Prospect Tower's MILLION DOLLAR listing

It has taken Prospect Tower nearly a century, but again there is a glimmer of hope: a sale price of over $1,000,000. This three-bedroom, three-bathroom unit ‒ on and off the market since 2021 ‒ is now available for $1,695,ooo.

  

 The northern-facing living room is so large. . .

. . . that it requires two photographs to capture its length.

It has a kitchen that's semi-concealed behind glass doors.

The master bedroom.

The smallest bedroom comes complete with two modern Murphy beds, as shown above. 

The floor plan.

Here is its Streeteasy listing.

The FORGOTTEN Restaurant in No. 5

Imagine our surprise when we were looking over some material from earlier posts, when we came upon this:

This photograph is apparently the only physical evidence that there once was a restaurant in No. 5, on the 1st Avenue side of the building.  

A close-up shows the words Wine & Cheese Restaurant on the northern wall, accompanied by painted flats over doorways. Here one finds a contented patron opposite tables and chairs. What's happening above the central window is pretty much anyone's guess.

The next pair features the silhouette of a lady opposite a vacant chair, beside what looks like a cash register opposite a vacant chair.   

This pair proved the further one got away from the entrance, the harder the image was to read. To the left, it appears to be the name of the place, Something Something Restaurant. On  the right, a lady drinks a cup of coffee, we think. . .

This last trio is indecipherable to us, alas.

We posted the photograph nine years ago as part of story of Helmsley-Spear's takeover of Tudor City. In the spring of 1970, they had three non-residences to rent out, one of which was near the restaurant space in No. 5.

    

Here it is pictured on the flyer from 1970. Anyone out there with any pictures or memories of this mythic spot, please let us know. We give bonus points for menus.

As for the earlier entire post, here it is.

Artifact: FRENCH MANAGEMENT Letter

Welcome back to the ongoing saga of Elizabeth McLoud and Apartment 1430 in No. 5. Since she was only taking the flat for seven months, there were a few basic items she needed. 

First, there is a letter from the management stating that some furnishings have been added to her apartment, with an addendum attached. 

The three items attached ‒ a coffee table and two lamps ‒ are charged at $1.50 per month. This is for an additional rental; apparently a similar charge was made earlier.

And thus Miss McLoud's story ends, living the rest of her life offstage.

Artifact: APARTMENT LEASE, 1942

Herewith, a rare copy of a lease for a studio apartment in No. 5, issued to Elizabeth McLoud. It was a short rental, from March 1 to September 30, 1942.

The lease is a long document, but thanks to adept editing, double-sided printing and a teeny tiny font, it fits on a single page. A big page ‒ 28 inches long ‒ but still one page. Most of the copy deals with legal matters, and there was a section called Rules and Regulations. It was quite to the point.

No garbage cans, coal holder, wood box, supplies, ice, milk bottles, or any other articles shall be placed in the halls or on the staircase landings, nor shall anything be hung from from the windows, or balconies, or placed upon the window sills.

The laundry and drying apparatus, if any, shall be used in such manner and at such times as the superintendent may direct. If the Landlord provides clothes dryers in other parts of the premises, the Tenant shall not dry or air clothes on the roof.

No baby carriages, velocipedes, or bicycles shall be allowed in passenger elevators, if a service elevator is provided.

No sign, advertisement, notice or other lettering shall be exhibited, inscribed, painted or affixed by any tenant on any part of the outside or inside of the demised premises or building without the prior written consent of the Landlord.

No servants or employees of the Landlord shall be sent out of the building by any Tenant at any time for any purpose.

Here is the end result of the deal ‒ four signatures was all it took.

Along with the lease, there was a copy of a letter to Miss McLoud stating that because she had paid the first installment in advance, she was given access to the apartment on February 13th.

To be continued. . .

MISCELLANEA

Once again, a grab bag of material.

The entrance to No. 45's rooftop has recently re-opened after years of closure due to Local Law 11. Tempting though it may be, it's only for the use of residents of Prospect Tower, No. 45.

Here is a photo of the North Park's fountain, depicting a young boy bearing a jug which pours water on a hapless turtle, while beneath them, lion heads spew water. 

This photograph shows the model of Tudor City in No. 5's lobby, which is undergoing a renovation. No word on whether it will include No. 2. Stay tuned. Past history here.

The Tudor Arms cigar ‒ the Modern Cigar ‒ suggested that anything with the word Tudor attached to it could be sold. 

The two falcon heads pictured are new additions to the South Park, though they are not technically new. Originally part of No. 25's roofline ‒ where they warded off evil doers ‒ these heads were replaced after nearly 100 years of service. Now they live across the street in the South Park.

Thank you Tudor City Greens for the info.

TUDOR CITY vs. the SUBWAY, Part 4

Today, a fourth installment of ads stating the advantages of living in Tudor City and walking to work as opposed to living elsewhere and riding the subway to work. These ads ran in 1928 and 1929, but they ceased being an issue after that. 

    

Long ago, strap-hanging, as practiced in the best circles, was a gentle affair. Grasping his strap lightly in the left hand, the exponent gracefully swayed with the movements of the car, immersed in dreamy meditation or negligently reading a paper. Today ‒ what a difference. The era of strenuous strap-hanging is here. Now he fights his way to a favorable position and, holding on like grim death, is buffeted, pushed and shoved, swung off his feet, pummeled and trodden on. Emerging to light and air, limp, hot and exhausted, more fit for a hospital than an office. . .

After all, why should you? Very few hours are left for rest and recreation after the day's work is done. Why spend them jammed in a train?

You don't have to ‒ now. There is Tudor City, high, quiet and airy on the East River front, and within walking distance of wherever you want to go. . .

"Under whacky matches this afternoon, the Wall Street aggregation rode roughshod over the 42nd Street contingent, a pretty example of straight line-plunging as the old Grand Central Station has ever witnessed. Time and again the mighty Midtown Machine was thrown back before it could reach the doors as the Brokers proved their mettle before a capacity crowd of 80,000."

But even a sports writer wouldn't find the subway picturesque more than once; and the man is yet unborn who finds it comfortable. If you are one of the unsung gladiators who fight this battle twice a day, you'll thank us for this advice: Live in Tudor City. Save your time and strength for things that count. . . .  

If I miss you, I'll be late to work. Or home. Back and forth, always dependent on factors beyond your control. Traffic, motormen, schedules, connections, timetables. Why not live where you can walk wherever you want to go?. . .     

The largest gangplank in the world goes up to clicking turnstiles. All the disadvantages of a world tour and none of the advantages. What if you can ride twenty miles underground for a nickel? It isn't worth it.

Do you do this twice a day? And if so, why? You don't have to. Live in Tudor City, and walk wherever you want to go. . .

Artifact: WOODSTOCK TOWER Floor Plans

Artifact of the day is this book of floor plans for Unit No. 7, Woodstock Tower. Oddly enough, there are not any other words of explanation to be found on the pages that follow, just floor plans. 

 

First up is the second floor, which is comprised of eighteen living rooms [now known as studios]. Of these, four units were billed as the one-room apartments of the future ‒ the corner units ‒ with 31-foot long living rooms lined with five windows.     

There was certainly no doubt about it, the apartment of the future (left) was nearly twice as big as the regular studio apartment (right).

From there, we move to the top of the building for the apartments on the 31st and 32nd floors. There are only two apartments available on these floors, a two-bedroom and a one-bedroom.

The two-bedroom in close-up. They even throw in a dining nook.

Its next-door neighbor, the one-bedroom unit. It comes complete with a very long closet.

The back page is blank, save for the Fred F. French monogram. 

Even More Instagrams

Once again, a tip of the hat to our always inventive Instagrammers, who are responsible for this week's content.

by jimnyc26  

by my_life_in_fijifilm   

          

by lolopariiis11   

          

by samhorine   

 by kikitata_pix 

Old Pictures Again

To celebrate our nation's 250th birthday, here are some long ago pictures of Tudor City and its environs.

First up is this moody portrait of the East River, which contrasts the scraggly, mostly industrial confines of Queens with Manhattan's more tony Crystal Office building and the Tudor City complex.

This picture was made of the corner of 40th St and 1st Ave before everything was demolished in preparation for the construction of No. 5, Windsor Tower. The sign on the right, regrettably cut off, says much the same.

Northeastern view from the 42nd St station platform of the 3rd Ave El; the Daily News building is at top, with vertical stripes along its window lines.

In this photo from 1929, ghostlike images of The Woodstock, No. 25 and No. 45 hover over the otherwise humdrum scene at 1st Ave and 39th St. The picture was taken by Percy Loomis Sperr, who recorded what was being torn down (and what replaced it) for the New York Public Library.

Lastly, there's this impressive aerial view of the complex ‒ and the nearby Daily News building ‒ in the 1930s.

BRAND AWARENESS

Today, a study of Fred F. French's monogram, as seen on tableware from his restaurants. And what better way to do it than from the collection of David Reiff, a longtime friend of this blog. Thank you, David!

We begin with an item rarely seen, a juglike vessel with a sturdy handle, perhaps for ice water service.  

French's monogram appears just above the fixture's lip.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

A tray used in one of the colony's restaurants. 

A clear impression of the monogram.

And on the reverse, the manufacturer takes credit. 

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Above, a coffee pot, and below, its version of the monogram.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Finally, a version of the French monogram painted on china.    

A beautiful rendition of the monogram.

 

On the reverse, it's Lamberton Scammell china "made for Fred F. French Companies, Tudor City."