âOur Crowdâ
The Great Jewish Families of New York
For the children:
Mark, Harriet, Carey
Contents
PREFACE
PART I A PARTICULAR PRINCIPALITY
1 âPeople We Visitâ
PART II OUT OF THE WILDERNESS (1837â1865)
2 âMount Seligmanâ
3 âMount Beautifulâ
4 On the Road
5 Mrs. Rankinâs Galoshes
6 On to the City
7 Matters of Status
8 Matters of Style
9 To the Gold Fields
10 âThis Unholy Rebellionâ
PART III INTO THE MAINSTREAM (1866â1899)
11 Peddlers in Top Hats
12 The âOur Dear Babetteâ Syndrome
13 âGetting Our Feet Wetâ
14 âThe Dâd Railroads!â
15 âMy Bankâ
16 The Assimilationists
17 âThe Haughty and Purse-Proud Rothschildsâ
18 The Seligman-Hilton Affair
PART IV THE AGE OF SCHIFF
19 âA Complex Oriental Natureâ
20 âYour Loving Kuhn, Loeb & Companyâ
21 The Emerging Giants
22 Mr. Schiff vs. Mr. Loeb
23 Portrait of a Father
24 The Mittelweg Warburgs
25 Marriage, Schiff Style
26 âThe Battle of the Giantsâ
27 âDer Reiche Lewisohnâ
28 The Poor Manâs Metal
29 Further Adventures Underground
30 Twilight of a Banker
31 The Ladies
32 Sons, Doubters, Rebels
33 Elberon, and Points North and South
34 The Guggenheim-Lewisohn Battle
35 Monsieur Journetâs Nightgown
36 The Great Battle of 1109 Fifth Avenue
37 âWitty and Interesting Personalitiesâ
38 The Equitable Life Affair
39 âI Enclose My Check for $2,000,000 âŠâ
40 The âSinister Transmutationâ
41 Calamities and Solutions
42 The Rise of a House of Issue
43 âPflicht und Arbeitâ
PART V NEW YORK 21, N.Y.
44 The End of a Line
45 The Fall, and After
46 The End of a Dream
47 Where Are They Now?
48 âFamiliengefĂŒhlâ ⊠and No Bare Feet at Dinner
Index
Preface
It was my intention, when I undertook to write this book, not to write a book that would be simply âabout rich people.â
To be sure, none of the families here portrayed is needy. Far from it. Butâto me, at leastâtheir accomplishments and their contributions to the special spirit and Ă©lan, as well as to the physical appearance, of New York City make the fact of their wealth seem secondary. It was my feeling, when I considered this book, that such names as Lehman, Lewisohn, Schiff, Loeb, Warburg, Guggenheim, Seligman, Kahn, Straus, Goldman, and Sachs are nationally, and in most cases internationally, known. They stand for banking and industrial efficiency, government service, philanthropy, and vast patronage of the arts, science, and education. And yet, due to a persistent reticence and unwillingness to boastâwhich in themselves are noble attributesâthe men and women who made these names celebrated are little understood as human beings. It was my hunch that behind the marble façades lived people with as much capacity for folly, and grandeur, as human beings everywhere. It should come as no surprise that this turned out to be the case.
As a novelist, my interest has always been in the romance of people, and I suppose I am always a bit more concerned with what people are than what they do. And so one question may call for an answer: What is particularly significant about these German Jewish banking families? As a reader, I am an habitual peeker-ahead at endings, and so I shall open the book with the same thought as the one I close it with: These German Jewish families are more than a collective American success story. At the point in time when they were a cohesive, knit, and recognizably distinct part of New York society, they were also the closest thing to AristocracyâAristocracy in the best senseâthat the city, and perhaps the country, had seen.
Obviously, it was not possible to take up each of the hundreds of people who composed, and compose, âour crowd.â I have tried only to write about those men and women who to me seemed either the most exceptional, or the most representative, of their day.
I want to thank a number of people who have been particularly helpful with information, guidance, and suggestions in the preparation of this book.
I am indebted to Geoffrey T. Hellman for permission to quote from his published material, for supplying me with documents, manuscripts, letters, photographs, and personal reminiscences of his family, the Seligmans, as well as for magically unearthing the unpublished autobiography of Adolph Lewisohn, which neither Mr. Lewisohnâs children nor grandchildren knew existed. I am grateful to Mrs. Joseph L. Seligman of New York for further material on her husbandâs family; to Mrs. Carola Warburg Rothschild for similarly kind and gracious assistance with memories and family papers pertaining to the Warburgs, âoldâ Loebs, and Schiffs, and for giving me access to the memoirs of her mother, the late Frieda Schiff Warburg. I also thank Mrs. Dorothy Lehman Bernhard, and her sons Robert A. and William L. Bernhard, for insights into the Lehman clan; Mrs. Phyllis Goodhart Gordan, for data concerning the Goodharts and Walters; Mr. Frank Lewisohn and Mrs. Joan Lewisohn Simon, for their help with Lewisohn recollections.
I am deeply grateful to Mrs. August Philips (Emanie Arling) for permission to quote from her novel, Red Damask (which she wrote under the name Emanie Sachs), for her spirited recollections of the days when she herself was a part of âthe crowd,â and for her enthusiastic interest in my project. To Mr. Walter E. Sachs, I am indebted for Sachs and Goldman family and business reminiscences, as well as for access to his own unpublished autobiography. I would like to thank Messrs. Lee Klingenstein of Lehman Brothers, Carl J. White of J. & W. Seligman & Co., Benjamin Sonnenberg, James F. Egan, Norman Retchin, David L. Mitchell of S. G. Warburg & Company, Ltd., and Professor Oscar Handlin of Harvard for their suggestions and pointers during various stages of the book, and Beverley Gasner, who read the bookâs first draft with an especially finicky eye.
This is the moment, too, to say a special word of thanks to Mrs. Mireille Gerould, who took on the job of financial researcher for the book with cheerful vigor, despite the fact that her research took her through periods of banking history when records, if kept at all, were kept most sketchily.
Though each of the people above has contributed to the book, I alone must be held responsible for its shortcomings.
I would also like to thank my friend and agent, Carol Brandt, for her coolheaded guidance of the project from the beginning, and to say a special word of praise to my friend and wife, Janet Tillson Birmingham, whose typing endurance is supreme and whose editorial hunches and suggestions are unerringly right. At Harper & Row, for their enthusiasm and moral support, I am grateful to Cass Canfield and the Misses Genevieve Young and Judith Sklar and, last but hardly least, to my editor, Roger H. Klein, who was first to propose that this was a book worth writing, and whose intelligence and taste have, in the process, affected nearly every page.
S.B.
PART I
A PARTICULAR PRINCIPALITY
1
âPEOPLE WE VISITâ
By the late 1930âs the world of Mrs. Philip J. Goodhart had become one of clearly defined, fixed, and immutable values. There were two kinds of people. There were âpeople we visitâ and âpeople we wouldnât visit.â She was not interested in âpeople we wouldnât visitâ When a new name came into the conversation, Mrs. Goodhart would want to know, âIs it someone we would visit? Would visit?â She had an odd little habit of repeating phrases. If one of her granddaughters brought a young suitor home, she would inquire, âThere are some Cohens in Baltimore. We visit them. Are you one of them? One of them?â
Granny Goodhartâs rules were simple and few. Oneâs silver should be of the very heaviest, yet it should never âlook heavy.â Oneâs clothes should be of the very best fabrics and make, but should never be highly styled, of bright colors, or new-looking. Mink coats were for women over forty. Good jewels should be worn sparingly. One hung good paintings on oneâs walls, of course. But that anyone outside the family and the âpeople we visitâ should ever see them was unthinkable. (House and art tours for charity, where oneâs collection could be viewed by the general public, had not yet come into fashion in New York; if they had, Mrs. Goodhart would have considered it a dangerous trend.) She believed that little girls should wear round sailor hats and white gloves, and that boys should concentrate on Harvard or Columbia, not Princeton. Princeton had graduated too many people she did not visit.
She believed that good upholstery improved, like good pearls, with wearing. She did not care for Democrats because she had found most of them ânot gentlemen.â It was hard to reconcile this with the fact that her own brother, Herbert Lehman, was Democratic Governor of New York State and was associating with âpeople like Roosevelt.â She had never visited the Roosevelts, and wouldnât if she had been asked. As a Lehman, she belonged to one of New Yorkâs most venerable Jewish families (her husbandâs family, the Goodharts, were not to be sneezed at either), and she was entitled to her views. And, since most of the people she visited, and who visited her, lived much as she did and felt as she did about most matters, she was able to move through her dowager years in an atmosphere of perpetual reassurance.
She was concerned with her friendsâ health in general and with her husbandâs in particular. She worried about his tendency to overweight. âNow I think, Philip, you will not have the fish soufflĂ© the soufflĂ©,â she would say to him as the dish was passed to him. (But her maid, Frances, was on Mr. Goodhartâs side; she always managed to slip a little on his plate.) Her husband often used the Wall Street Journal as a screen at the dinner table, and ate behind it.
There were few ripples in the pattern of her life. Once her cook broke her leg, and Granny Goodhart took to nursing the poor woman, who was well on in years herself and had been in the family âforever.â Each night, at table, Mrs. Goodhart would deliver a report on the broken legâs progress. One night her husband said sharply, âDamn it, Hattie! You mustnât sympathize with her or sheâll never learn!â Hattie Goodhart went right on sympathizing, of course, but stopped talking about it.
There were occasional other unsettling experiences. She and her friends did not believe in âmaking a pointâ of being Jewish, or of being anything, and sometimes this led to confusion. One of her Lehman sisters-in-law, a prominent Jewess like herself, was turned away from a hotel in the Adirondacks because, of all things, the hotel politely said it had a policy and did not accept gentiles! Then there was the visit from the young California psychologist. He was connected with the Institute of Behavioral Sciences, and had been conducting Rorschach tests with college students to determine their reactions to Adolf Hitlerâs anti-Jewish policies in Europe. Granny Goodhart met the young man in New York at the home of her daughter, Mrs. Frank Altschul. Everyone there was talking about what the young man was doing, and, after dinner, he offered to perform a few of his tests on the group. Granny took the Rorschach test, andâto the astonishment of everybodyâit turned out that Granny was an anti-Semite!
Still, as one of the grandes dames of German Jewish society, Granny was admired and much loved by her friends. To her grandchildren she was a round little person smelling of wool and Evening in Paris who greeted them at the door with outstretched arms and peppermint candies clutched in both hands, and gathered them in. She may have had her ways, but at least she was true to them.
And, watching this doughty little lady walking slowly through the rooms of her house, it was possibleâalmost possibleâto believe that Granny Goodhartâs ways were eternal ways, and that hers was a world that had always been and would always be.
Most of the people Granny Goodhart visited lived within a clearly defined areaâthose blocks of prime Manhattan real estate between East Sixtieth and East Eightieth streets, bordered by Fifth Avenue, known in pre-Zip Code days as New York 21, N.Y.âin houses served, in the days before all-digit dialing, by Manhattanâs âgreatâ telephone exchanges: TEmpleton 8, REgent 2, RHinelander 4. It was a world of quietly ticking clocks, of the throb of private elevators, of slippered servantsâ feet, of fires laid behind paper fans, of sofas covered in silver satin. It was a world of probity and duty to such institutions as Temple Emanu-El (a bit more duty than devotion, some might say), that stronghold of Reform Judaism, and its rabbi, Dr. Gustav Gottheil, and duty to such causes as Montefiore and Mount Sinai hospitals, the Henry Street Settlement, and the New York Association for the Blind, whose annual ball is one of the great fixtures in the life of the Jewish upper class. For the children, it was a world of discipline and ritualâsocial as much as religiousâof little boys in dark blue suits and fresh white gloves, little girls in dresses of fuchsia satin, learning to bow from the waist and curtsy at Mrs. Viola Wolffâs dancing classes, the Jewish answer to Willie De Rhamâs. It was a world of heavily encrusted calling cards and invitationsâto teas, coming-out parties, weddingsâbut all within the group, among the people Granny Goodhart visited, a city within a city.
It was a world of curious contradictions. It held its share of decidedly middle-class notions (dry-cleaning did not really clean a dress, no matter what the advertisements saidâevery young girl was taught this), and yet it was also a world of imposing wealth. Granny Goodhartâs lifetime spanned an era, from the Civil War days into the 1940âs, when wealth was the single, most important product of New York City. It was an era when Fifth Avenue was still a street of private houses, and the great mansions to which everyone was periodically invited included Otto Kahnâs sprawling palace, Jacob Schiffâs castle, the Felix Warburgsâ fairy-tale house of Gothic spires. It was a world where sixty for dinner was commonplace (it was Otto Kahnâs favorite number), and where six hundred could gather in a private ballroom without crowding. It was a world that moved seasonallyâto the vast âcampsâ in the Adirondacks (not the Catskills), to the Jersey Shore (not Newport), and to Palm Beach (not Miami)âin private railway cars. A total of five such cars was needed to carry Jacob Schiff and his party to California. Chefs, stewards, butlers, valets, and maids traveled with their masters and mistresses, and a nurse for each child was considered essential. Every two years there was a ritual steamer-crossing to Europe and a ritual tour of spas.
Yet it was not particularly a world of fashion. One would find The Economist, Barronâs, and the Atlantic Monthly on the coffee table more often than Vogue or Town and Country. One would expect to find a collection of Impressionist paintings, or of fine books, rather than elaborate furs or jewels. One worried about being âshowy,â and spared no expense to be inconspicuous. Granny Goodhartâs sister-in-law was the daughter of Adolph Lewisohn, a man who spent $300 a month for shaves alone. To keep his Westchester estate from being an eyesore to his neighbors, he employed thirty full-time gardeners to manicure his acreage and nurse his fourteen hothouses. He was so determined that his parties be in the best of tasteâfor years his New Yearâs Eve ball in his Fifth Avenue house was one of the largest in the cityâthat, to keep his cellars supplied with the best wine and spirits, he ran up an average bill of $10,000 a month. And yet, at the same time, he had become interested in prison reform. When not giving dinner parties for his friends, he could be found at Sing Sing, dining with this or that condemned man in Death Row. He gave the stadium that bears his name to City College because, as he put it, âThey asked me to.â
Mr. Lewisohnâs friend and neighbor, Felix Warburg, had a squash court in his city house, another in his country houseâwhich also had a polo fieldâa yacht, a full Stradivarius string quartet, and a set of black harness horses identically marked with white stars on their foreheads. When Mr. Warburg was depressed, he had a gardener build him a platform high in a tree; from there, Warburg would consider the possibility of clearing another of his famous âvistasâ from the surrounding woods. Yet he was so inordinately domestic that, upon checking into a hotel room in a foreign city, the first thing he did was to rearrange the furniture into the coziest possible âconversational groupings.â He liked to give away a million dollars at a clip to a list of some fifty-seven different charities, and yet when his children asked their father how much money he had, he would make a zero with his thumb and forefinger. It was a world, in other words, that gave equal weight to modesty and dignity as to pomp, comfort, and splendor. Jacob Schiff, for whom one private Pullman was seldom ample, could therefore send his son home from a party because the boyâs suit was too âflashy.â
Mr. Willie Walter, whose daughter was married to Granny Goodhartâs son, owned a custom-built Pierce-Arrow which he kept constantly replenished with new Packard engines. An astonishing piece of machinery, it was tall enough for a man to stand in. Mr. Walter suffered from glaucoma, and believed that it was the result of striking his head on the ceiling of a low car. There was, therefore, a practical reason for the automobileâs imposing proportions. The tallest car in New York was always driven with its window shades down, and, both inside and out, its decor was restrained; every bit of chrome was oxidized so that it would have no glare, out of consideration for Mr. Walterâs sensitive eyes. Though the Pierce-Arrow could be seen coming from block...