co., a tea brokerage company.  The Trade Journal's All About Tea called the firm a "leader in the American tea trade."

Charles de Cordova in his later years.  from All About Tea, 1935.

De Cordova was, indeed, a leader in his business.  In 1895 he had pushed for a "tea law" and was greatly credited for the passing of the 1897 Tea Importation Act which banned the importing of tea contaminated by pesticides, metals, and the like.  In 1918 his shipment of Japanese tea on the S. S. Tsushima Maru was the first tea shipment to pass through the Panama Canal.

A respected member of social and business clubs, De Cordova proved his novel decorating skills shortly after buying the 105th Street mansion.  The Virginia newspaper the Richmond Planet reported on June 1, 1901 "A new idea in table decorations was evolved by Charles De Cordova in a dinner given by the New York Athletic Club to P. R. Todd, recently elected to a vice presidency of the New York, New Haven & Hartford railroad.  In the center of the table was a large bank of roses, around the edge of which was constructed a miniature railroad, on which a locomotive, baggage car and passenger coach, operated by electricity, whirled about the table at a speed of about 50 miles an hour."

Focus turned from business to social interests in the spring of 1906.  The mansion was the scene of the wedding of the de Cordovas' only child, Fanny, to Dr. John W. Sanborn of Boston.  The ceremony took place on April 18, 1906.

The de Cordovas routinely summered in either Stockbridge, Massachusetts of Lakewood, New Jersey.  They took a break from the New York winter in 1907 by traveling to Kingston, Jamaica.  Their vacation amid palm trees and tropical breezes was horrible and tragically disrupted when a massive earthquake rocked the island on the afternoon of Monday, January 14.

Every building in Jamaica was damaged and, as had been the case less than a year earlier in San Francisco, fires erupted throughout the city.  An estimated 10,000 people died.  The Washington Times reported on January 17 "not less than $10,000,000 of her property [is] wiped out."  The newspaper listed among the injured Charles de Cordova and among the dead, his brother Edward.

Charles's wife, the former Ella Nichols, involved herself in several organizations, including the Women's Guild of St. Luke's Church and the School of Domestic Art and Sciences, of which she was treasurer.

The couple left the West 105th Street house in 1925.  They moved into the Belnord apartments on West 86th Street.  They had been married 45 years at the time; but their domestic bliss was about to come to an end.  Throughout their marriage Charles had turned over his "surplus earnings" to Ella for living expenses and to invest.  While living on 105th Street his average income was about $245,000 by today's standards.

On August 22, 1929 the aging Charles sought an injunction against Ella, who was 72, to restrain her from disposing of their life savings.  Charles asserts in court that their son-in-law, Dr. Sanborn, had "maliciously influenced" Ella to move all the securities into he own name; presumably with the goal of gaining control.  De Cordova lamented that Sanborn had destroyed the happiness of his home "and the comradeship of his wife for forty-eight years" and that he had "been stripped of all his savings of these years and is left at the age of 75, with a broken home and less than $11,000 in securities which he happened to have in his own custody."  The ugly court battle continued for weeks.

In the meantime, Robert Davison Petty had purchased No 312 from the de Cordovas in 1925 for $31,000, about $433,000 today.  Petty had been appointed dean of the New York Law School the year before; prompting his resignation as Assistant District Attorney.  Born on a farm in Washington Township, New Jersey, it was a farming accident which resulted in his conspicuous change in career paths.

As a young man he was cutting down a field of corn when the scythe slipped and severely cut his knee cap.  The injury prevented any further physical labor.  While he convalesced he decided he would like to become an attorney.  In 1883 he graduated fifth in his class at Princeton University.  Two years later he graduated from the Columbia Law School and would later become that school's Professor of Law.

Petty's wife was the former Florence Servis.  The couple had seven children--Alice, Robert, Mary, Elizabeth, John, Katharine, and Richard--four of whom lived in the West 105th Street house with their parents.

On the night of June 2, 1932 Petty personally awarded degrees to 124 graduates at the commencement ceremonies of the New York Law School.  Upon retirning home, the 72-year-old chatted with his son-in-law, Ray Bouton, about his youth and said he would like to go back to the farm some day to live out his remaining years.

The following morning he did not come down to breakfast at the normal time; but the family assumed that he had overslept after the strenuous night.  At noon daughter Elizabeth went up to waken him.  She discovered he had died in his sleep.  His funeral was held in the house the following Monday.

On December 10, 1937 son Richard Servis Petty married Marcille Littlefield in the West End Presbyterian Church.  Richard had followed in his father's footsteps and was also a lawyer.  The marriage did not reduce the population of No. 312, but increased it.  The New York Times noted "Mr. and Mrs. Petty will live at 312 West 105th Street after a trip to Canada."

Daughter Katharine's wedding seven months later was held in the family home.  Katharine, like her siblings, had enjoyed a privileged upbringing.  She attended the Ethical Culture School, graduated from the Horace Mann School for Girls, and Miss Hunter's School.  She married Alvah Howard Lance on July 16, 1938.

No. 312 West 105th Street was sold on August 20, 1945.  Florence would survive until February 8, 1960, having outlived not only her husband, but daughters Katharine and Elizabeth.

The house had become home to a Jewish doctor from Hungary, Laci Klein and his wife, Ansci, who had recently escape from almost certain death in their homeland.  Once here, according to Judy Cohen in her Song of the Silent Bell, as Klein's siblings escaped the Nazi regime, he provided them a place to live.  Ansci's family was tragically lost to the Holocaust.  In 1952, upon becoming naturalized citizens, the Kleins changed their surname to Kay.  The remained in No. 312 until early in 1956.

Laci and Ancsi Klein in front of 312 West 105th Street.  from Song of the Silent Bell by Judy Cohen

In 1962 the former mansion was converted to a doctor's office in the ground floor, and eight apartments in the upper stories.

photographs by the author

By the turn of the last century architect Ralph S. Townsend had designed a wide variety of buildings--small flats, private homes and hotels (including the elegant Savoy Hotel on Fifth Avenue).   In 1902 he began work on an "apartment hotel" for developer Alexander McDowell on West 76th Street between Broadway and West End Avenue.

Called the Hotel Willard, the 10-story structure was completed in 1903.  Faced in limestone and red brick, Townsend turned, not unexpectedly, to the Beaux Arts style, especially fashionable in apartments and hotels at the time.   A three story base of rusticated stone featured a bracketed balconette above the centered entrance.  Two smaller versions made their appearance at the fourth floor, fronting stone-framed openings with effusive pediments.  A pair of three-story angled bays sat upon ornately carved bowls.  Townsend frosted the facade with swags and festoons, lions' heads, and leafy stone brackets.  The mansard roof wore an ornate copper crown.

An early postcard reveals the stunning views that guests enjoyed above the still mostly low-level structures.  Close inspection reveals that the ninth floor cornice once had railings--originally a balcony.

The Hotel Willard offered accommodations to both permanent and transient guests.  They had their choice of either two rooms and a bath, or four rooms and two baths.  Transient rooms, or course, were furnished.  McDowell leased the Willard to hotelier Arthur T. Hardy, whose opening advertisement in November 1903 called it "The finest apartment hotel of the West End."

The ad boasted "The apartments are luxuriously furnished.  The rooms are large and sunny, and command extensive views of the Hudson from the upper floors."  Both permanent and transient tenants took their meals in the Willard's dining room, "conducted both on the American and European plans."


Annual leases were offered at $600 for the two-room apartments, and $1,600 for the larger suites.  (The rents were not cheap--the more expensive equaling about $3,400 per month today.)   The weekly rates for the unfurnished rooms were between $16 to $22 for the smaller suits, depending on the floor or view; and $40 to $50 for the larger.

An advertisement a month after the opening listed only one apartment still available.  Hardy noted "Cuisine and Service Calculated to Please the Most Fastidious" and promised that the "appointments and conveniences not excelled by any hotel on the West Side."

While the Hotel Willard did not offer the sprawling apartments of some other buildings, it nevertheless drew an upscale clientele.  Among the first to move in was Dr. Frederick S. Howard, a retired dentist and vice-president of the Fourteenth Street Bank.  The 61-year old was a charter member of the Colonial Club, the Upper West Side's exclusive men's social club.  Shockingly, only about two weeks after the Willard opened, he suffered a fatal heart attack in his apartment.

Arthur T. Hardy carefully chose his service staff.  He was especially impressed with the refined demeanor  of 25-year old applicant Agnes Pemberton.  Although he suspected she came from "a better family than her position would imply," he hired her as a chambermaid, hoping she would be a good influence on the other staff members.

Agnes started work on New Year's Day, 1904.  The New-York Tribune noted "She had a large quantity of clothing of fine material, most of it several seasons old.  Her manners were above reproach, and, although she did it faithfully, her work seemed foreign to her nature."  Agnes "held aloof from the other servants," but was friendly nonetheless.

Beginning the first week of April there were clues that Agnes was unhappy.  One day a maid admired her silk shirtwaist.  Agnes told her "I am going to leave all of my clothing to you girls when I go."  Servants later recalled that "she frequently commented on the easiest manner of death when reading stories of suicides in the newspapers."

On April 6 a wedding took place in the house directly across the street.  A few of the maids watched while the carriages came and went.  After it was over, Agnes said flatly, "Well, God bless them; I suppose they are happy now."  The New-York Tribune remarked "There was just the suspicion of a tear in her eye as she turned away, with the remark that she was going to her room."

Servants lived in the 10th floor mansard.  As she had indicated, Agnes went to her room.  It overlooked the back of the building, above the two-story extension where a stained glass dome illuminated the hotel's offices.  Half an hour later a porter named James was at work cleaning the dome when Agnes's body smashed onto it and landed at his side.

On April 7 the New-York Tribune reported "several guests whose rooms faced on the courtyard saw Miss Pemberton's body falling through the air.  It turned only once."  A clerk who heard the crash and ran to the second floor found the dazed porter "sitting on the dome and staring wildly at the form of the young woman."

The New York Times quoted Coroner Jackson. "I am very anxious to learn the actual identify of he young woman, for I firmly believe that she came from an excellent family.  From what I can learn, she was too dainty and refined for her position."  But her true identity was never discovered.  Investigators could find no trace of relatives.  As she had promised, her clothing and the $70 in her purse--around $2,000 today--were distributed among the other servants.

Although theatrical people were not welcomed in many parts of the city, such was not the case on the Upper West Side.  The Hotel Willard became home to several.  Among them was actress Maude Harrison, an early resident.

Maude Harrison was a favorite of American audiences for decades.  from the collection of the New York Public Library

Maude was a New York City native, born in 1854.  She had long been popular with audiences and had created the part of Mrs. Brown in Bronson Howard's long-running 1878 play The Banker's Daughter.  For years she was a member of A. M. Palmer's Union Square Theatre Company and had played opposite stars like Richard Mansfield.

After a semi-retirement, Maude returned to the stage as a vaudeville actress in 1905.  In April 1907 the 53-year old actress mentioned to other guests that she had not been feeling well for several days.  A Christian Scientist, she refused to consult a doctor.   Then, on the morning of April 28 a maid found her unconscious on the floor of her apartment.  She died that afternoon without ever regaining consciousness.

Another well-known name in the theater living here at the time was Alice Nielsen along with her husband, Benjamin Nentwig.  An actress and singer, Alice's rise to fame was the stuff of fable.  As a child in Kansas City she sang on the street corner.  Wealthy meat packer Jakob Dold invited her to sing at his daughter's birthday party.  Dold was so pleased he sent her to the White House to represent Missouri at a musicale.  By 1900 at the age of 28 she was America's biggest box office draw.

Alice Nielsen - from the collection of the New York Public Library

In January 1911 two well dressed women checked into Suite 44.  The names they used were aliases.  They were, in fact, the notorious Poillon sisters, Katherine and Charlotte, who first attracted attention when Katherine sued W. Gould Brokaw for $250,000 for breach of promise in 1905.  She received a settlement of $17,500 (almost half a million today); then claimed she received only a fraction and sued her lawyers for $11,500.

Later they had a man arrested claiming he was spying on them for attorney Carl Fischer-Hansen.  And then, according to the New-York Tribune "they had a fight in City Hall Park with three lawyers, one of whom had pushed a suit against Katherine for a department store claim of $800."

The pair continued to appear in newspapers.  In March 1906 the Hotel Barstow tried to evict them for non payment.  The management turned off their electricity, but they burned candles.  An elevator boy claimed Charlotte punched him in the ribs and the jaw.   Their bad reputations grew as they moved from one residence hotel to another, never paying rent.  In February 1908 five hotels--the Bristol, the St. Francis, and Albany, the King Edward, and the Grenoble--filed suit against the women.  They were sent to Blackwell's Island for three months "for trying to beat hotel bills."

Three weeks after the sisters checked into Hotel Willard, Arthur Hardy realized their true identity and asked them to vacate.  But they were slow to do so.  He appeared before Magistrate Herbert on February 6 saying "I have two guests in my house.  I understand they are the Poillon sisters.  They have promised me to get out, but I want to know what to do if they don't carry out their promise."

The judge told him "Well, if you don't want a guest in your house, you should put him out by force."

Charlotte Poillon the New-York Tribune, April 2, 1915 (copyright expired)

Katherine Poillon.  The sisters appeared refined and well-bred but were notorious scam artists.  The Evening World, July 24 1903 (copyright expired)

A reporter from the New-York Tribune immediately telephoned Suite 44 to get the sisters' reaction.  Charlotte reminded him that "the laying on of hands" constituted assault and said "Now, do you think the manager of this very exclusive hotel would try to come up here and put my sister and myself out by force--and say, even if he tried, it do you think he'd get away with it?"

Hardy again asked the women to leave.  They promised both to go and to pay their bill.  Then they again delayed their departure.  And then again.  Finally, a policeman was called to escort the deadbeat guests out.  He was successful, but was sued by the Poillon sisters who charged he "had unlawfully entered their rooms at the Hotel Willard."

The Hotel Willard continued to appear in society columns as its well-to-do residents held benefit teas, wedding breakfasts, and announced engagements.   In 1918, during a brutal cold wave, Mrs. James Selvin, Jr.'s name appeared in print for a far different reason.   On January 5 the New-York Tribune ran the headline "100,000 Thrown Out Of Work by Cold Wave," and reported that record low temperature had forced hundreds of loft buildings to shut down after being "deprived successively of heat, of water and finally of power."

A day earlier Mayor Hyland had announced that Mrs. Selvin, along with three other well-to-do women "had volunteered to raise a fund of $50,000 for the purchase and distribution of coal to the poor of the city."

Among the more celebrated tenants two yeas later were Dorothy and Eddie Parker.  Dorothy Parker had by now achieved national renown as a drama critic; her husband was a broker.  They were no longer getting along.  As a matter of fact, Dorothy lived in apartment 834 and Eddie in 704.   Not long after the couple appeared in the February 1920 census records as living here, they moved to No. 57 West 57th Street.  Their marriage did not survive much longer.

Vacationers in the summer months understandably preferred the seashore or mountains to the heat of the city.  In in June 1921 Hardy advertised "Special Summer Rates" of $2.50 and up for a single room and bath, and $5 and up for a "parlor, bedroom & bath."  (The more expensive rate would equal about $60 a night today.)

James Slevin, Jr. and his wife were still in the building at the time.  And Mrs. Slevin was still involved in charitable causes.   On February 14 that year the European Relief Council held a benefit in the Hotel Bilmore "to save the lives of 3,500,000 children in central and eastern Europe," according to the New-York Tribune.  Stage and opera stars performed and luncheon was served.  The newspaper announced that tickets could be obtained from Mrs. Slevin.


Anna Mildred Traitel, the daughter of Nathan E. Franklin and his wife, the former Ada Keller, returned to live with her parents in the fall of 1921.  Known as Mildred, she had been educated at exclusive Semple School for Girls, but eloped in 1913 with David S. Traitel, the head of Traitel Marble Company.  The couple seemed to have a stories marriage, dividing their time between their New York apartment on East 54th Street and their Belle Harbor summer home.

But the 19-year old bride had quickly realized her mistake.  On their honeymoon Traitel became drunk and physically abusive and the behavior continued.  Over the years he "repeatedly" held a gun to her head, and struck her.  Mildred endured eight years of abuse before filing for separation and temporarily moving into the Franklins' Hotel Willard apartment.

The Franklin family experienced tragedy in the 1940 after Nathan was scheduled to undergo an operation.  He was admitted to Mount Sinai Hospital on February 27.  The 69-year old was excessively apprehensive about the procedure.  At 7:00 on the night of March 1 he jumped to his death from the window of his hospital room.

In the meantime, a colorful resident of the Willard was "Uncle Robert" Spero, a manufacturer of willow ware.  He and his wife, the former Ray Maibrun, were married in 1893.  With no children of their own, the couple began hosting large parties for underprivileged children in 1919.  Little by little their charitable outreach extended other overlooked groups, like aged women.  Robert Spero established the unofficial Parents' Day.

The New York Times reported on May 14, 1923 that Spero held a Mothers' Day celebration for "900 woman inmates of the Home for the Aged on Welfare Island."  In addition, all the children in the hospital wards on the island were brought into the assembly hall with the elderly widows "where Spero distributed 2,000 packages of animal crackers, 2000 lollypops [sic] and 1000 flags."

Spero refused to take donations for his parties, paying all expenses personally.  His devotion to the children led him to found the SOS, or "Stay On Sidewalk," program, aimed at reducing traffic accidents involving children.  He additionally started a children's radio program and organized his own group of child entertainers.

The Speros maintained a summer house in Deal, New Jersey.  Finally in November 1939 they left the Willard and moved there permanently.   Ray died there a few months later.  Robert lived on until December 13, 1948.

The Hotel Willard was the scene of a large bridge tournament on the night of October 19, 1932.  Sometime after midnight, while 40 persons played in the dining room, two armed robbers entered the lobby.  One forced the night clerk, Edgar Simmons, into the office while the other stood guard.  When a female guest walked in, he greeted her graciously, handed her her mail and room key and said goodnight.

In the meantime, the other gunman was trying to force Simmons to open the safe.  The clerk insisted he did not know the combination.  The thug finally gave up.  The pair took $80, $42 of which came from Simmons' pockets, and shoved him into the elevator.  They ordered the operator to take it up and warned both not to come back down.  The New York Times said "The bridge players learned of the robbery when the police arrived."

The only manager the Hotel Willard ever had hard, Arthur T. Hardy retired in 1936 after 33 years service.  Before long the property was taken over by the Bank for Savings which made renovations.  In announcing on September 3, 1941 that the 252 West Seventy-sixth Street Management Corporation had leased the building for 10 years, The New York Times remarked "Recently modernized by the bank, the hostelry contains 126 rooms and two stores."   Included in the changes was the building's name.  It was now known as the Hotel Churchill.

The following year the bank sold the property to the Seventy-sixth Street Hotel Corporation (most likely a reorganization of the lessor).   The new owners quickly remodeled the building into seven apartments per floor above the ground level.

Uncharacteristically, the building never experienced a significant downturn as did so many of the turn of the century apartment buildings, especially following the onset of the Depression.  Typical of the tenants in the newly-renovated Hotel Churchill was James Wilson Wenman and his wife, the former Carrie Byrd.  Now retired, Wenman had been a member of the Cotton Exchange and sat on its board of governors for 40 years.


There would be two more renovations.  In 1952 a penthouse level "with three hotel rooms" was added; and a 1960 makeover resulted in six apartments per floor, and now just one in the penthouse.  The restoration of the facade brought the building back to its 1903 appearance when it was touted as "the finest apartment hotel on the West End."

photographs by the author