Contemporary New Yorkers don’t often hear the term “needle trades” anymore. But in the vernacular of the early 20th century, it referred to any work related to the creation of clothing—like sewing, pattern making, cloth cutting, and dressmaking.
Much of this work in the decades before World War II was done by immigrants and first generation New Yorkers in Manhattan’s Garment District, the stretch of showrooms, wholesale shops, and factories inside the towering new loft buildings built between Broadway and Ninth Avenue and 34th to 42nd Streets.
Before moving to this chunk of Midtown, the needle trades were centered in sweatshops on the Lower East Side and Greenwich Village, and the work was also done piecemeal at home with little regulation or protection. A somewhat regulated Garment District was considered an improvement in progressive Gotham.
To train and supply prewar New York’s army of garment manufacturers, the city—with the help of the WPA—built an Art Deco-style vocational high school called Central High School of Needle Trades (top photo). Opened in 1940 on West 24th Street between 7th and 8th Avenues, it was developed in conjunction with garment industry reps.
“This building has sixty-five shops and special rooms, ten regular classrooms and six laboratories in which will be taught all branches of tailoring, costume design, millinery design, dressmaking, shoe manufacturing, fur processing and allied subjects,” the New York Times wrote when the school opened, per The Living New Deal.
Since 1956, the school has been known as the High School of Fashion Industries. With the decline of manufacturing in what’s still called the Garment District, there’s much more of a focus on the business of fashion, per the school website.
Even so, students continue to attend class in the original Art Deco Needle Trades building. Outside the entrance are four proud mosaics illustrating different aspects of the needle trades—from sewing to measuring to threading a needle.
The work may seem primitive amid our digital age, but the mosaics are a reminder of all that used to be made in New York primarily by human hands.
A Reform Party political cartoon which was part of the 1871 Samuel J. Tilden campaign against Tammany Hall and William Magear“Boss” Tweed that ultimately led to Tweed’s 1874 conviction and imprisonment for corruption, in the Blackwell Island Prison. Initially he was sentenced to a term of 12 year but his sentence was subsequently reduced and he was freed after one year. After his release, he was immediately re-arrested for and convicted of embezzlement. During this second incarceration at the Ludlow Jail—while on a supervised visit to the home of a family member—Tweed escaped. He fled to Cuba and then sailed to Spain, where authorities arrested him as he disembarked and returned him to New York City. Tweed spent his final years in Ludlow jail where he died of Severe Pneumonia in 1878. Tweed is buried in Brooklyn’s Green Wood Cemetery. Ed Litcher
Andy Sparberg got it too!
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c)
n 1926, Eleanor Roosevelt convened with three of her closest friends, Caroline O’Day, Marion Dickerman, and Nancy Cook, to discuss the probability of a bold new venture. The four women, all active in New York’s Democratic Party, agreed to open a workshop that specialized in the production of Colonial Revival furniture.
Their business would be conducted on the Roosevelts’ Val-Kill property in Hyde Park, Dutchess County, NY and appropriately named “Val-Kill Industries.” Two years prior, Franklin D. Roosevelt built a quaint Dutch Colonial cottage on the property for Eleanor, Marion, and Nancy. This came to be called the “Stone Cottage,” and a more industrial building was constructed for the workshop.
Although Nancy had a passion for producing furniture, it was Eleanor Roosevelt who noted the decline in the American Arts and Crafts movement and wanted Val-Kill Industries to reignite an interest in America’s architectural traditions. However, she and her husband had a more critical reason for starting a local workshop: to put unemployed farmers back to work.
After the end of the First World War American farmers found themselves struggling to survive due to surpluses and depreciating prices. As debts rose and foreclosures became rampant, the nation entered an agricultural depression that persisted throughout the 1920s. With agriculture being so vital to Dutchess County’s economy, both Roosevelts watched in alarm as farmers relocated to cities and abandoned their land. Discussing the reasoning behind Val-Kill Industries, Eleanor wrote, “If it were possible to build up in a rural community a small industry which would employ and teach a trade to the men and younger boys…I felt that it would keep many of the more ambitious members in the district.”
Italian craftsman Frank Landolfa was hired in the winter of 1926 to construct the initial pieces. Val-Kill Industries’ first customer was none other than Franklin DD. Roosevelt, who was in the process of furnishing his cottage in Warm Springs, Georgia. His mother, Sara, furnished the James Roosevelt Memorial Library in Hyde Park with furniture from the shop. Henry Morgenthau, Jr., a Hudson Valley neighbor who would serve as Secretary of the Treasury in the Roosevelt Administration, also placed a substantial order.
In the summer of 1927, the first exhibition took place at the Roosevelts’ New York townhouse. Frank Landolfa produced butterfly drop-leaf tables, mirrors, a replica of a masterful walnut table on display in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and elegant Cromwellian-style chairs. The debut generated more sales than originally estimated, resulting in the hiring of additional craftsmen to meet the demand, most notably a Norwegian immigrant named Otto Berge. Even with additional hands, the workers remained overwhelmed. During that first year, Eleanor remembered how hard it was “to instill into the minds of the workmen that what was expected of them was craftsmanship, not speed.”
One of the reasons behind Val-Kill Industries producing more simple, traditional furniture was to keep costs as low as possible. Had they created ornate pieces in the Queen Anne style, expenses would have risen dramatically. One craftsman was responsible for producing one piece of furniture, and that included selecting the wood, cutting it, and assembling the item. All the lumber was brought in from Ichabod T. Williams & Sons in New York City.
Nancy Cook oversaw the employees’ production, even requesting that they detail in their time-sheets how long it took to complete one piece. She developed a precise system for the finishing process that entailed at least fifteen steps, ending with the imprint of the Val-Kill Industries stamp. For furniture made especially for the Roosevelts’ friends and family, a stamp of Eleanor Roosevelt’s signature was placed. Many of the local boys hired were placed in the finishing room.
With the nation in grips of the Great Depression, the shop prepared for a decline, but 1930 turned out to be a peak year. As interest in the American Colonial Revival Movement grew, Val-Kill Industries expanded its factory and hired additional cabinetmakers and workmen. Eleanor was always a steadfast customer, and when the Roosevelts moved into the White House in 1933, several furniture pieces sent from New York to Washington, D.C. were made at Val-Kill Industries. As first lady, Eleanor took advantage of the numerous ways presented to her to market the shop, even writing articles for publications like House & Garden Magazine.
Slowly, the Depression took its toll and sales declined. There had been discussion about opening a forge, but the plan was delayed because of the economy. Finally, in 1934, Arnold Berge, Otto’s brother, was recruited to run the new Val-Kill Forge. In the spring of 1935, another exhibition was held at the Roosevelts’ New York City residence, this time displaying their first pieces of pewter. The Val-Kill Forge went on to produce items such as mugs, bowls, pitchers, candlesticks, plates, and lamps.
Yet by the end of that same year, it was apparent that Val-Kill Industries was sinking. As the number of orders dwindled, workers were let go. After eight years as the head craftsman, Frank Landolfa left the workshop for a more secure job. Otto Berge agreed to stay until all remaining orders were complete. Val-Kill Industries reached its final days in 1938. Eleanor transformed the workshop into her own private cottage, and it remained her main home until she died in 1962. Eventually, Marion Dickerman and Nancy Cook vacated the Stone Cottage, and the Roosevelts’ youngest child, John, moved in with his family.
After Val-Kill Industries officially closed, Otto Berge obtained the equipment and the right to use the name. His brother, Arnold, ran the Val-Kill Forge in his home until the United States entered World War II. Eleanor continued to be a devoted customer, often ordering pewter pieces from Arnold to gift to her friends. In her “My Day” column dated July 3, 1940, she wrote of Otto making her an oak lectern “for me to send to an Indian church out West.”
Today, a Georgia-based company owns the Val-Kill Industries trademark and still produces furniture of the same style. Visitors touring the Roosevelt homes in Hyde Park and Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Little White House in Georgia can see pieces manufactured at Val-Kill Industries on display.
Although Val-Kill Industries was not a great commercial success, its influence should not be overlooked. During a period when New York farmers were struggling to provide for their families, Val-Kill Industries offered them an opportunity to apply their skills and generate income.
Several New Deal initiatives, especially the Works Progress Administration (WPA), enacted programs that focused on the revival of the American Arts and Crafts movement. At the same time, these programs boosted the morale of a nation in despair, just as Val-Kill Industries did on a local level.
Franklin D. Roosevelt famously said, “It is common sense to take a method and try it: If it fails, admit it frankly and try another. But above all, try something.” Val-Kill Industries was a testament to the Roosevelts’ core belief that the only way to improve the adverse economic situation was through action.
EAST WNG OF NATIONAL GALLERY, WASHINGTON, DC SUMIT KAUR, GLORIA HERMAN, ED LITCHER, HARA REISER, AND NINA LUBLIN GOT IT RIGHT
Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c)
SOURCES
Walter Barrett, The Old Merchants of New York City, Second Series 1883
NEW YORK ALMANACK
GRANTS
CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE JULIE MENIN DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD, ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE FUNDS
“Sirshasana” (1998) by Donald Lipski at Grand Central Terminal. Photo: Rob Wilson
About the artist
In “Sirshasana,” a sculptural chandelier in the shape of a golden-rooted olive tree suspended above the street-level entrance to the Grand Central Market, Donald Lipski drew upon Hindu and Greek lore. “To the ancient Greeks the olive tree symbolized freedom and purity,” he explains. “And the name Sirshasana refers to a yoga headstand posture — the inverted tree….” With branches that span 25 feet and 5,000 brilliant crystal pendants, the tree dominates the area, bringing the feel of an outdoor market. The space was designed so that morning sun bathes the tree and floods the market with light. The form has writhing, enticing, and unexpected elements, with the base of the tree finished in gold and crystals dangling in place of olives, in addition to alluding to the decorative chandeliers in Grand Central, the tree is a comment on the allure of the exotic and tempting wares sold in the marketplace.
“Hudson River Explorers” (2012) by Holly Sears at Tarrytown. Photo: Michael Hnatov
About the project
Inspired by this great river’s majesty and informed by the region’s rich history of discovery, exploration, and travel, Holly Sears’s “Hudson River Explorers” features 11 laminated glass panels fabricated by Tom Patti Design.
With allusions to the romanticism of the Hudson River School of painting, Sears’s exquisitely rendered views of six above-water and five underwater riverscapes are populated by groups of creatures. The scenes are fantastic, magically real, yet firmly grounded in naturalism. From east to west, the panels in each overpass create the experience of one day, from dawn to dusk, with light, color, and subject. The masterfully painted plants and animals in this watery, dreamy realm include an unexpected combination of native and exotic species: a bobcat and house cat, polar bears and black bears, white-tailed deer, ducks, shad, seahorse and sturgeon, hawks and owls, herons and swallows, elephants, and horses. Sears places a particular emphasis on those animals that are threatened or endangered, enjoining us to consider and protect the natural world that surrounds us.
The trip down the length of the corridor is one of discovery, and an analogy to the explorers’ experience depicted in the scenes. The viewer will witness the passage of time through the transition of light and color in the sky and river, and the astonishing variety of plants and animals that inhabit each scene offers intrigue and imaginative contemplation.
“Untitled with Sky” (2010) by Liliana Porter and Ana Tiscornia at MNR Scarborough Station. Photo: Rob Wilson
About the Project
“Untitled with Sky” explores the boundaries between illusion – six faceted glass windows and twelve sculptural seats clad in mosaic that depict a beautiful sky as it changes from morning to evening – and “truth,” – the actual sky as it appears on either side of the art glass. Created in swirling, curved shapes in a variety of blues, purples, and rose, the work brings color and brightness to the platform where commuters wait for their morning train. The sculptural seats echo the contours and color of the windows and provide an amenity for Metro-North customer
“North, South and Home” (2009) by Joseph Cavalieri at MNR Philipse Manor Station. Photo: Veronica Sharon
About the Project
Joseph Cavalieri’s “North, South and Home” creates a colorful glow in the overpass of Metro-North Railroad’s Philipse Manor Station on the Hudson Line.
The artwork, with a decorative border reminiscent of Dutch tile design (with an abstract train running over the symbolic hills of Westchester along the bottom) features tree branches and stylized geraniums reaching across six faceted-glass panels to represent travel and a connected community. At the base of the tree trunk is an outlined shape of nearby Philipsburg Manor, built in 1693 by Frederick Philipse.
Running through the branches is a haiku that reads: “A gentle Hudson – Whistle begins my journey – North and south and home.”
Cavalieri creatively combined blue branches with a gradient orange-yellow background to create colorful contrasts that project a beautiful glow that will be visible from a distance and at night.
“Floating Auriculas” (2007) by Nancy Blum at NYCT MNR Dobbs Ferry Station. Photo: MTA Arts & Design
About the ProjectInspired by an heirloom plant that it is difficult to cultivate, “Floating Auriculas” by artist Nancy Blum provides a bold splash of color along the retaining wall at the Dobbs Ferry Station, enhancing the station¡¦s natural beauty with a palette of colors derived from the red brick of the old station building. The work uses the repeating quality of the flowers to provide viewers with an energetic imprint they can hold in their imagination as they travel. Fabricated by Miotto Mosaics in glass and marble tiles, the mural consists of seven flower heads, each about eight feet in diameter.
“A Field of Wild Flowers” (1997) by Roberto Juarez at Grand Central Terminal. Photo: Rob Wilson
About the project
Roberto Juarez creates a place of refreshment and repose with his lush garden landscape, designed to appear as though it were seen through the windows of a slow-moving train. The work, located at the waiting area in the Station Master’s Office, is one of the more fragile pieces in the system, executed in a multi-media collage that he describes as “consisting of layers of gesso, under-painting, urethane, and varnish. I also utilize natural materials — rice paper and a dusting of peat moss — to give my work added texture, strength, and beauty.”
“A Field of Wild Flowers” was created to be compatible with the architecture of Grand Central Terminal, and it repeats some of its historic interior details such as the representation of fruit, acorns, and garlands. It also provides a contemporary work of art that stands on its own, bringing a touch of serenity to the surrounding whirl of activity.
LIGHTHOUSE PARK FLOODED AFTER HURRICANE SANDY 10 YEARS AGO NEXT WEEK
NINA LUBLIN, HARA REISER, ED LITCHER, AND GLORIA HERMAN ALL GOT IT RIGHT
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
TRANSIT ART AND DESIGN METRO NORTH RAILROAD MTA
THIS PUBLICATION FUNDED BY DISCRETIONARY FUNDS FROM CITY COUNCIL MEMBER JULIE MENIN & ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE FUNDS.
Looking to experience the culinary side of Manhattan’s history? Look no further than these classic restaurants cherished by local New Yorkers, all of which were founded before the turn of the 20th century. From the first fine dining restaurant to a famous Jewish deli, these spots offer delicious menus served with a journey into the past. So take a tour of the dishes that made the city’s food scene internationally known, and treat yourself to the delectable dishes of Manhattan’s oldest restaurants:
Fraunces Tavern, dating back to 1762, is widely considered to be the oldest restaurant in the city. There is some debate as to the actual age of the building itself. While the brick house in the Financial District that would become home to the restaurant dates back to sometime between 1719 and 1722, it has been rebuilt and renovated countless times, causing many to wonder whether it can claim to be as old and authentic as it does.
Nonetheless, what is known is that before Samuel Fraunces opened it for tavern service as the “Sign of Queen Charlotte,” it was used as a dance school and trading firm. Even General John Lamb sending a cannonball through the tavern’s wall during a scuffle with the British in 1775 did not deter the popular establishment’s business. The year after, the British captured the restaurant and forced the staff to feed their soldiers. When they were finally driven out on November 25th of 1783, General George Clinton held an honorary banquet there for George Washington, whose tooth is now on display in the upstairs museum. Today, its incredible story is documented in the museum that stands just above the restaurant. Next to the numerous landmarks of American history that occurred inside, the fact that the restaurant also serves a great brunch and specializes in fine beer and whiskey is just a bonus.
Tucked away on the far west side of Soho, this cozy beer and burger joint remained nameless until the ’70s, when the owners covered the round parts of the “B” in a lighted “Bar” sign outside, and the catchy name appeared. The building housing the Ear Inn dates back to 1770 when it was constructed in honor of James Brown, an African soldier who resisted the British by George Washington’s side and supposedly makes an appearance in the famous painting of Washington crossing the Delaware River. From there, the Inn made good money servicing sailors a refreshing drink while stopping on their way down the Hudson River (which was only a mere five feet from the building originally). Timber found in its attic sparked rumors that this bar was built using leftover lumber from the Great Fire of 1776.
Food and restaurant service began in the early 20th century. During Prohibition, the bar was converted into a speakeasy and reopened publicly upon the passage of the 21st amendment. With nautical-themed decor and blooming flowerpots hanging outside, the Ear Inn remains a popular spot to grab a drink or a bite to eat. They have also adopted a “farm to table” policy, so even bar snacks are prepared with fresh, healthy ingredients.
Delmonico’s claims to be the first fine dining restaurant in the country. It was opened by the Delmonico brothers in 1837 and gained a reputation as an elite establishment offering private dining rooms and the largest wine cellar in the city to those who could afford it. Delmonico’s credits Charles Ranhofer, its executive chef during the Civil War era, with creating such American classics as baked Alaska, lobster Newburg, chicken a la Keene, and eggs benedict. This last claim has incurred some controversy regarding who was responsible for the birth of the classic brunch dish. The idea, originally meant to cure a hangover, is attributed to both Ranhofer and the Waldorf Astoria chef Oscar Tschirky.
The Delmonico steak, originally meaning whatever the cut of the evening was in the restaurant, is now typically a boneless rib-eye, cut thick and served without brushing, a purist mentality. It is known as a “black and red” steak, or charred on the outside but medium rare on the inside, a difficult combo for chefs to pull off.
While Pete’s may not be the absolutely oldest restaurant on this list, it is, for good reason, the oldest continually operating restaurant in New York. The atmosphere is nostalgia at its core, with black and white snapshots of the tavern through the years lining the walls. Besides serving delicious “saloon style” eats, its claim to fame is that O. Henry was once a regular.
Pete’s was a favorite spot of the short story writer between 1903 and 1907 when he lived nearby, and one table on the dining floor is still marked as the place where he wrote his masterpiece of misbegotten generosity The Gift of the Magi. Perhaps hoping to tap into O. Henry’s energy, Ludwig Bemelmans also wrote the well-loved children’s book Madelinewhile sitting in Pete’s. If you’re not inspired by the literary history, you will be by the classic dishes and lengthy cocktail list.
Old Homestead is not only one of New York’s oldest, but also the longest continuously operating steakhouse in the United States. Like many other current steakhouses in New York, this one was born in 1868, around the same time as the concept of a “chophouse” gained popularity, It was originally known as the Tidewater Trading Post, because the Hudson River of the time ran next to it, straight through the center of what is now Chelsea. The restaurant was purchased by Harry Sherry, who got his start working in the back as a dishwasher, and has been run by the same Sherry family for over 70 years.
Besides its impressive legacy, the Old Homestead’s other claim to fame is that it’s responsible for the first importation of Wagyu, or Kobe beef to the U.S. in the 1990s. Kobe, a region of Japan native to the unique Wagyu cows, produces some of the most high-priced and delicious steaks in the world, widely revered by food critics as the absolute best. To put it in perspective, a Wagyu burger from the Old Homestead will cost you $47. If you’re looking for the highest of the high quality and you don’t mind a little splurge, the Old Homestead has had your back for over 150 years.
In 1868, Patrick Henry Carley opened the Landmark Tavern, an Irish waterfront saloon along the shores of the Hudson River. Carley and his wife designed their new saloon to serve as a home for their children on the second and third floors. However, during Prohibition, they were forced to turn the third floor into a speakeasy. The bar was a regular hangout for a Hell’s Kitchen gang called the Westies. The tavern is also supposedly haunted — the ghosts of George Raft, a Confederate soldier, and an Irish immigrant girl have been seen over the years.
The Landmark Tavern still retains its classic old New York charm. Located on 11th Avenue and West 46th Street in Hell’s Kitchen, the tavern still serves up classics like shepherds pie, bangers and mash, and corned beef and cabbage, but has more recently introduced items like duck confit, lobster ravioli, and Asian vegetable spring rolls.
As spelled out clearly on its website, the Whitehorse Tavern claims the title of the second oldest pub in New York, at 139 years old. It got its start in the mid-19th century, catering to Irish communities in the Village. But it didn’t gain a real name for itself until the 1930s, when the Whitehorse was swept up in the counter-culture movement, and became a hub of leftist politics, writer’s circles, and cutting-edge music. Over the years, its lineup of regulars has included musicians Bob Dylan and Mary Travers of Peter, Paul, and Mary.
As the favorite of writers like Jack Kerouac, James Baldwin, Norman Mailer, William Styron, Allen Ginsburg, and more, the Whitehorse, then known as “the Horse,” has a special place in the Village’s literary tradition. Graffiti in the bathroom reading “GO HOME JACK” is testimony to the many times Jack Kerouac was kicked out for drunken behavior. A portrait also hangs over the favorite seat of Dylan Thomas, who may have spent his last hours at the bar in 1953. The iconic culture paper, The Village Voice, also traces its roots back to conversations at the bar of the Whitehorse. In 1969, it was awarded a historic landmark designation, which has saved it from alteration several times. Today, its virtue still lies in adherence to its history, with a nostalgically-styled bar and mementos of the old days lining the walls.
Some restaurants may be older than this homey burger bar, but few have as impressive a lineup of famous diners as P.J. Clarke’s. Its website quotes Nat King Cole, who called its burger “the Cadillac of burgers,” and says that “Buddy Holly proposed to his wife here five hours after they met.”
The pub got its start in 1884 serving beer to Irish immigrants and became even more popular during Prohibition when it illegally brewed and imported gin and scotch. From then on, P.J.’s wormed its way into the hearts of multiple stars, like Frank Sinatra, Jackie O, Peter O’Toole, Elizabeth Taylor, and Johnny Mercer. (The bar is almost certainly the inspiration for the boozy ballad “One for My Baby,” which Mercer wrote on the back of a napkin in the restaurant.) Author Charles Jackson also penned The Lost Weekend while dining here, and the motion picture on which it was based was filmed on a Hollywood set modeled after P.J. Clarke’s. It was also a filming location for Mad Men and Annie Hall. When the property was finally sold by the Lavezzos in 1967, a 99-year leaseback was included. So, go try the burger loved around Hollywood, lest you regret it come 2066 when the lease expires
The walls of Keen’s Steakhouse are covered in old playbills and theater memorabilia. That’s because when this high-end steakhouse and oyster establishment opened in 1885 under the managerial leadership of its namesake, Albert Keen, it was mainly used by actors and performers from next door Garrick Theatre as a place to freshen up between acts. The actors starring in Abraham Lincoln’s last show were once among them, hence a wall of Lincoln memorabilia that includes the final show’s playbill on one wall of the restaurant.
The other unusual decor that will catch diners’ eyes are the long clay pipes that completely cover the ceiling of every room of the restaurant. During the turn of the century, Keen’s became a Pipe Club, or an inn in which travelers could check their pipes. Members could stop by Keen’s for a smoke, and then have their personal pipes kept behind the desk. Each pipe now hanging on the wall represents a member, including Teddy Roosevelt, Buffalo Bill, Babe Ruth, and Albert Einstein. Broken pipes signify a deceased member, as the stem of a pipe was broken when its designated owner passed away. Nowadays, Keen’s provides a gilded, old-world dining experience. Their mutton chops are especially renowned, and were praised by James Beard as putting “everyday chops momentarily in the pale.” Come for the flavor, stay to pick out the well-known names on the pipes that line the wall.
FROM: LAURA HUSSEY Artist Ilya Bolotowsky and his assistant painting a WPA mural at the Hall of Medical Sciences 1939 World’s Fair.
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
Sources
UNTAPPED NEW YORK
FROM THE ARCHIVES IS FUNDED BY DISCRETIONARY FUNDS FROM NY CITY COUNCIL MEMEBR JULIE MENIN AND RIOC PUBLIC PURPOSES FUNDS.
A postcard reveals a portion of the Italian Garden and the breathtaking views.
Twenty-three year old Charles V. Paterno earned his medical degree from Cornell University in 1899. He would not use it for long. The son of real estate dealer John Paterno, he was born in Castelmezzano, Italy and immigrated with his family in the 1880s. Charles and his brother Joseph took over the real estate business when their father died. Although he would never practice medicine again, Charles retained the title Doctor for the rest of his professional life. At the turn of the century the Upper West Side was developing quickly and the Paterno brothers were leaders in erecting modern apartment houses for urban pioneering families. Their Paterno Construction Company gained a reputation for producing luxurious, architecturally conservative apartment buildings. Within a few years the brothers had amassed large personal fortunes. In 1905 Dr. Paterno purchased seven and a half acres in the Inwood section of Manhattan with breathtaking views of the Hudson River and the New Jersey Palisades on the opposite bank. He commissioned architect John C. Watson to design his new home—one that would be quite unlike any of the other turn-of-the-century mansions that were rising along Riverside Drive and upper Fifth Avenue. Taking advantage of the scenic setting 125 feet above the Hudson, Paterno envisioned a romantic Rhineland-like castle. According to The Sun years later, “It is said that he saw a place in the country of his forefathers that made a deep impression on him. It was in surroundings similar to the Fort Washington section. When he decided to build himself a home on the Drive he remembered this castle and had his home built accordingly.”
Castle Paterno perched above the Hudson like a romantic Rhineland relic.
And he got what he paid for. Costing $500,000, about $10 million by today’s standards, the four-story castle was ready for occupancy in 1909 (although still not completed). While Paterno could have gotten away with durable (and perhaps more expected) granite for his castle, he chose white marble. The mansion sat at approximately 185th Street on what was then called Boulevard Lafayette (an extension of Riverside Drive) and Northern Boulevard (later to be renamed Cabrini Boulevard). Building Age called it “a residence of unique construction.” The castle was accessed through an underground passage that ran under the front of the building. Fifteen steps lead from the Boulevard to a terrace with a fountain. Stairs on either side led to another landing where the tunnel opened into the side of the hill.
The New York Times depicted the unique entrance on June 7, 1908 (copyright expired)
Guests may have felt some trepidation as they followed the underground passage 75 feet, slowly ascending, to the basement of the mansion—rather like feudal knights stealing into a fortress.
The New York Times June 7, 1908 (copyright expired)
The New York Times described the first room in which the visitor would emerge within the subbasement of the house. “One finds a room probably without a counterpart in any New York home. This is not a dungeon into which may be thrown those who incur the displeasure of the owner, nor is it a secret compartment for the safekeeping of the family jewels.” It was a “mushroom vault” which Building Age explained was “for propagating the succulent fungi.” The Times said that here with “just the right conditions of temperature and moisture, [Dr. Paterno] can have mushrooms sprouting every day in time for dinner.” Here, too, was the wine cellar. The basement proper held the Turkish bath with dressing room, two hot rooms of different temperatures, massage rooms and a swimming pool fed by pumps from the Hudson River below. There were also a grill room and “lounging room” at this level. Finally, at 80 feet above the street level, was the main reception hall, 20 feet square. Opening off the hall were the parlor, library, music room and Paterno’s den. Although the architecture was inarguably medieval, the interior decoration was eclectic. Each room of the house reflected a different period or style. The parlor was furnished in Louis XV style; the dining room was “Colonial;” and the library was outfitted in an Asian motif. Drawing on Andrew Carnegie’s practice of being awakened by organ music, Paterno had a clever and unique antique clock installed in the entrance hall that automatically operated the $7000 organ on the second floor gallery at certain times of the day. The large clock also operated the set of chimes in the castle tower, announcing the hour and half hour. The bedrooms were located on the second floor; the master bedroom measuring 18 by 20 feet. A nursery and sewing room were also on this level. While the house was still under construction, Building Age noticed that “an unusual feature in connection with the sleeping rooms will be that none of them will be reached directly from the hall, but through a vestibule.” The entertainment areas were located on the third floor. Here were the immense banquet hall and ballroom covering about 50 square feet with ceilings 20 feet high. Balconies sprouted off the ballroom, affording guests nighttime views of the Hudson that, perhaps, made the climb to this level worthwhile. The large billiard room was also situated on the third floor. The roof over about one-half of the building was dedicated to a garden. “But it will be no ordinary roof garden,” promised Building Age. The outdoor space included an aviary, solarium and large conservatory where Mrs. Paterno’s friends enjoyed polite conversation over tea while taking in the view. A foot and a half of soil covered the roof to accommodate a natural garden. Below, an extensive Italian garden was laid out with colonnades, pergolas and fountains. Below it a service tunnel ran directly from Northern Boulevard to the kitchen and servants’ quarters, eliminating the possibility of deliverymen running into family members. By 1913 Paterno Castle was still not completed. On February 16 The Sun noted that “Along the Drive under the house there is a pile of marble that is waiting to be put in place.” But the newspaper was impressed by the remarkable mansion nonetheless. “A castle of medieval times could not offer a more formidable appearance. “ Paterno Castle took full advantage of the location in its outside spaces. “Along the 139 feet on [Northern Avenue] is a railing ten feet high of marble and iron. It is a massive affair and harmonizes with the architecture of the castle.” The house, said the article, “is built as far out on the cliff as it was possible to build it. This gives a lawn of nearly 200 feet between it and the iron and marble railing along Northern Avenue. Over the roadway at the entrance to the house is a marble porch with battlement on top, as in the feudal castle of old.”
The fence, called by The Sun “a railing…of marble and iron,” mirrored the crenelated towers.
Three years later the house was officially completed. The New York Tribune, on November 5, 1916, jibed “This might be the poet’s ‘castled crag of Drachenfels’ frowning o’er the wide and winding Rhine’ were it not the Hudson River bluffs at 185th Street, with the 35-room residence of Dr. Charles V. Paterno playing the part of the castle.”
A shady pergola wrapped along the edge of the cliff — NYPL Collection
The castle was superbly designed for entertaining and the Paternos took full advantage. On the afternoon of April 12, 1917 they hosted a reception for the Reverend Billy Sunday along with cooperative ministers and executive committee members of the Y.W.C.A. and Y.M.C.A. For years society page reports would tell of tea being served in the solarium and programs of organ music being enjoyed. The Paterno family was just finishing dinner on the evening of July 24, 1919 when a ruckus occurred. Anna Bailey, also known as Anna Creegan, was found climbing over the garden wall. When arrested, she had under her blouse Mrs. Paterno’s silver sugar bowl and two silver platters. Dr. Paterno told police that how the woman got into the house was a mystery. Despite the silver items being found on her person, the woman denied having taken them. The Evening World remarked on the defendant’s appearance at court. “Miss Baily, or Mrs. Creegan, was the object of considerable attention in the court room. Although she is a trifle shy of forty, her hair is bobbed. She wore a purple skirt, a blue waist and a red tie and carried a buff-colored sweater.” The newspaper apparently felt her sense of style was as offensive as her theft. Partly due to his own development, land along the Hudson at the far northern end of Manhattan increased in value. In 1935 Fort Tryon Park, a gift to the city from John D. Rockefeller, Jr., was completed and in 1938 The Cloisters Museum was opened. Dr. Charles Paterno smelled money. He told The New York Times in August, 1938, that “the many improvements in that part of the city…had led to a strong residential movement in that area with a definite demand for the finer type of garden type apartments.” And there was no more advantageous spot for “the finer type of garden type apartments” than the site of his castle. Charles Paterno announced plans “to demolish his fortress-like residence
A section of the cast iron fencing lays on its side as workmen begin demolition in 1938 — NYPL Collection
Paterno commissioned George Fred Pelham, Jr. to design the $6 million project to be called “Castle Village.” By the end of 1938 Paterno Castle was gone. But today relics of the medieval-style fortress remain. The white marble garage and servants’ quarters were converted to housing, and marble entrance columns remain as do sections of the Italian Gardens. The guesthouse, sitting at the northernmost edge of the former estate, survived. It sits precariously above the Hudson and retains a small garden. Remnants of what was undeniably one of the most picturesque and romantic structures in Manhattan still exist; but the bulk of Dr. Charles Paterno’s remarkable estate was a victim of his own financial interests.
THIS IS FROM ED LITCHER: Pan American’s first Clipper flight from the Marine Air Terminal at Laguardia Airport in New York City departed on March 31, 1940. The photo shows the terminal with a Boeing Model B-314 ‘Yankee Clipper’ at its dock. This terminal is the oldest active airport terminal from the first generation of passenger air travel? The Art Deco terminal is a New York City Landmark and thus safe from destruction, unlike other more ill-fated terminals at JFK Airport.
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
Sources
DAYTONIAN IN MANHATTAN WIKIMEDIA COMMONS
FROM THE ARCHIVES IS FUNDED BY DISCRETIONARY FUNDS FROM NYCITY COUNCIL MEMEBR JULIE MENIN AND RIOC PUBLIC PURPOSES FUNDS.
The Gilded Age ushered in opulent mansions, ostentatious balls, and very conspicuous consumption. But this era synonymous with wealth also brought us the breadline—where impoverished New Yorkers stood in the shadows night after night, waiting their turn to obtain a free meal.
“Fleischmann’s Bread Line,” by Everett Shinn, about 1900
Breadlines (many of which distributed more than bread) proliferated by the turn of the century at Gotham’s missions and benevolent societies created to serve the poor. But the first breadline, where the term originates, started at a fashionable bakery on Broadway and 10th Street in 1876.
Louis Fleischmann, a prosperous Austrian immigrant, owned the Vienna Model Bakery next door to Grace Church on the edge of the Ladies Mile shopping district. One December night, Fleischmann saw a group of men huddled in front of a steam grate beside the store. He brought the men—or “hungry tramps,” as one newspaper described them—some unsold bread left in the bakery. They accepted it eagerly.
Fleischmann’s Vienna Model Bakery during the daytime, 1898
More men showed up the next night, forming a quiet line at the back door. Touched by their plight, Fleischmann decided that anyone who queued up by midnight would be given half a loaf of leftover bread, no questions asked. For the next four decades, Fleischmann distributed bread (as well as hot coffee) to sometimes hundreds of men per night on his “breadline,” as it became known.
City newspapers covered Fleischmann’s breadline heavily, some with sympathy and others with a hint of disdain. “Here are men whose lives are not running well—400 small worlds gone to shipwreck,” reported the New York Press in 1902. The New-York Tribune wrote in 1904, “The picturesque and pitiful line of men in the early hours of every morning has become one of the features of the city’s life.”
At the head of Fleischmann’s breadline, 1904, photographer unknown
While New Yorkers debated whether the breadline helped the hungry or instead contributed to “pauperism” and encouraged men to accept handouts, painters, illustrators, and photographers were drawn to Fleischmann’s, where they captured scenes of charity and misery.
Whether painted by social realists such as Everett Shinn and George Luks or shot by news photographers like George Bain, these images depict anonymous men in black hats and coats awaiting their half a loaf and cup of coffee. The humanity of the often faceless men is the focus; the argument as to whether such handouts were helpful or hurtful doesn’t factor in.
George Bain’s view of a snowy night on the breadline in 1908
The one curious breadline painting comes from George Luks. Like Everett Shinn, Luks was a member of the Ashcan School, and his work typically reflected a gritty early 20th century city.
In 1900, Luks painted children on a bakery breadline, even though there’s no documentation that young people ever came to Fleischmann’s or any other nighttime breadline. The kids in Luks’ painting have baskets to fill with stale bread, which they may be bringing home to hungry family members.
“Breadline,” by George Luks, 1900
Or perhaps putting kids on his breadline was Luks’ way of drawing attention to the thousands of homeless children who lived on the streets or in lodging houses, working in legitimate jobs or joining criminal gangs. Access to a breadline could have kept these “street arabs,” as they were dubbed, from going to bed hungry.
PLANS FOR ART EXHIBIT IN MOTORGATE ATRIUM.THAT TOOK PLACE IN LATE 1980’S
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
Sources EPHEMERAL NEW YORK
[Top image: Wikipedia; second image: MCNY 93.1.1.18243; third image: National Gallery of Art; fourth image: Alamy; fifth image: George Bain Collection/LOC]
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
The collection consists of architectural plans for most buildings on the 958 blocks of Manhattan below 34th Street. They date from establishment of the Department of Buildings (DOB) in 1866 through 1978. The plans had been submitted to the DOB by builders, architects, plumbers, electricians, etc., as part of the process to receive a permit to build or alter any structure.
Regulations concerning buildings pre-date the DOB. In 1625, the Dutch West India Company imposed rules for the locations and types of houses that could be built in the colony. Among the edicts were prohibitions on roofs made of reeds, and wooden or plaster chimneys. Throughout the next 200 years, city leaders enacted an array of building regulations, mostly related to sanitation and public safety, particularly from the hazard of fire. There was good reason for this. Fires devastated the city in 1776, 1835, and 1845. The 1845 fire destroyed 345 buildings in the financial district and killed 40 people. In 1816, the city banned new construction of wood-frame structures below Canal Street and in 1849 the ban was extended to 32nd Street. By 1882, no wood-frame buildings were allowed below 155th Street.
Evolution of a tenement, from single-to-multiple-family structures, an illustration from the Tenement House Commission Report of 1895. NYC Municipal Library.
In addition to fire, the exponential growth of the city necessitated additional building regulations. The city’s population increased from 60,000 people in 1800, to 800,000 in 1860. To accommodate this expansion, single-family homes were sub-divided, additional floors were added, and extensions were built into their already small yards, leaving little open space for light or ventilation. By 1865, more than 15,000 tenement-style houses had already been built.
During the 18th and 19th century the city experienced cholera, yellow fever, and typhoid epidemics. Overcrowding and close quarters with little ventilation and unsanitary conditions contributed to the spread of disease.
Caption: The introduction of new technologies such as the elevator and steel-frame construction allowed ever-larger and taller buildings to rise in Lower Manhattan. The collection includes an elaborate fire-escape for the building on Washington Place where the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire occurred. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
In 1860 the New York State Legislature passed “An Act to provide against unsafe buildings in the City of New York…,” calling for the appointment of a Superintendent of Buildings and a staff of inspectors. Over the next 40 years, the city and state enacted new regulations, including establishment of the Bureau of Fire Escapes and Iron Work in 1874, and the Bureaus of Plumbing, Light, and Heat in 1892.
Other laws passed in 1867 and 1879 mandated fire escapes but failed to adequately address issues of light and ventilation. This resulted in the Tenement Act of 1901, which imposed many more regulations, such as requiring new buildings to have outward-facing windows, indoor bathrooms, proper ventilation, and increased fire safeguards. Population growth also meant that the City’s economy grew and became more complex, creating the need for larger and more versatile spaces.
Advances in the water supply system, sanitary engineering, access to gas and electricity for illumination and cooking, and central heating systems added to the complexity of building construction and to the variety of types of plans that needed to be filed. New lighting fixtures in the District Attorney’s office on Centre Street. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
Of the thousands of plumbing drawings, one of our favorites is a very artistic sink and toilet drawing for the Manhattan House of Detention. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
Permit and application correspondence in block and lot folders, DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
Permit applications and filed plans are arranged according to the Block and Lot number, a system that provides every city parcel of land with a unique identifying number. Insurance atlases are a helpful tool in identifying historical block and lot numbers. 1897 Bromley Atlas. New York Public Library online resource.
Increasingly, trained architects and engineers, rather than tradespeople and builders, were needed to navigate the complexities of the system and to submit plans and application forms. The DOB retained the bulk of these materials until the early 1970s when it initiated a pilot project to save space by microfilming the building plans that had accumulated over the previous century. They employed an outside vendor for the microfilming, intending to dispose of the original materials after filming. The idea of disposing of the original material raised alarms among the city’s community of historians, architects, and preservationists, including the Landmarks Preservation Commission. They monitored the quality of the microfilm and it was determined that the film did not meet accepted standards. The project was discontinued after filming the surviving plans for all buildings on the 958 blocks of Lower Manhattan below 34th Street. At that point they transferred the plans to Municipal Archives.
Roll plans from the DOB in storage. NYC Municipal Archives.
In 1979, an initial group of 1,000 rolls of blueprints and plans were transferred to the Municipal Archives, and more kept coming. By 1984, the archives conducted an inventory of the accumulated rolled plans and concluded that they had acquired a total of 5,738 rolls of plans. Until 2018, these plans were in storage in the same state they arrived in, occasionally being pulled by archives staff for use by researchers if they knew they existed.
In 2018, the Municipal Archives received support from the New York State Library Conservation/Preservation Discretionary Grant Program to process and re-house a subset of the Manhattan Building plans that pertained to the neighborhoods of Tribeca and Soho. This allowed staff to be hired to begin to process the plans. After the approximately 140 blocks encompassing those two neighborhoods were completed in the fall of 2019, the archivists started working on the lowest blocks in Manhattan.
Poor storage conditions and improper handling during the microfilming process resulted in damage to the plans. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
Less than ideal storage conditions have led to some daunting issues in processing the collection. The microfilm vendor haphazardly and messily rewrapped the plans in acidic wrapping paper tightly tied with damaging twine and labelled the “bundle” with minimal, and often insufficient, information.
It’s a big task for our rolled plans processing team to process and rehouse these plans to reestablish intellectual control over the material and to create more optimal retrieval and storage conditions. Here is a look at some of the tasks we perform on each roll.
The re-rolled plans are stored in archival containers. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
First, the dusty bundles are un-rolled and the plans are identified, sorted, flattened, repaired if damaged, counted and cataloged, and carefully and neatly re-rolled onto acid-free tubes, wrapped with protective Mylar, and stored in acid-free boxes. The method for organizing the plans is according to the building’s block and lot number; all the plans for all the buildings or structures built on a particular city lot, and all the changes and alterations made to an already existing building on that lot, are stored together. When sorting the plans, we verify the block and lot information and record it in a spreadsheet, as well as addresses, quantity of plans, dates, and notes on architects, important features, and major condition concerns that are passed on to our conservation department.
A block can contain up to 70 or 80 lots, sometimes all rolled together. Over time, when buildings are expanded or torn down, and new larger buildings are built, or buildings are combined, the lot number can change. The lot numbers written on these plans (often written very boldly in horrifying black magic marker!!!!) are essentially only accurate for the location identification as it was in the 1970s. This mean that we do not know the contents of a bundle until it is unrolled.
When we identify the plans, we record the block and lot number from when the plan was filed as well as the current identifying information listed in the DOB BIS (Building Information System). Our concern is that researchers might request materials based on numbers from the DOB BIS, or from insurance atlases, or old block and lot maps, which may not match up with 1970s labeling. Our goal is to provide multiple entry points.
After unrolling, plans are under boards and light weights. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
The drawings span more than 100 years and many print types created by many different processes are represented in the collection. During processing they are sorted according to print type and separated by sheets of Mylar to avoid chemical migration between the different types of plans.
Plan types. Blueprint. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
Plan types: Aniline print. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
Plan types. Drawing on drafting linen. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
After processing, the containers and re-shelved. DOB Collection. NYC Municipal Archives.
We have processed almost 30,000 drawings but there’s a lot more work to be done! Clearly, it is a really big, multi-year project, but it’s very worth it. Now, when we receive inquiries about plans from researchers, we can tell immediately whether we do or do not hold plans for a particular address or block and lot number, and can supply quantity and date information simply by checking the spreadsheet. Retrieval of the actual plans once they are processed takes minutes instead of hours and almost everything that has been processed is in a state that is now ready for scanning because the flattening and repair has already been performed. As of now we are scanning on demand for researchers as well as digitizing particularly interesting or beautiful plans so they can be part of our online gallery.
It’s also worth doing the work because the collection has so much to offer that is now becoming more accessible to the public.
THE ROOSEVELT ISLAND CONNECTION
When Goldwater Hospital closed, the RIHS acquired all the plans for the building dating back to 1936. Cornell Tech acquired the building with the plans that were abandoned in the basement there. Cornell gave us permission to take the plans.
After spending weeks sorting thru hundreds of plans, we removed about 180 sets to the RIHS archives in the Octagon.
Having such a large amount of paper was cumbersome and we did spend a summer sorting and cataloging them courtesy of our intern Sean McKee.
When we relocated our office and the building was being renovated, the plans went into cartons in storage. We finally decided that the RIHS could not preserve all these architectural treasures. We contacted the NYS Archives which would be a very complicated transfer, since the plans were NYC property. (The NYS Archives in Albany acquired the RIOC collection dating from the Welfare Island 1969 days to further development. RIOC could not maintain the archives and were happy to ship them off to Albany for conservation and preservation.)
We contacted the NYC Municipal Archives who agreed to acquire the Goldwater collection. Being City property it would be an easy transfer. The Archives facility was being relocated and we had to wait for construction to be complete and then thru the pandemic.
Last spring the plans were finally relocated to Brooklyn Industry City location where they are being preserved and protected from deterioration.
Good news is that both sets of archival materials are in new home and being conserved and cataloged for public use.
Cart of Goldwater plans before sorting. Plans is in RIHS office prior to storage and move to NYC Municipal Archives.
RIHS AND GOOD SHEPHERD TEAM UP TO MEET COMMUNITY ON SATURDAY.
Barbara Spiegel, Judith Berdy, Rev. Geraldo Ramirez share a table on Saturday.
That’s Tom Otterness’ Life Underground in the subway at 14th St and 8th Ave. Part of the MTA Arts for Transit program, and very cute! From Aron Eisenpreiss
Ed Litcher, Gloria Herman and Hara Reiser also got it right.
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c)
NYC MUNICIPAL ARCHIVES
CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE JULE MENIN DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
Among the trio of turn-of-the-century New York State Arts and Crafts communities, Elverhoj is the least-well-known. The recent publication of Elverhoj: The Arts and Crafts Colony at Milton-on-Hudson (Black Dome Press, 2022; distributed by RIT Press), written by William B. Rhoads and Leslie Melvin, resolves the oversight.
Roycroft, in East Aurora (Erie County), and Byrdcliffe, in Woodstock, both began earlier than Elverhoj. Previously, each was the subject of a definitive scholarly text.
Elverhoj was established by Anders Andersen and Johannes Morton on the picturesque west shore of the Hudson River in 1912. Its Danish name loosely translates to “hill of the fairies.” Persisting until the 1930s, well outside of the Arts and Crafts period, it fell victim to the Depression eventually filing for bankruptcy like so many enterprises.
In between, and for a quarter century, Elverhoj (pronounced “El-ver-hoy”) enjoyed enthusiastic, positive public reception and critical distinction: at exhibitions in Chicago, New York, and Boston; winning a gold medal at the 1915 Pacific Exposition in San Francisco; and being featured in an article published in The Craftsman, a monthly magazine published by Gustav Stickley and a key organ for the American Arts and Crafts Movement.
Today, Elverhoj’s metalware and jewelry are arguably best known, though scarce. In addition to these (relatively speaking) better known forms, work produced in silver, copper and wrought iron, etchings and paintings round-out the Elverhoj craft oeuvre.
Some Elverhoj products doubtless escape contemporary notice as they are unmarked by either the artist who created them or the place where they were created. Whether modesty or communitarianism accounts for this is unknown.
Thankfully, the book offers archival photographs and, more significantly, artist drawings for many Elverhoj products. They include unusual (and probably never before seen) metal sconces, table and hanging lighting. The illustrations provide readers with examples from which attributions can now have a reference source.
The book’s authors take readers on a deep dive into Elverhoj. Rhoads and Melvin are masters at ferreting out fugitive information—from archives and newspapers to advertising clippings and printed brochures. Meticulously documented, the text as much satisfies readers with heretofore unreported information as it acts as a springboard and inspiration for ambitious researchers to dive deeper into original, primary texts associated with their own investigations.
The thirteen-chapter narrative is organized chronologically. Thematic chapters identify subjects of particular appeal and significance: how work produced at the Colony brought it a national reputation, the (legitimizing) presence of important visitors to the Elverhoj colony, and a lengthy chapter about the craftswomen of Elverhoj.
As interest in Arts and Crafts tapered off by the late-teens, finally dissipating in the 20s, Elverhoj turned to theatrical productions with performances covered by the New York Times beginning in 1926. Famed film actress Dorothy Gish, for instance, performed at the colony in 1932.
Distinctively, and unlike Roycroft and Byrdcliffe that never established formal ties to any educational institution, Elverhoj connected with nearby Vassar College. Summer classes at Elverhoj dovetailed with Vassar’s curricular interests. Even commerce between the two organizations ensued: Elverhoj made Vassar’s 1922 class ring.
A 20-page timeline of the Elverhoj Colony (constructed by Melvin), an appendix of personalities (with thumbnail biographies) with looser connections to the Colony, and a second appendix focused on retail shops hosting Elverhoj’s output concludes the work.
Since its 1972 revival, research on the American Arts and Crafts Movement (1900-1920) has unsurprisingly moved from the initial broad strokes to more particular, finely detailed narratives. Elverhoj is William Rhoads and Leslie Melvin’s valuable report on the modest-sized craft colony that made an over-sized contribution to the movement.
While early, waterfront approaches to the decorative arts style importantly helped situate and contextualize (and in some cases, glamorize) the Movement, subsequent investigations more specific in nature deepen understanding of the Movement, its products, and personalities.
Rhoads and Melvin’s Elverhoj compares favorably with the exhaustive texts on the state’s two other arts and crafts colonies (Via and Searl’s 1994 Head, Heart and Hand on Roycroft and Green’s 2015 book, Byrdcliffe). As such, Elverhoj belongs on the bookshelves of all serious Arts and Crafts scholars as well as those studying decorative art and the history of craft in the United States.
Readable and impeccably documented, the book is profusely illustrated. Copies can be ordered from RIT Press.
William Rhoads is professor emeritus of Art History, SUNY at New Paltz, and author of numerous books and scholarly articles, including many on the Colonial Revival and Franklin Roosevelt’s interests in architecture and art. Leslie Melvin is an academic technologist at Bard College and joined the Elverhoj research group while a board member of the Ulster County Historical Society.
Photos, from above: Elverhoj Summer School cover; and Elverhoj table lamp provided.
Plaque celebrating 100th anniversary of Queensboro Bridge
Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c)
SOURCES
Walter Barrett, The Old Merchants of New York City, Second Series 1883
NEW YORK ALMANACK
GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE JULIE MENIN DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD, ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE FUNDS
Many times I spot a wonderful and unique book I would love to own. Many of them were published by Phaidon. Enjoy the story of this unique publishing enterprise.
PHAIDON: HOME OF THE VISUAL ARTS Phaidon is the premier global publisher of the creative arts. We work with the world’s most influential authors to produce innovative books on art, photography, design, architecture, fashion, food, and travel, and illustrated books for children. Phaidon has a long and distinguished history as an art-book publisher with over 1,500 titles in print.
EARLY DAYS The company was founded in Vienna in 1923 by Dr Béla Horovitz and Ludwig Goldscheider. Horovitz named the company Phaidon (‘ai’ pronounced ‘i’ as in ‘wise’ – International Phonetic Alphabet) in reference to Phaedo, a Greek philosopher and pupil of Socrates, to acknowledge his love of classical culture. Horovitz created quality books at an affordable price while Goldscheider contributed elegant layouts and handsome production.
The classic, now familiar, archetypal Phaidon book was introduced in 1937 with large-format publications on Van Gogh, Botticelli, and the French Impressionists. Horovitz was a pioneer of the international co-edition.
MOVE TO ENGLAND The arrival of the Nazis in Vienna forced Horovitz to move the company to England. For the next fourteen years, Phaidon books were distributed through George Allen and Unwin Ltd. Horovitz and Goldscheider expanded the large-format series to include books on Donatello, Bellini, and Michelangelo, many edited by Goldscheider himself.After the war, the company launched an innovative programme of scholarly and popular art publishing. This included the monumental critical catalogue of drawings in The Royal Collection at Windsor Castle, begun in 1942, and an elegant ‘pocket’ series of art-history texts.One of Phaidon’s best-known and biggest-selling titles, The Story of Art, first published in 1950, was the result of a chance meeting between Horovitz and Ernst H. Gombrich on the top deck of a London bus. A fellow pre-war refugee from Vienna, Gombrich was a research fellow teaching at the Warburg Institute. Horovitz persuaded him to write a one-volume survey of the history of art, and to encourage the reluctant author to persevere — Horovitz refused to take back the advance on royalties that Gombrich had been paid when he wavered. The book has gone on to sell 8 million copies and has been translated into thirty languages.
HOROVITZ DIES
When Béla Horovitz died suddenly in New York in 1955, Phaidon continued under the direction of his son-in-law, Harvey Miller, who upheld the traditions of scholarship and high quality, producing fine monographs and catalogues, expanding the Colour Plate (now Colour Library) series and many of Gombrich’s more scholarly titles. In 1967 Phaidon was sold to Frederick Praeger Inc, a subsidiary of Encyclopaedia Britannica. Praeger found the venture unprofitable and in 1974 he sold the company to Elsevier.
The 1970s saw a great expansion in the number of staff employed by Phaidon and the number of titles it published. Like many other publishers at the time, Phaidon diversified into a range of subject areas and began to buy-in titles from publishers abroad. Elsevier found art books unprofitable and, in 1981, 4 directors led a management buyout under the name Musterlin.
THE REVIVAL Entrepreneur Richard Schlagman acquired Phaidon Press in 1990 with the objective of re-establishing it as the leading publisher of books on the visual arts. The company’s headquarters returned to London in May 1991, with an energetic publishing program of new books, the revitalising of older standard texts, and the establishment of a global sales and distribution operation.
The company’s fortunes were revived, in part, via a return to Phaidon’s traditional values of excellent design and affordable prices. The books became recognised worldwide as being of the highest quality in terms of content, design, and production.
The 2005 English publication of The Silver Spoon and the 2006 launch of the Wallpaper* City Guides, a major series of travel guides aimed at Phaidon’s core audience, successfully extended the publishing list beyond the company’s traditional subject areas.
A NEW ERA In October 2012, Phaidon came under new ownership and its new senior management team began the task of growing the company for the long term as the world’s leading publisher of books in the visual arts, food, and children’s markets.
Publishing successes in subsequent years expanded the growing art program to include books made in collaboration with the global superstar Rihanna, NIKE, photographer Annie Leibovitz, fashion designer Sir Paul Smith, the streetwear brand Supreme, and Cecily Brown, one of many cutting-edge artists in the company’s iconic Contemporary Artists Series. More recently, Phaidon has successfully added interior design to its core publishing categories.
In August 2014 Phaidon acquired the online art-sales business Artspace, and in January 2020 Phaidon acquired the esteemed publishing house The Monacelli Press from its founder, Gianfranco Monacelli.
With Headquarters in London and New York, and offices in Paris and Berlin, Phaidon now operates a global sales and distribution network, selling in over 100 countries and publishing books in English, Chinese, French, Spanish, Japanese, and German, and with an increasing number of publishing partners in further languages.
Phaidon’s beautiful illustrated books are treasured worldwide for their outstanding content and award-winning production, and feature the finest creative work from leading innovators in all areas of the arts, architecture, design, photography, interior design, travel, and food.
‘ABSTRACTION” BY ARTIST ILYA BOLOTOSKY ON WALL AT GOLDWATER HOSPIAL, 1940, NOW ON VIEW AT CORNELL TECH BLOOMBERG CENTER.
ED LITCHER GOT IT RIGHT!!!
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
PHAIDON
THIS PUBLICATION FUNDED BY DISCRETIONARY FUNDS FROM CITY COUNCIL MEMBER JULIE MENIN & ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE FUNDS.
Although Hopper aspired to recognition as a painter, his first successes came in print, through his illustrations and etchings. Having trained in commercial art in his student years, he found work as an illustrator after leaving school in 1906. By this time, New York had established itself as the advertising and publishing center of the United States, and in the 1910s and 1920s Hopper received a steady flow of assignments, which helped him earn a living and supported his fine art practice. His illustrations often featured urban motifs inspired by New York—theaters, restaurants, offices, and city dwellers—that would become foundational to his art.
Intrigued by the creative possibilities of printmaking, Hopper spent much of his free time between 1915 and the early 1920s refining his etching techniques. He acquired a press for his studio in 1916 and began to exhibit and sell his prints, many of which also took inspiration from city subjects. For Hopper, the print medium offered a critical opportunity to sharpen his compositional skills and to experiment with light and shadow in black and white.
The Window
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Hopper spent hours strolling New York’s sidewalks, riding its elevated trains, patronizing its eating establishments, and attending the theater, always on the lookout for new subjects. He was particularly drawn to the fluid boundaries between public and private space in a city where all aspects of everyday life—from goods in a storefront display to unguarded moments in a café—are equally exposed. The window became one of Hopper’s most enduring symbols, and he exploited its potential to depict the exterior and interior of a building simultaneously, a viewing experience he described as a “common visual sensation.”
Hopper’s interiors suggest the vulnerability of private life in the densely populated metropolis. In Night Windows (1928) and Room in New York (1932), for example, he captures the experience of the city after nightfall as illuminated spaces became a sort of urban theater for passersby. For Hopper, New York’s windowed facades served as dynamic structuring devices that he employed in compositions throughout his career.
The Horizontal City
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Five paintings made between 1928 and 1935—Manhattan Bridge Loop; Blackwell’s Island; Macomb’s Dam Bridge; Apartment Houses, East River; and Early Sunday Morning—share nearly identical dimensions and the same panoramic format. Collectively, these paintings provide invaluable insight into Hopper’s contrarian vision of a horizontal city; as Alfred H. Barr observed of Hopper’s work in 1933: “His indifference to skyscrapers is remarkable in a painter of New York architecture.”
Describing his aims in Manhattan Bridge Loop, Hopper explained that the painting’s horizontal composition was an attempt to give “a sensation of great lateral extent” and bring attention to the cityscape beyond the frame; “I just never cared for the vertical,” he later quipped. His depictions of the wide spans of the city’s bridges, its industrial landscapes, and its low-slung buildings elevate the quotidian and prosaic over the iconic, offering a powerful counterpoint to the awe-inspiring views of the New York skyline celebrated in the news and in works by many of his contemporaries.
Washington Square
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Hopper moved to a modest top-floor residence at 3 Washington Square North in Greenwich Village in 1913, and was joined there by the artist Josephine (Jo) Verstille Nivison Hopper upon their marriage in 1924. When the Hoppers moved across the hall in 1932 to a larger apartment overlooking Washington Square Park, they devoted more space to artmaking than to their domestic accommodations. Even as she pursued her own work, Jo played a crucial supportive role in Edward’s practice as his long-standing model and chief record- keeper. The intersections between work and home life were fluid and the dynamics between the two artists challenging at times, but Edward and Jo remained in that apartment until their deaths in 1967 and 1968, respectively.
In his first years on Washington Square, Edward took great interest in the cityscape visible from his windows and his rooftop. Jo, for her part, often selected interior subjects, from the pot- bellied stove to the stairwell that led the seventy-four steps up to the apartment. Through their front windows, the Hoppers witnessed the incessant cycles of demolition and construction as nineteenth- century buildings like their own were torn down to make way for new structures. During their many decades in Greenwich Village they advocated for the preservation of the neighborhood as a haven for artists and as one of the city’s cultural landmarks.
Theater
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Hopper was passionate about the theater, and his work underscores the critical role it played as an active mode of spectatorship and a wellspring of visual inspiration. He and Jo frequented local establishments like the Sheridan Theatre, a nearby movie house, as well as the theaters clustered in Times Square’s growing entertainment district, as documented by the numerous ticket stubs they methodically annotated and kept. Hopper set several compositions within theater interiors, focusing not on the action on stage or screen but instead on transitional moments and private interludes—an usher lost in thought, a lone theatergoer at the back of a cinema. Hopper’s experiences in these venues, in which real and fictive worlds are divided only by a proscenium, surely contributed to many of his stagelike compositions.
Back in the studio, Hopper’s painting process often called for its own form of theater. With a background in acting as a member of the Washington Square Players, Jo collaborated with Edward, helping him source props and posing as various figure types. For each painting, Edward gradually transformed Jo’s likeness into a distinct character through a succession of preparatory studies, once remarking that the final work “doesn’t look anything like her usually.”
Reality and Fantasy
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In his personal journal “Notes on Painting” from around 1950, Hopper described his desire to create a “realistic art from which fantasy can grow.” At a time when many artists in New York had grown skeptical of figurative painting and aligned themselves with new modes of abstraction, Hopper’s depictions of cafeterias, theaters, offices, and apartment bedrooms occupied a potent middle ground, with their radically simplified geometry and uncanny, dreamlike settings.
In these ambitious late works, Hopper often incorporated solitary figures or small groups of individuals set in generic urban spaces that nonetheless capture particularities of the city’s built environment— a brownstone abutting a public park, a cafeteria overlooking another building’s facade, a neighbor’s window seen through one’s own. Through these scenes, New York served as a stage set or backdrop for Hopper’s explorations of what he described as the “vast and varied realm” of one’s inner life.
Sketching New York 7 Throughout his career, Hopper explored the city with sketchbook in hand, recording his observations through drawing. A substantial volume of sketches and preparatory studies charts Hopper’s favored locations across New York, many of which the artist returned to again and again in order to capture different impressions that he could later explore on canvas.Hopper described his on-site sketching process as working “from the fact,” an effort to collect details directly from the world around him. These sketches greatly informed his paintings, and in certain compositions based on specific sites, Hopper’s final works hew closely to his fastidious studies. More commonly, Hopper painted an imagined New York, one in which he synthesized elements from disparate locations—a revolving door, shadows on a facade—and altered them to suit his interests.
The newly restored Triboro Hospital, now the T Building Apartments in Jamaica, Queens.
THE NEWLY RESTORED ENTRANCE TO THIS LATE 1930’S BUILDING. RESTORED WITH HISTORIC TAX CREDITS, MANY ASPECTS OF THE ORIGINAL STRUCTURE ARE MAINTAINED, RESTORED AND ARE FLOURISHING. A SALUTE TO AN 8 YEAR PROJECT OF PRESERVATION.
ED LITCHER GOT IT RIGHT.
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
Sources
WHITNEY MUSEUM OF AMERICAN ART( C)
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
