The Woodstock Dining Room

The Woodstock Dining Room, May 30, 1929

We've always avoided the subject of The Woodstock Dining Room because of a lack of material ‒ no promotion, no menus, and, especially, no photos. This was rather awkward as it was billed as one of the three restaurants the complex offered.

Then a pair of pictures came our way. They were identified as the "Prospect House dining room," but didn't fit the restaurant in Prospect Tower. They didn't have the same type of ceiling, or light sconces, or stained-glass windows, or wainscotting lining the walls.

A close-up of a table for two brings these features out more distinctively. When compared with the minuscule ads that exist, below, there's no doubt that these photos depict The Woodstock's Dining Room.
 

These ads, despite their gritty quality, show sconces on wall, stained-glass windows, and wainscotting and cane-backed chairs galore.

Finally, we offer this portrait of a melon plate with two more clues; first, the FFF initials embroidered on the tablecloth, indicating this was a Fred F. French restaurant. . .

. . . and then, there's the newspaper headline, LINDBERGHS UNREPORTED; STATIC BLAMED [detailing how the newlywed couple travelled incognito due to electronic interference.] The real news was the date it was published ‒ May 30, 1929 ‒ one month after The Woodstock's opening. The perfect time to get a photographer in for a few pictures.

After that, the trail runs cold. We don't think the restaurant lasted very long. We know that it reopened as the Club Room ‒ devoted to various hobbies and open to all Woodstock residents ‒ in 1945. In 1951, changes to the street outside meant the former dining room was now somewhere on the second floor. But where exactly, no one knows. 

Can anyone add anything to the saga? 

MORE Miscellany

Once again, it's time for some miscellaneous items. . .

The view has been seen before, but what makes the above a bit different is that it was made in the 1950s. This can be seen by the Hospital for Special Surgery (later sold to the Ford Foundation), and the buildings beyond it, later acquired by Pfizer.

An illustration of same view, somewhat later on given the addition of the Pfizer building and Ford Foundation. The Hotel Tudor sign keeps it real.

From 1928, this photograph is a rare look at the two TUDOR CITY signs before The Woodstock blocked one of them from view, leading to its eventual removal.

Looking up First Avenue from the vantage point of 42nd Street, dominated by the back side of Prospect Tower at left. The view of the meatpacking district is pretty dismal, befitting its neighborhood nickname, Slaughter House Row.

Beside Prospect Tower lies a cottage bearing the sign, TUDOR CITY. This was the first onsite rental house of the complex, and the subject of a future post.

TUDOR CITY in WARTIME

Today, a look at how Tudor City responded to the Second World War in the world of advertising. From the woman's place in wartime, to gasless Sundays, to relief from 'pressure' days, it's all covered here, making a move to Tudor City a solid value during the war.

Careful readers might also note that the enclave's slogan has slightly changed, now reading Live in Tudor City and Walk to Work. This change happened in 1941, but it wouldn't last long; it was last seen in 1943, when the entire community fell under rent control, and since that meant dirt cheap rent increases, no one moved. Ever. Advertising, sadly, was no longer needed.

 

 

For further reading on the subject, see our earlier post here.

THE NEW YORKER Profiles FRED FRENCH

A look at the New Yorker profile of our founder, Fred French, which ran in the June 1, 1929 issue. It was written by Robert M. Coates, a longtime contributor to the magazine, who was kind to French, presenting his tangled up life in a rather straightforward way.

A few (among many) notable passages from the article:

On his appearance: "His mouth is firm, stiff-cornered; he has a quick eye, blue and glinting, and above the eyes the brow rises to the high domed head, pinkly bald and gleaming in the soft glow of the indirect lighting."

On his success: "Work is the secret of success. At the age of thirty-five, he wrote in his diary, 'Still working like H___!' and in his talks he preaches the same gospel. 'It is to hard, persistent effort that I attribute whatever success I may have attained.'"

On his personal tastes: "He has a taste for elegance; he likes rich eating, yet many of his tastes are simple and his personal fortune is said to be small. He rarely goes to the theater, because he won't pay scalpers' rates, and he won't own a car, because the garagemen might cheat him."

                                        

On his gods: "Mr. French, since youth, has cherished an admiration for Roosevelt. His idea of a vacation is a hunting trip to the North Woods; when he set out for Alaska he went fully accoutered, his rifle and hunting clothes identical with Teddy's."

ANATOMY OF A PHOTO: Tudor City Vista

 

Welcome to another edition of Anatomy of a Photo, in which we search for clues in ordinary photographs. Today, we are examining a view of the complex made in 1931. 

A view of the East River properties bordered by The Cloister, The Manor and No. 45. Although their signs are difficult to read, Wilson & Co. and United Dressed Beef represent a sample of what's happening on Slaughter House Row. 

But it's the sign atop a new apartment building on 44th Street that captures our attention: Beaux Arts Apartments. Tudor City was not the only newcomer on the scene.

No. 45 in all of its glory. 

A closer look at the North Park and Middle Park. There is not much in the way of trees yet. Left of center are five umbrellas providing shade on what must be a sun porch of the Hospital for the Ruptured and Crippled. The Hotel Tudor is at bottom right with a painted sign ‒ the electric one will come later.

The Woodstock and No. 25.

 

No. 5 offers industrial-chic views. 

Lastly, a blow-up of the tennis courts. The hold-out building that is keeping the plot from being developed can be seen at center right. The tennis office lies to its left.

MISCELLANY Again

It's time for another roundup of items relating to Tudor City that are interesting, just not interesting enough for its own post. 

 

Walking down Fifth Avenue the other day, we happened upon a plaque bearing our founder's initials rendered in brass: Fred Fillmore French. Of course, it was the French Building on 45th Street, but we were impressed ‒ his initials had become something of a trademark.

An early picture of the colony as seen from The Manor's point of view. It is winter, and scarcely a leaf can be seen in the North Park; even its pergola, below, is bare.

Taken from a window in No. 45, this is most likely from the Tulip Festival of 1939, with the person at the microphone being baritone Glenn Darwin. They had 50,000 tulips that year, a record. From the collection of Fabrice Frere, thanks Fabrice.

Finally, here is an imaginary night view by Matthew Rigione, featuring the sign lit crimson red. We thought it was lit in yellow, were we wrong? Color views of the sign at night do not exist. . . or do they?

WALKING UP 2ND AVENUE

We recently came across some photos of street life in the early 1940s, and we wondered what it would be like to walk up Second Avenue at that time. Above, to set the tone, is a view showing the area from 35th and Second, looking north. Although it was made from the Elevated train, we will be proceeding on foot.

Beginning our tour, here's a snapshot of 37th Street and Second Avenue. The tall building is an apartment house that still stands, built in 1930 and now called The Mango; sprouting up to the right is Tudor City.

In another photo taken some time later, a fence made of doors hammered together has been put up to protect passersby from the rubble.

Made from a different vantage point, this image shows the fence in its full glory.

We finally arrive at Tudor City, which looks impressive ‒ save for the rundown look of its neighbors. No idea what the '35' means.  

In the final shot, we see Windsor Tower. Although the photographer has changed position, moving out from under the El, it is inescapable ‒  the shadowy bottom of the photo testifies to its presence.