Our first visits to our future Harlem house were conducted by flashlight because much of the building had been boarded up. It was impossible to work out what certain parts had once been like. Empty for eight years, it had previously been an SRO, a synagogue and school, and some kind of clinic. Tiny closets held unpleasant bathrooms, stuffed in after the fact. There was graffiti on the walls. The basement held two or three inches of water. The blocked drains had overflowed, ruining the ceilings. It was in many respects disgusting.
But it had been built as a grand family home, and behind the iron-spot Roman brick façade lay a stack of four oval rooms. Four! One would have been exciting enough. The house had kept nearly all its original fireplaces and a great deal of its paneling and plasterwork. It had been built in 1890 by the baking-soda magnate John Dwight, co-founder of Arm & Hammer. His initials were embossed in plaster on the dining-room ceiling.
Not long after we bought the house, members of the Dwight family got in touch to say they had photographs of the building from the 1920s, made when the family had left Harlem. Would we be interested?
Would we be interested! The album, together with the original blueprints, answered nearly all of our questions. Every room, except the bathrooms and the cellar, had been photographed. “It’s the Rosetta stone,” said our contractor, Mike Casey. Our architect Sam White (the great-grandson of Stanford White) said he had never worked with such a well-documented house.
We are not aiming to take it back to the 1890s but to act freely within the general idiom of the original structure. Nearly every room has been restored to its first configuration. The floors, all surviving, were sanded and stained (originally they were carpeted wall-to-wall). The walls are generally painted in rich colors, not beige or taupe. We’ve stripped much of the astonishing carved paneling and made an effort to restore the original architecture of some mutilated rooms.
It’s more than we intended to take on. Very much more. But it has its own great satisfactions, chief of which is preservation. We are sure that had we not been the buyers, this battered house would have been gut-renovated, its curved mahogany doors slung in the Dumpster. Instead, they are on their hinges to stay, 125 years after they were hung there.
Renovation architect: Sam White
Before: A battered beauty that had lived multiple lives.
After: A detailed restoration that’s only partway complete.
*This article appears in the Winter 2016 issue of New York Design Hunting.