Anatomy of No. 5

Today's Anatomy session concerns a Percy Loomis Sperr photograph of No. 5, evidenced by his embossed name at the bottom, and no doubt commissioned by his boss, the New York Public Library, in 1929. More on Sperr here.   

In the center of the photograph is the four-story house, 8 Prospect Place, that was preventing the development on the west side of the street. We see its rear side, and on the bottom two floors, there is some sort of circular design repeated. There is no indication of what this could be. Could it be an early start on a beer garden?       

Showing the lumber piled up near the main entrance of No. 5.

Tracking upward, there is still much to do. The windows all appear to be in, but otherwise it's rather dark and foreboding.

On East 40th Street, the construction shed at the corner of 1st Avenue suggests they are nowhere near to finishing. 

Beyond the area that French controls, the landscape dramatically drops twenty feet. 

Lastly, a look at the roof. What appears to be No. 5's weathervane is sheathed in protective scaffolding before permanent placement. More about it here. 

MISCELLANY Again

 Here are the latest odds and ends to digest in our ongoing Miscellany series.

First up is this mini-ad, part of a series that ran in 1936. We have seen the other five ads before, but never this one.

The tall building is the Prospect Hill Apartments, the building that is partly credited with convincing Fred French to take a chance with Tudor City. To its left, rowhouses on 41st Street about to undergo demolition.

The parks are now home to several antique cast iron urns, once owned by Billy Rose, the theatrical impresario who lived in a No. 25 penthouse; the urns decorated his outdoor terrace. When Rose left Tudor City in the 1940s, he sold them to the Walliser family. Mr. Walliser grew fond of the urns and said they belonged in the parks, and they were given to the Greens as a gift by his widow, Mrs. Ursula Walliser, after his death. Above left, in the South Park and right, the North Park.

This item was gleaned from the newsletter of Tudor City Greens. Read the latest issue here.

  

Finally, one of the rare advertisements for No. 2, Tudor Gardens, upon its opening in the fall of 1955.   

Instagramable

A tip of the hat to the inspired Instagrammers whose work makes up this week's post.

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The NEW YORKER in 1929

A look at some editorial content that ran in The New Yorker in 1929.

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The first piece is by Marcia Davenport, who wrote a column for the New Yorker called New Apartments for several years. It was the style for the author to use a pseudonym, and she chose the name 'Penthouse.'    

The progress of Tudor City has so outstripped this plodding department that an adequate review of the midtown Eldorado would be impossible. Eight completed units make up the bustling village, and more are not only promised but are poking up their gaunt red arms already. Now, whatever I may say about small rooms, no fireplaces, and the Spirit of Get Together and Walk to Work, you should remember that Tudor City successfully fills a great need. Its army of tenants, pouring down Prospect Hill at eight-forty-five each morning, bears me out; clerks, stenographers, and other workers have never lived better for so little. It would be hard to find a more suitable town pied-a-terre for the suburban-dwelling businessman of moderate means. I hate disappearing beds, dining-alcoves, and cheery neighbors, but I take off my beret to Tudor City.

Most of the buildings ‒ coming under the hotel, instead of the tenement, law ‒ have one and two-room apartments, with serving pantries where you serve, remember, not cook. At least three houses, however, have standard kitchens and apartments of up to five rooms.

The average rent of the one-room apartment is $1,200 a year, but you can pay much more, or get a single room for as little as $750, in the Cloister. Woodstock Tower, the newest house (with a Gothic village church concealing the water-tower  above the thirty-first floor), has some pretty gorgeous views for modest-salaried girls and boys. The management does everything with a smile, from making your beds to supervising the play of your children and their pets. Prospective workers in the new Chanin and nearby buildings are among those invited to consult the renting office, right on the crest of the Tudor City wave, in Prospect Tower.

‒Penthouse          

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The next piece ran in the Talk of the Town, and was unsigned, written by an unknown author. Titled "Chelsea and Tudor," it told the story of how the sites for London Terrace and Tudor City were purchased, one house at a time.

. . . We recall that there was a somewhat similar situation when they were getting ready to build Tudor City. The French people tiptoed around, buying land. They approached one astute man we know and he set what he thought was a pretty fancy price on a house he had been holding for speculation. It was instantly accepted. He chortled over a thirty-five-thousand-dollar profit until another property owner began to do a lot better. An identical house next door was owned by an aged lady who took boarders. She was hard of hearing, said she was too old to move, and didn't want to be bothered anyway. She sold finally at one hundred thousand dollars more than our acquaintance got. Now he mutters mostly.

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The last piece ran in The Sky Line, an architectural column written by George S. Chappell under the pseudonym 'T-Square.'

In the midtown zone we note that Tudor City keeps on growing and that, with the added park areas upon which the various units face, it becomes more and more attractive. The latest addition, on the south side, is a replica of the building just north of it, but unfortunately the view from the lower floors on the river side suffers somewhat from the interposition of one of the New York Edison plants.

Prospect Place, as the enclosed park is called, is a gratifying oasis.

―T-Square 

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Finally, we're re-publishing a Gluyas Williams cartoon that appeared in the New Yorker's April 27th issue. Titled Industrial Crises - A Resident of Tudor City is Discovered not Walking to Work, it ran for a full page.

Tudor City had arrived.

More on the New Yorker here and here.

The BACK SIDE of No. 25, 1940

This week, more photos from the WPA/NYC Tax Department's quest in 1940 to photograph every building in the five boroughs for reasons unknown. Today, the western side of 1st Avenue and E. 41st Street is covered.

We begin with the northwest corner of 41st and 1st. It is a gas station, and besides selling Mobilgas, there is a modest garage setup. Behind it, the mammoth No.25, whose back wall extends for the entire block.  

Midblock is DYKES LUMBER CO., which boasts eleven sites. The oddly tilted truck (center right) reads CULLEN BLUE COAL and is making a delivery to Dykes' basement. At far right, the home of CENTURY VENETIAN BLINDS.

The block ends with the MURRAY HILL DINER, on the southwest corner of 42nd and 1st. With an endless variety of "Beer on Tap," it naturally enough "Never Closes."

Anatomy of Another Street Corner

Today's episode of our Anatomy series takes a close-up look at the northwest corner of 42nd Street and First Avenue. This view also includes a part of No. 45, but is mainly a study of the three-story building behind Prospect Tower. 

The photo by Brown Brothers is from 1947.

The building appears to be a garage for the United Dressed Beef Company ‒ Best Quality and Service for over 95 years ‒ whose main operation was three blocks away at 45th Street. The company also used a lot across the street for more parking. 

Looking up, the ivy growing on No. 45 is slowly creeping over to its next-door neighbor. 

Back down at street level, we see the street numbers posted on a Mast-Arm light fixture: E 42 ST/1st AVE.

A rather spectacular taxi cab.

Another entrance to the building, which is on 1st Avenue. What is going on on the upper floors is anyone's guess. To the right, there is a billboard advertisement at 43rd Street, which alas cannot be read. Today, this space is the site of the Sharansky Steps.

Finally, a corner of The Manor looks out over the scene and patiently waits for it all to change with the coming of the U.N., three years away.

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We'll be away next week but back again June 15.

THEN AND NOW

 The western wall of the South Park, then and now.

2017

The photo shows barbed wire atop a fence separating the South Park's garden from the private garden next door. The incongruity of such a pairing led to the founding of the Strange But True series.

2025

Then one morning, while walking through the South Park we noticed the rusty wire coils were gone, though the fence and a pair of security cameras remain. Whatever caused the barbed wire to go up in the first place was just as mysterious as its demise. Any clues, anyone?

The original post, here.