Architecture · Culture · Technology

The Great Green Dinosaur Followed Us to Fleetwood

Giant cement pouring machine.

The moment we decided that we wanted to leave Manhattan came in a cab ride to the dentist, whose office is in midtown. I made the mistake of scheduling the appointment on Columbus Day. Any New Yorker can tell you what is wrong with that idea. The annual Columbus Day parade makes its way up Fifth Avenue, which means that traffic, which is always slow, comes to a virtual standstill in midtown as normal Fifth Avenue traffic is diverted to nearby streets. 

So there we were sitting in a cab on Park Avenue in the middle of the day as pedestrians passed us by. I tried to divert my attention from the running meter by gazing out the window. And up—up—up—in the air so far up I had to scrunch down in my seat to see it— there was the great green dinosaur on top of a building then under construction.  Okay, maybe this one wasn’t green, but it certainly looked ridiculous perched that high in the sky.

And then it occurred to us we didn’t want to live where the buildings are now no longer scraping the sky but piercing it. A boom in what are called “supertall towers” is underway in New York. In my opinion, these buildings are inhuman. They’re not awe inspiring; they’re frightening. And as Paul Goldberger, architecture critic, observes, they are changing the character of Manhattan as we have known it. Midtown, he notes, is no longer for New Yorkers. It is instead a place for tourists and globe-trotting billionaires.

A supertall building in New York is nothing new, of course. The Empire State Building is 1250 feet high; the Freedom Tower 1776 feet.  (The Twin Towers were slightly over 1300 feet.) 

432 Park Avenue (1396 feet, 95 stories) possibly the ugliest building in New York City. The architect says it was inspired by a trash can.

What is different about the new supertalls is that they are super skinny residential buildings built with global billionaire investors in mind, and they are popping up all over, particularly in midtown, where their height gives them spectacular views of Central Park.  In 2016, a Saudi retail magnate bought a penthouse at 432 Park (1396 feet high, 95 stories) for 87.7 million. Some sources say 95 million, but I guess it doesn’t much matter when money is literally no object. Not all of the apartments in this building are that expensive, of course. You can pick up an apartment on a lower floor for 15 to 20 million.

And Now Outside My Window

There’s the dinosaur, this one most certainly green, pouring concrete for a new apartment building. It will be a modest 16 stories tall, still too tall for the disgruntled citizens of Fleetwood, where the many apartment buildings here seldom rise above eight stories.

I guess we’ll not be having Saudi billionaire neighbors any time soon.

Architecture · Conservation · Historic House Museums · Merchant's House · Museums · Pennsylvania Station · Preservation

The Good Guys Won This One!

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The Merchant’s House Museum, showing the original Duncan Phyfe chairs. The carpet and window treatment are exact reproductions of what was in the house in 1850.

The City Council Came Through!

This week the New York City Council voted unanimously to deny a developer an application to build an eight-story hotel next door to one of New York’s treasures: the Merchant’s House Museum, a 186-year old house, a family home with original furnishings and objects now open to the public. The proposed construction threatened the fragile building with catastrophic damage and a possible collapse.

There will always be a conflict.

There are those who want to want to preserve historic buildings and those who want to demolish them for various reasons, sometimes because it is prohibitively expensive or impossible to save them, but often for selfish financial reasons, or simply because they assume that whatever is new is better than what is old.

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Original Pennsylvania Station interior.

In 1963, when Pennsylvania Station, a beautiful monumental example of Beaux Arts architecture, was demolished, many New Yorkers raised a loud hew and cry in opposition. Penn Station could have been saved, but the good guys who wanted to “renovate not amputate” lost that one. Today, 55 years later, New Yorkers, especially those whose daily commute takes them through the miserable underground replacement sorely lament that decision.

The argument against demolishing Penn Station was primarily based on its architectural significance.

But I think an even more important reason for saving a historic building is that its presence in the community connects us to the past. We need to be reminded as we go about our daily lives that the present is not all there is, that we are not the end-all and be-all, that in many ways we owe who we are to what went on before we existed.

The connection is not always conscious, but it exists nevertheless—like background music you don’t particularly notice but that affects your mood. A city with no old buildings would be an Orwellian nightmare.

 

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The rear bedroom of the Merchant’s House with its original furniture.

The place where we can most easily connect to life beyond memory is a domestic space.

Here is where people actually ate their dinners, entertained their friends, climbed the stairs to bed. These places are rare and rarer still are those that still contain the furniture and personal possession of the family that lived there,

Those who know me and have heard me repeat the “really real table” story more often than they wanted may now skip the following two paragraphs.

 I was giving a tour of the house to second graders. The children were seated on the parlor carpet in front of me. I explained that a family with eight children lived in the house over 100 years ago and today the house was still here, just as it had been then. The furniture was theirs; the big sister played the piano; the family sat on the chairs.

 A hand shot into the air. The seven-year-old’s eyes were wide. He pointed to the center table. “You mean . . . you mean . . . that’s the really real table?”

This little boy “got it.”

He obviously realized that there were those who came before him and were no longer here, and in that moment he had connected to them. Caught up with our personal ambitions, we sometimes forget that we too will pass into history and someday other youngsters will judge us and find our homes and habits and possessions quaint and queer. The historic home serves to remind us of this humbling fact.

So thanks, City Council, and all those who worked so hard to convince them that the Merchant’s House is worth saving!

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The Really Real Table

For more about the Merchant’s House see An Old Merchant’s House and the sequel, Miracle on Fourth Steet by me. You can read more about these books here.

Architecture · Conservation · Historic House Museums · Merchant's House · Museums · Preservation · Restoration

102 Words That Say It All

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Ada Louise Huxtable and Joseph Roberto, the restoration architect, at a joint benefit for the Old Merchants House and the International Human Assistance Program, December 1980. Photo by Marilee Reiner

Ada Louise Huxtable was the first architecture critc for a major U.S. newspaper and will long be remembered for the eleven books and countless articles and columns she wrote for The New York Times where she was the architecture editor for many years and as architecture editor of The Wall Street Journal, a position she held at her death in 2013 at the age of 91.

She deplored the ersatz and the “doctored reality” of many restored historic buildings,  and in the cultural landscape as a whole. She wrote compellingly on this theme in The Unreal America. (1997). But the Merchant’s House did not belong in that category, Here is what she had to say at a time when the future of the Museum had been in doubt. There could be no better argument for protecting the Merchant’s House!

The distinction of this house—and it is a powerful one—is that it is the real thing. One simply walks though the beautiful doorway . . . into another time and place in New York . . . An authentic original interior like this one is an extreme rarity among historic houses . .  . The completeness of these interiors is rarer still. There is all the period nostalgia that anyone would want at the Old Merchants House, but it is also a unique social esthetic and historical document and its loss would have been a particular tragedy for New York.

On September 26, the New York City Council will vote on whether to approve a developer’s application to build an eight-story hotel next door to the Merchant’s House. There is no case that can be made for the proposed construction, but there are many reasons that it is absolutely unwarranted:

It will result in catastrophic damage to the fragile 186-year-old building, and according to engineering analyses would likely lead to its collapse.

The developer’s application requests a zoning text amendment for “spot zoning,” which is illegal, benefiting the developer alone.

The community is vehemently opposed to the eight-story hotel in this location.

The hotel project could be shifted to a site around the corner at 403 Lafayette, which the developer already owns! 

Architecture · Conservation · Historic House Museums · Landmarking · Merchant's House · Preservation · Restoration

From the White House to the Merchant’s House

On September 26, the New York City Council will vote on whether to approve a developer’s application to build an eight-story hotel next door to the Merchant’s House. There is no case that can be made for the proposed construction, but there are many reasons that it is absolutely unwarranted:

It will result in catastrophic damage to the fragile 186-year-old building, and according to engineering analyses would likely lead to its collapse.

The developer’s application requests a zoning text amendment for “spot zoning,” which is illegal, benefiting the developer alone.

The community is vehemently opposed to the eight-story hotel in this location.

The hotel project could be shifted to a site around the corner at 403 Lafayette, which the developer already owns! 

 

Ch3-Flaherty Medallion
The ornamental highlight of the Merchant’s House parlors is a perfect restoration of the nineteenth-century artisan’s work in all its swirling rhythmic exuberance.

When the time came to restore the parlors of the Merchant’s House in 1977, the head of the restoration turned to one of the most prominent architects of the period, Edward Vason Jones, who was so impressed with the beauty and the importance of the  house that he offered his services free of charge.

Jones’ works include the first restoration of the Department of State Diplomatic Reception Rooms and renovations to rooms of the White House under the administrations of Nixon, Ford, and Carter. One of the receptions rooms was named “The Edgar Vason Jones Memorial Hall” in his honor.

To restore the parlor plaster, Jones brought on a team of the country’s finest craftsmen who had worked with him at the White House. David Flaharty, the sculptor and ornamental plasterer who would bring the dramatic ornamental plaster back to its original beauty says that the matching ceiling medallions are “unquestionably among the finest such designs to survive.” In his opinion they are superior to any composed during the American Classical Revival.

Still in Place after 186 years!

A little over five feet in diameter, they are larger than most ceiling medallions found in Greek Revival homes.  In addition, rather than being flat, as such medallions usually are, their centers of alternating foliate acanthus leaf clusters are recessed into the ceiling. This characteristic creates depth and adds interest, but along with the large size of the medallion, requires an extremely elaborate system of framing and lathing of the central ceiling joists. That these heavy medallions are still in place after 186 years is a testimony to the skill of the original builder. That it is impossible to detect which missing elements were replaced by the restorer is a testimony to  the skill of the expert Jones hired to do the work.

http://www.merchantshouse.org

The story of the Merchant’s House

 

Architecture · Conservation · Historic House Museums · Merchant's House · Preservation · Restoration

How a 100-Year Old House Became an Historic House Museum

And now, 80 years later, The Merchant’s House Museum still offers visitors a unique window into the lives of  mid-19th century New Yorkers.

The Merchant's House Museum
The Merchant’s House Museum

August, 1933—The country was in the depths of the Great Depression. Gertrude Tredwell had just died at the age of 93 in the 1832 rowhouse her family had inhabited for almost 100 years. A century of urban progress meant that the house, once located in the New York City’s most desirable neighborhood, was now just steps from the Bowery, the nation’s skid row. It was a time capsule, complete with the original owners’ furnishings dating to mid 19th century, and personal belongings as well—books, decorative objects, textiles, and even 39 dresses belonging to the women of the family.

Enter George Chapman, a distant cousin who made what can only be described as a foolhardy decision to “save” the old house from the auction block and turn it into a museum. Not only had the house been long neglected and was then well along the road to disintegration, but certainly no one at that time was inclined to donate money to preserving the home of an early New York City merchant—a rich merchant, to be sure—a good man certainly—but not a person of historical significance.

But George was a wealthy man and in spite of increasing physical infirmity he just barely managed to hold his beloved museum together at great personal cost for over 20 years. However, he was not inclined to make major repairs let alone the needed thorough restoration of the collapsing house.

Joseph Roberto inspects the roof of the Old Merchant's House
Joseph Roberto inspects the roof of the Old Merchant’s House

Eventually, after an improbable chain of events, an impeccable authentic restoration did take place, undertaken without charge by Joseph Roberto, an accomplished restoration architect who exercised a scrupulous regard for the original fabric of the building and recruited some of the most talented craftsmen in the country as well as White House architect, Edward Vason Jones and noted 19th century authority on American decorative arts, Berry Tracy, as pro bono consultants.

The restoration was a story of creative solutions to structural calamities, heartbreaking setbacks, personality conflicts, and an unceasing struggle to find funding, but Joseph Roberto simply would not give up, and eventually the house was restored to its original beauty, structurally stronger than ever. The textiles had completely deteriorated, but instead of replacing them with period appropriate examples, The Decorators Club, who were responsible for the interior refurbishment, wisely had the original silk curtains and the carpeting reproduced at extraordinary expense.

The story doesn’t end there, however, for there was to be one last crisis, which could literally have brought the house down were it not for the wise direction of the current director and the support of government and corporate grants, and the generosity of private donors.

Since the beginning, The Merchant’s House has held an unworldly attraction for all those who have been involved in its long life. It is not an exaggeration to say that people simply fall in love with it and are willing to devote extraordinary effort to its preservation.

Maybe that’s because of what happens when you cross the threshold.

A mirror reflecting the 19th century.Which brings me to the most miraculous circumstance of all. Here we come as close as we ever will to those who came before us. As we tune in to the height of the ceilings and the nearness of the walls, as we travel a path from room to room, observing the light, seeing what the family saw in those rooms—the piano, the mirrors, the Duncan Phyfe chairs, their four poster beds—we learn with our bodies as well as our brains what it was like to live in a 19th century urban rowhouse owned by one of the early merchants who laid the commercial foundations of this great city.

Once there were hundreds of such homes lining the streets of the neighborhood north of Bleecker. Now there is only one left to tell the story.

To read a sample chapter from Miracle on Fourth Street, go to http://girandolebooks.com.