The wrecking ball comes for a Gilded Age relic mansion on Riverside Drive

The house stood for 42 years: a French-style chateau surrounded by beautiful terraced gardens. Completed in 1906, it spanned the once wide-open block of fashionable Riverside Drive between 73rd and 74th Streets.

By 1948, it had been abandoned for almost a decade following the deaths of the husband and wife who built it and made it their home. That year, the chateau was reduced to dust by a two-ton wrecking ball.

Such a house—one of the largest residences in New York City, a leftover relic of Gilded Age excess that remarkably stuck around until the post-World War II era—deserves an elegy.

The builder was Charles M. Schwab, the affable, big-spending president of U.S. Steel and then Bethlehem Steel. Schwab, who hailed from a small Pennsylvania town and began his career as a teenage stake driver, rose to become a steel magnate on par with Andrew Carnegie and Henry Frick.

Unlike Carnegie and Frick, who created large yet restrained mansions on Fifth Avenue, Schwab decided to construct his dream home on Riverside Drive—which was supposed to overtake Fifth Avenue as the city’s premier “millionaire colony.”

“Carnegie and Frick have more money than I have, but I’m getting more value for my dollars than they are,” Schwab said, according to author Andrew Tully in Era of Elegance.

After arriving in New York, Schwab purchased the land in 1901, formerly the site of an orphanage. Five years and an estimated $10 million later, Schwab, his wife Eurana, and an army of servants moved in.

This palace on the Hudson featured 75 rooms, 50,000 square feet of living space, a power plant, a chapel, “a gym, a bowling alley, a pool, three elevators, and interiors in the styles of Henry IV, Louis XIII, Louis XV and Louis XVI,” wrote Christopher Gray in a 2010 New York Times Streetscapes column. Eurana happily took the job of overseeing the design of each and every room.

Schwab had the business smarts and optimistic personality of a successful industry leader, but he also had some potentially wallet-busting habits. He entertained lavishly, won and lost money at his weekly poker game, and played the casinos in Monte Carlo. He bought a 1,000-acre country estate in Pennsylvania and owned a villa in France.

Though he professed his love for his wife, he had a roving eye. At some point he launched an affair with the nurse of his sister-in-law that produced his only child, a daughter (who he supported and visited a few times a year, according to a Pittsburgh Quarterly article).

The Schwabs hosted parties in their chateau, but they didn’t strive to be part of the old money or nouveau riche elite. Schwab loved music; the couple held weekly concerts and salons, inviting musicians to play the pipe organ in their mansion.

Eurana, or “Rana” as she was known, “was a gardening enthusiast, and eschewed the numerous afternoon teas and other daylight functions for the verdant pleasures of her own backyard, which she transformed into an orderly jungle of blooms,” wrote Tully.

The Schwab mansion was also the site of charity efforts. In 1917 the couple opened their home to 200 Red Cross workers who needed a space to knit clothes and make bandages for World War I. In the 1930s, they hosted a carnival for 300 kids who lived in the rundown Gas House District of the West 60s.

After years of massive spending, the Depression hit the Schwabs hard. And their palatial dwelling was now an outlier surrounded by row houses and apartment residences. In the Gilded Age, single-family mansions, particularly in the chateau style, were in vogue. By the 1930s, most had been demolished.

A 1930 New York Times article announced the sale of the mansion to make way for an apartment building, but nothing came of it. (Below, the chateau in 1933)

In 1936, Schwab offered his mansion to the city as an official mayor’s residence. The offer was turned down. Fiorello LaGuardia, mayor at the time, reportedly said, “what me—in that?

Three years later, Rana died at the age of 79. Schwab moved into an apartment hotel at 290 Park Avenue soon after, leaving the chateau, which he could no longer afford, for good. At 77 years old, he passed away later that year—in debt, per Tully.

The mansion lingered, empty and forlorn. Chase took title to it after Schwab’s death. But the bank couldn’t find any buyers for this white elephant of a house that came with massive expenses.

In 1947, the chateau was purchased by Prudential for a reported $1.25 million, according to Tully. The insurance giant’s plan was to invite buyers to pick over the interiors, then tear it down and replace it with a contemporary apartment house.

The wrecking ball came on March 31, 1948.

“Exactly at noon Fred Hoffman, operator of the crane that swings the giant ball unsentimentally into the sides of doomed buildings, worked a series of hand levers that smashed it with great force against the northwest tower,” stated a 1948 New York Times piece.

“A second blow knocked a hole up the 100-foot-high structure about 20 feet from the top. The hole widened as the ball struck twice more and then, on the fifth attempt, the whole top of the tower, weighing five tons, slowly started to sag in the north.”

“As a score of children watched eagerly and some old-timers a little sadly, the top suddenly plunged to the ground with a roar and a cloud of white dust,” per the Times.

It would take six more weeks to finish the job, razing to the ground this emblem Gilded Age excess and the life of a couple lost to the ages.

In 1950 a new apartment tower, Schwab House, opened in its place—with none of the bells and whistles of the magnificent mansion that preceded it.

[Top photo: Pinterest; second image: MCNY 26908.1E; third image: LOC; fourth image: Carmel of St. Therese of Lisieux; fifth image: New-York Historical Society Robert L. Bracklow Collection; sixth image: unknown; seventh image: MCNY X2010.18.314; eighth image: MCNY X2010.11.3076; ninth image: NYC Department of Records & Information Services]

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18 Responses to “The wrecking ball comes for a Gilded Age relic mansion on Riverside Drive”

  1. Lisa Says:

    This is a terrific story, with great photos. I used to live in the UWS and never knew this incredible “rags-to-riches-to-rags” saga! Many thanks for posting.

  2. andrewalpern Says:

    I remember walking past the mansion as a young child, standing on the base of the fence and holding onto the iron pickets staring in at the place and imagining that a butler would come out, recognize me as the long-lost grandson, and would invite me in to live with my grandfather there in the style to which I wanted to become accustomed. Reality disappointed me.

  3. beth Says:

    oh no!

  4. Sherry Felix Says:

    Sad to lose such a wonderful structure.

  5. velovixen Says:

    Andrew–I love reading your childhood daydream. Sometimes I, too, fantasize about being invited in, permanently, to some grand house I might pass by.

    When I read about the outcry that followed the demolition of Penn Station,, I have to wonder why the destruction of Schwab’s chateau didn’t elicit a similar response. I guess it had to do with the fact that so many more people passed through the old terminal. Or had something changed in the zeitgeist?

    • ephemeralnewyork Says:

      I tend to think that Schwab’s mansion represented an era that felt fussy, starched, and terribly out of fashion to people in the 1940s—who were surrounded by a modern world that was sleek and streamlined. I compare his Gilded Age chateau to one of the white brick apartment buildings that bloomed in NYC in the 1950s and 1960s. If one of those were to be demolished, I doubt there would be much of an outcry by today’s New Yorkers…even though in another 50 years, that style of housing might be revered.

    • minababe Says:

      The outcry to the Penn Station demolition was a direct backlash to the rise of the execrable “International Style” school of architecture, which was tearing through NYC with alarming frequency as soon as the Seagram building was built. In the 1940s, this style had yet to make a major splash in NYC, so New Yorkers were okay with seeing Gilded Age mansions torn down because they were still living at a time when “future” architecture meant replacing Old World European throwbacks with uniquely American/New York architecture. If people of the 40s had known that a decade later, modern architecture would be the International Style, they would’ve definitely fought to preserve Gilded Age architecture. They just didn’t know. They assumed that these mansions were going to be replaced with even more Rockefeller Centers and Empire State Buildings because that’s what we were doing. We were tearing down Gilded Age buildings to put up all of what later became skyscraper masterpieces.

      To put things in context, The New York Times, which screamed the loudest about the Penn Station demolition in the 1960s, was also the biggest proponent for its demolition (or partial demolition) in the 1950s. The reason why is that when plans were drawn to modernize and partially demolish the Penn, the new plans were very much keeping with postwar American architecture. But then in the 1960s, you had this newfangled, boring glass box architectural school from Europe tearing down entire swaths of NYC, which flipped the script for people who in the 1940s and 50s were originally happy to be rid of these Gilded Age mansions but were now facing this stark new reality in which the future wouldn’t be more unique American buildings like the Guggenheim, but bland glass boxes in this so called International Style.

      • ephemeralnewyork Says:

        This helps explain a lot, as does your insight below on European/American architecture—thanks for your input minababe.

  6. minababe Says:

    I’m from NYC and I couldn’t be more pro-preservationist. However, I wish there was a more nuanced view about why mansions like this had to be destroyed. In the 20th century, America was trying to emerge from underneath the shadow of Europe to create its own culture and identity. Vernacular architecture was part of that struggle. Gilded Age mansions were from an era when Americans were trying to emulate European culture and aristocracy from the days of feudalism, with all of its class divisions and Old World attitudes. When we developed our own vernacular architecture in the form of skyscrapers, there was no need to keep these relics anymore.

    Is it tragic that we lost them? In some sense, yes, but not in the way people think. The tragedy isn’t that we didn’t fight to reserve these buildings but that we didn’t replace them with the best that American architecture had to offer, like when we replaced the Gilded Age Waldorf=Astoria with the Empire State building, a masterpiece of American engineering and architecture. Instead, we swapped Old World European architecture for execrable New World European architecture (aka International Style).

    Ironically, precisely because of how much worse European architecture became, Americans have developed Stockholm Syndrome, feeling sadness and bitterness over not having preserved an architectural “past” that was never ours to begin with. This mansion was beautiful, but they are a dime a dozen in Europe. We should not be upset over the loss of pseudo French chateaus like this but uniquely American mansions from this era in, for example, the Richardsonian style.

    Don’t get me wrong–preserving Old World European architecture in NYC is a great thing, but only because they provide New Yorkers with access to classical European art and architecture for the price of an Uber or subway fare and not a plane ticket.

  7. JJJ Says:

    As a youngster growing up in the 1940s on the west side of Manhattan, I recall the “Schwab Mansion”. My father and my younger brother and I walked passed it from our home on 77th street on many Sundays. We stopped and stared at the mansion en route to my Dad’s second favorite appetizing store. On the north side of 72nd street between Columbus and Amsterdam avenues. It was owned by Charlie Pomerantz, a source of community news and rumor before we had TV newscasts. He almost always offered my brother and me a slice of lox in our joint capacity as “taster”. Never did my review denigrate the slice, except once when Mr. Pomerantz asked, “As good as Zabar’s?”

  8. Harold Fee Says:

    Nothing is permanent! Death will separate you from it all! Treasures lie in heaven.

  9. Dawn Says:

    I love all things Gilded Age….

  10. Patricia M Farkas Says:

    Yes a great story, I had friends who lived in schwab house…

  11. A vanished Henry Hudson memorial on Riverside Drive, and the sculpture that replaced it | Ephemeral New York Says:

    […] Drive, opposite the Drive’s row house mansions and free-standing palaces, including the 75-room, Chateau-like Schwab Mansion (at right)—and why was this remnant of early 1900s Gotham […]

  12. Roosevelt Island Historical Society » Wednesday, May 29, 2024 – ONE MEMORIAL REPLACED BY ANOTHER Says:

    […] Drive, opposite the Drive’s row house mansions and free-standing palaces, including the 75-room, Chateau-like Schwab Mansion (at right)—and why was this remnant of early 1900s Gotham […]

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