Harry Helmsley is Going to Destroy This Park!

A couple of rare photographs showing the plywood put up around the North Park on Memorial Day weekend, 1980, prior to demolition by Harry Helmsley. Or at least the attempted demolition by Harry Helmsley.

Of course, the plywood attracted immediate graffiti from the locals, in both good taste and exquisitely bad taste.

Apparently, some of the graffiti hit too close to home, and the blue paint covered up some of the previous work. Someone has written We love trees, but Helmsley is sleaze, so let's bring him to his knees. Somebody else wrote YEAH! 

Our favorite cartoon ‒ the rear end of an ass.

The second photo has some good lines ‒ These parks are the unreal estate of H. Helmslee ‒ but the primary graffiti is key:

Rather convoluted at best, the joke lumbers along until finally coming to its end. There was an addendum in another hand reading This is too low (bottom right). Apparently not everyone liked this approach, but hey, that's Tudor City for you.

*   *   *   *   *

These pictures come courtesy of Fabrice Frere, who photographed the scene as a teenager. Thanks, Fabrice. 

THEN AND NOW

The North Park, then and now.

1988

2019

This episode of Then and Now contrasts the sorry state of Tudor City's parks in 1988 to their current lush iteration.

Following real estate titan Harry Helmsley's acquisition of Tudor City in 1970, the parks' maintenance went into serious decline. Helmsley had announced plans to replace them with luxury apartment towers, and thus saw no point in their upkeep. Though this controversial plan never happened, it unfolded over 15 long years, and the parks suffered. (More about the Helmsley era, here.)

The 'then' pictures in this post come courtesy of Tudor City Greens' archive, and were photographed by Steve Stempel in 1988, the year the Greens was founded.

1988

2019

Strange But True: DONALD TRUMP, PARKS SAVIOR

Hard as it may be to imagine, Donald Trump played a role in preserving Tudor City's parks.

Trump and a model of Trump Tower, 1980.

Flash back to Manhattan, 1981.  Donald Trump is 35, a brash striver in the real estate game, not unlike another young up-and-comer from another era, our very own Fred French.

At the time, renowned real estate mogul Harry Helmsley is having problems with Tudor City. He bought most of the complex in 1970, and for the last decade has been trying to build apartment towers on Tudor City's two parks. There has been fierce opposition from the community, backed up by increasingly irate newspaper editorials. Helmsley's reputation is in tatters.

The current proposal on the table is a land swap ‒ the parks would be spared and Helmsley would be given a city-owned vacant lot on the corner of 42nd St and First Ave, the site of a public playground.

Enter Andrew Stein, Manhattan Borough President and parks supporter. Stein is friendly with Donald Trump, who has informed him that the playground lot is, in fact, waterfront property, and worth far more than its appraised value. Stein arranges a meeting on the eve of the Board of Estimate vote, and invites Trump to attend.

It's a set-up. Not long into the meeting, Trump effectively kills the swap by offering to buy the playground for the tidy sum of $25 million. He pulls out his checkbook and waves it in the air. "This is good," he announces. "You can call the bank to find out."

He doesn't have to say much more. The folly of the city trading valuable property for the two parks is quite plain. The playground land swap never even comes to a vote. Instead, a less desirable First Ave property is offered to Helmsley, and more debate ensues.

In the end, Helmsley finally yields in 1985, selling the complex altogether. His reputation never fully recovers from the Tudor City debacle. Years later, Andrew Stein is arrested for income tax evasion, and Donald Trump is elected President of the United States. Strange but true.

The High-Rise Over 42nd Street That Never Was

It is September, 1972. Harry Helmsley, the new owner of Tudor City, has previously announced plans to replace the enclave's parks with apartment towers. Opposition from community and civic groups was so vehement that he now has a counter proposal, and a rather outrageous one at that ‒ building a 52-story tower over 42nd Street, thereby saving the parkland. It would be the first building in Manhattan to straddle a commercial artery.

Model of the planned tower, looking west from First Ave. Nos. 25 and 45 in foreground.

Reaction to this proposal is typified by the Daily News' mince-no-words editorial, below.

The New York Times editorial agrees, in a more moderate tone:

Mr. Helmsley is said to favor one very large building on a bridge over 42nd Street. This Pan-Am-type of monumental obstruction would block the East River except for a view under its nose. This is a poor solution.

By far the best proposal is one to shift the air rights over the parks to another part of midtown Manhattan entirely. . .

Transferable air rights was a relatively new concept at the time, enacted in 1961 during a revamp of city zoning regulations. Helmsley likes the idea and abandons his plans for a 42nd Street tower, but air rights prove to be a thorny, complex issue that drags out the battle over the parks for years to come. 

Artifacts: PROTEST FLYERS

Herewith, a selection of flyers from 1972-73, the first salvos against developer Harry Helmsley, who buys most of Tudor City for $36 million in October, 1970. The following year, he announces plans to bulldoze the parks and replace them with a pair of luxury apartment towers. The outraged community forms an ad hoc group, the Save Our Parks Committee, chaired by John McKean. "We will oppose Helmsley all the way," he promises.

One way is by numerous demonstrations, as shown by the flyers below. They're urgent missives, plainly written in haste, as if the bulldozers were headed down the street at any moment.

Though the tone of the flyer is confident ‒ We Can Win! ‒ it also cannily notes that it's just for an hour and only a few blocks away. Bring your children! (at bottom) lends some pathos. Both Helmsley's office and Central Park South residence were picketed.

Little did anyone know that this was just the beginning of an epic, fifteen-year battle to preserve the parks. Despite occasional rays of hope, the bulldozers would, in fact, come rumbling down the street in 1980.

⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺

Thank you to Roland Peracca for sharing this material from the collection of Marcia Thompson. We'll be posting more about the Helmsley era in the coming weeks, and welcome any reminiscences and (especially) photos that readers might have.

Tudor City Artifact: 1970s SALES BROCHURE

For fans of Tudor City arcania, today's artifact is a 1970's-era sales brochure produced by Helmsley-Spear Inc., who had recently purchased most of Tudor City. We suspect that it was circulated in the fall of 1970, shortly after the $36 million acquisition.

The brochure spotlights three commercial spaces in the enclave.

The cover of the brochure promotes a new community amenity, proximity to the United Nations.

The actual commercial spaces, pictured. Clockwise, from top left: No. 45, No. 25 and No. 5.

This corner space in No. 25 was leased in 1971 by Conrad's, a shop specializing in high-end bicycles.
It's still there today ‒ 46 years later! ‒ some kind of New York miracle.

Set in No. 5's First Avenue arcade, this space has always been
problematical as a commercial venture. It's unoccupied today.

The grocery space in No. 45 has had many operators over time,
but has continually been a grocery, and still is today.

Promotional copy.

The fine print.

Brochure from the collection of Mary Frances Shaughnessy.

Tudor City and the TIMES EDITORIALS

Harry Helmsley spent fifteen years trying to build on Tudor City parks, to much opposition. Among the staunchest of the parks' many defenders was the powerful New York Times, which published five editorials over the years urging the parks' preservation.

October 4, 1972: The Tudor City Parks. The first salvo, with the Times calling the parks an "irreplaceable amenity in congested midtown" and suggesting the "best proposal is to shift the air rights over the parks" to another part of town, a somewhat radical idea at the time. 

December 18, 1972: Those Tudor City Parks. Commending the Board of Estimate's decision to allow the transfer of air rights to save the parks, the editorial states that "these delightful parks will remain as refuges from the hurly-burly and congestion of East 42nd Street." The battle was far from over, however. 

May 31, 1980: Triage in Tudor City.  Years have gone by, various air rights transfers have failed, so Harry Helmsley sends in the bulldozers to raze the parks on Memorial Day weekend, 1980. Grudgingly admitting that Helmsley is "totally within his rights" to build there, the editorial notes that the parks' demolition is "doing a wrecking job on Mr. Helmsley's image."  

February 21, 1981: The Lesson of the Tudor Deal. The Times reacts to a short-lived deal for the transference of air rights to a city-owned park adjacent to the UN. Read it in full here.

April 20, 1981: Green Light on Tudor Parks. The "stop-and-go negotiations" continue as the city proposes to transfer the parks' air rights to land at First Avenue and 51st Street. Read it in full here.

Enter Harry Helmsley

Harry Helmsley, a renowned NYC real estate tycoon for half a century, is a key figure in the Tudor City story, perhaps the second most significant figure after Fred French. For Helmsley, unintentionally, is responsible for the landmarking of the area’s two parks, which he spends 15 years trying to raze. A bullet-point guide to all things Harry:

✦ Born in 1909, Helmsley is the prototypical self-made man, working his way up from office boy to fabled owner of everything from iconic NYC towers (the Flatiron Building, the Empire State Building) to entire communities (Parkchester in the Bronx, Fresh Meadows in Queens).

Some of the Helmsley proposals, 1972

✦ By the ‘70s, the tycoon is at the height of his career, the 13th largest landowner in NYC. In October, 1970, he acquires all the buildings in Tudor City (except for No. 2) for $36 million. Included in this price are the complex’s two parks. Helmsley announces he intends to replace them with a pair of luxury high-rise apartment towers.

✦ There is an immediate uproar in the community, led by John McKean, president of the tenants association. Other civic and city agencies join the fray, but Helmsley’s team takes a hard, pragmatic line: “They are not parks. They are two lots we’re paying taxes on.”

✦ There's lots of pushback, so Helmsley offers some counter proposals, including a 52-story tower straddling 42nd Street. He is turned down. The City Planning Commission suggests transferring the development rights to another site. Helmsley favors Ralph Bunche Park (along First Avenue opposite the UN), where he proposes a 50-story building that would abut the eastern wall of Prospect Tower. He is again turned down – the concept of swapping city land for private land feels like “blackmail” to the planning commission.

Rendering of the luxury apartment tower
 to replace the North Park, 1980. 
Designed by Emory Roth.

✦  By now, ten years have gone by, and Helmsley is fed up. He returns to his original plan and begins walling in the parks in preparation for their demolition. John McKean watches in dismay, and on May 24th, 1980, he takes to the street with a bullhorn to rally the community. Scores of Tudor City residents descend on the North Park and stop the wall construction by forming a human chain and carrying away the lumber. They file a restraining order, then camp out in the parks for several days until it is approved. Helmsley is referred to as "Dirty Harry."

✦ The matter winds its way through the courts for several more years, and is finally settled in 1984 by a historic State Supreme Court decision, ruling that the parks are “essential services for tenants under the Rent Stabilization Law.” Helmsley sells his interests the following year. In 1988, Tudor City is named a historic district, and title to the parks conveyed to a nonprofit corporation.

Everything You Need to Know About Tudor City in 1,032 Words

Manhattan's Tudor City is a Historic District set in East Midtown, opposite the United Nations. A planned community constructed in the 1920s by real estate developer Fred F. French, it was the largest single residential project ever seen in Manhattan up to that time: twelve apartment buildings and a transient hotel, arranged around two private parks. These buildings are:

The Cloister, 321 E. 43rd St., opened Oct 1, 1928

Essex House, 325 E. 41st St., opened  Oct 6, 1929

Haddon Hall, 324 E. 41st St., opened Jan 1, 1929

Hardwicke Hall, 314 E. 41st St., opened Jan 1, 1929

Hatfield House, 304 E. 41st St., opened Jan 1, 1929

The Hermitage, 330 E. 43rd St., opened Oct 1, 1928

Hotel Tudor (nka Westgate New York City), 304 E. 42nd St., opened Oct 1, 1930

The Manor, 333 E. 43rd St., opened Sept 30, 1927

Prospect Tower, 45 Tudor City Pl., opened Sept 30, 1927

Tudor Gardens, 2 Tudor City Pl., opened 1956

Tudor Tower, 25 Tudor City Pl., opened summer, 1928

Windsor Tower, 5 Tudor City Pl., opened Jan 1, 1930

Woodstock Tower, 320 E. 42nd St., opened May 1, 1929

Neighborhood map, circa 1930

The Tudor City Historic District also includes six landmarked buildings preceding the arrival of Fred French: the 1871 Church of the Covenant, four 19th-century rowhouses, and a 1926 apartment building, the Prospect Hill Apartments.

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

Tudor City’s site, a granite bluff later known as Prospect Hill, has an up-and-down history over the years. In 1636, it is a tobacco plantation on Turtle Bay Farm, a marshy, 40-acre parcel of land granted to two Englishmen by the Dutch governor of New Amsterdam. Following the American Revolution, it's sold to Francis Bayard Winthrop, whose family continues to farm the land into the 1800s. The NY Commissioners’ Plan of 1811 – which proposes laying out a street grid and leveling the island’s hilly terrain – essentially puts an end to farming in Manhattan. It does not lead to improvement on Prospect Hill, however.

For reasons unknown, this granite cliff is never leveled, and thus remains undeveloped. By the time of the Civil War, it's one of sketchiest neighborhoods in the city, a shantytown that's home to penniless squatters, flimsy shacks and free-roaming goats. More ominously, it is the lair of James “Paddy” Corcoran, an Irish thug who's the leader of the Rag Gang, one of the murderous mobs wreaking havoc along the East River. Prospect Hill soon becomes known as Corcoran’s Roost.

Looking north up Second Avenue from 42nd Street in 1861.

Post-war prosperity helps clean up the area, and by the 1870s, middle-class rowhouses appear on Prospect Place, its three-block-long street (later renamed Tudor City Place). This neighborhood uptick is short-lived, however. The construction of the Second Avenue Elevated train to the west – belching soot and cinders into the air – and the growing industrialization along the East River to the east (including a slaughterhouse, glue factory and gas works) sends the area back into decline.

Then, in 1925, real estate developer Fred Fillmore French changes the neighborhood forever. French’s plan is ambitious: nothing less than the largest apartment complex Manhattan has ever seen, “a city within a city,” built on a five-acre, horseshoe-shaped plot of land. The crowning touches are two private parks that lend a unique suburban feel to the otherwise very urban enterprise.

The complex is designed in the pseudo-Tudor style that's having a vogue in the 1920s. This style of architecture – an homage to sixteenth-century English homes – is associated with the comforts of country living, and targeted to the middle-class types who had begun to abandon the city for the suburbs. To heighten its idyllic feel, the community is constructed to face west, turning its back on the industrial mess along the East River. The first phase of construction commences in 1927 and is completed by 1930, with 2,800 apartments and 600 hotel rooms.  

Tudor City arrives during the birth of modern advertising, and is heavily promoted via magazine and newspaper ads, as well as two mammoth rooftop neon signs. It even has its own slogan: Live in Tudor City and Walk to Business – it is a mere seven-minute stroll to the Grand Central business district. 

Within the self-contained community is a restaurant, coffee shop, kindergarten, grocery, laundry, florist and book shop, among other businesses. Other amenities (really public relations gimmicks) include a ski slide, tennis courts and an 18-hole miniature golf course, along with a resident nurse, private police force and on-call radio repairmen.

Prospect Place (today Tudor City Place) in 1928

The complex is a success from the start, and close to fully rented throughout the tough years of the Depression, and beyond. Though most of the apartments are modest in size, the rents are reasonable (starting at $50 per month for a studio), and the neighborhood quiet and charming.

After World War II, the construction of the United Nations on the former East River slaughterhouse sites brings significant changes to the community. 42nd Street is widened and the narrow tunnel beneath Tudor City Place remade into a broader expanse. Service roads leading up to Tudor City Place from 42nd Street are replaced with stone staircases. As before, there is no through traffic to First Avenue, but now the traffic flow is further reduced, with only one way in (41st Street), and one way out (43rd Street) after the service roads are demolished.

In 1956, the French Company erects Tudor Gardens (at 2 Tudor City Place) on the site of the former tennis courts. The final apartment house in the Tudor City complex, it is the only one not embellished with Tudor-esque ornament.

A group of investors led by real estate mogul Harry Helmsley buys most of Tudor City for $36 million in 1970. Shortly thereafter, he announces plans to replace the parks with a pair of skyscraping apartment houses, which ignite a slew of lawsuits that become mired in the courts for nearly a decade. Helmsley finally abandons his plans in 1985, after the courts rule that the parks are an “essential service” to the community. In 1988, the entire complex – parks included – is officially landmarked as a New York City Historic District. Around the same time, all of the apartment houses are converted into co-ops, save for the Hermitage, which remains an all-rental building to this day.

Prospect Tower in a scene from Spider-Man 3

The area’s unique urban-suburban beauty makes it a natural movie location, and films like Scarface and the Spider-man trilogy give the enclave some national renown. The millennium sees the arrival of two critically acclaimed Italian restaurants, L’Impero and Convivio, in Prospect Tower. Launching the careers of two celebrity chefs, Scott Conant and Michael White, they become destination restaurants, introducing Tudor City to a whole new generation of New Yorkers.