Stanford White, Creator and Destroyer.
LIFE OF HARRY K. THAW’S VICTIM--HIS DEATH REFLECTED HIS STRANGE
LIFE--A MENTAL GIANT WHO TURNED FROM LOFTY ENTERPRISES TO VICIOUS
REVELS--BUILT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN--THE STUDIO IN THE
TOWER--MIGHTY WORKS THAT SURVIVE WHITE AS MONUMENTS TO HIS
GENIUS--THE TRAGIC “GIRL IN THE PIE” AFFAIR--WHITE’S HOME
EXISTENCE--HIS END.
Stanford White’s death was no more remarkable than the strange life he
led. Few expressed surprise that the end came as it did. On the other
hand, those who knew him best asserted they would have experienced a
sensation little short of amazement had White departed this life as most
men, surrounded by members of his family and enjoying the ministrations
of physician, nurse and spiritual advisor.
Some saw in the pyrotechnic, picturesque, sensational climax of his
existence, the fulfillment of a prophesy oft reiterated by his closest
acquaintances.
The unusual, the unexpected ruled the existence of this man of wonderful
brain and creative genius. A giant in mental force and power, he could
turn lightly from some vast enterprise to a revel passing all belief,
having as its only purpose the snaring of some young girl--as Evelyn
Nesbit was enmeshed. And he could turn quite as lightly from the
anguished cry of his victim and forget her in the multiplicity of
details surrounding his huge undertakings.
What a mind was this--at once an engine of creation and destruction,
accepting the consequences in each instance as a matter of course. In
view of the peculiarities of the man, it cannot be counted strange that
he fell before the hand of the avenger in the temple he had builded to
mirth, for the famed Madison Square Garden was a creation of his mind.
In the tower he had raised above it, overlooking the great Metropolis
with all its joys, sorrows, struggles, its mighty forces that work for
good and its uncounted army battling for sin, Stanford White had fitted
out a den of Oriental magnificence wherein he could accomplish his
purposes, far removed from the world at large.
It was here his wildest orgies were held. It was from the tower-chamber
his young victims went forth to lives of bitterness and shame, and
within the shadow of that tower White was whirled to eternity without a
moment’s respite to atone for his sins or prepare for an accounting
before the final tribunal where truth and not pretense avails. Whatever
his offenses, his punishment was heavy, indeed.
Great as an architect, a lover of beauty in his work and in his play, a
charming companion, a man of kindliness, possessed of many talents, a
lover of all the pleasant things of life, but not bound by scruples or
the dictates of morality--such was White. Within two days after his
death, New York rang with stories of strange debauches in which White
had played the part of host or one of the hosts. Anthony Comstock
declared that he had tried to obtain evidence which would suffice to
bring action against White for various alleged excesses. When White fell
to the floor of Madison Square Roof Garden, in short, his personal
reputation fell with him.
As an architect, he was admittedly a genius, and he left an impress upon
the architecture of this country which will remain. He transformed the
old, unsightly Harlem Railroad freight station into Madison Square
Garden--one of the most beautiful edifices in New York. He aided in the
designing of Trinity Church in Boston.
Among his famous works in New York were the Hall of Fame at New York
University, the Washington arch, the Century, University and
Metropolitan clubs, the William C. Whitney residence and the pedestal of
the Farragut monument in Madison Square.
He was the son of Richard Grant White, the novelist and journalist, and
was born in 1853. After being graduated from New York University he went
to Europe to study architecture. He returned in 1881 and entered into
partnership with Charles F. McKim and William R. Meade. The firm of
McKim, Meade & White, largely through the genius of White, became one of
the most prominent in the profession.
Mr. White was essentially a clubman, being a member of the
Knickerbocker, Union, University, Automobile, Metropolitan, Players’,
Lambs’ and New York Yacht clubs. He was a follower of the stage, a
devout first-nighter, and had an extensive acquaintance among theatrical
people.
White’s studio apartment in Madison Square tower was one of the most
noted centers of revelry in the city. He used his studio in a
professional way to paint in water colors and to work out architectural
designs in matters that were separate from the firm work of McKim, Meade
& White, but the chief use of the rooms was as a meeting place for
gatherings of theatrical and other folk to whom night life was
attractive.
The rooms were decorated with things that White had gathered in his
frequent trips to Europe. The draperies and rugs, the furniture and
adornments were of the florid style of three centuries ago that
prevailed in Italy and France. His tastes ran to decoration quite as
much as to architecture, and his apartments in the tower revealed the
artistic side of the man more than any of his purely professional
achievements.
His acquaintance among stage folk ran not so much to those who were
regarded as the leaders in their
[Illustration: HATTIE FORSYTHE
Chorus girl, once a friend of Mrs. Thaw.]
profession as to those who were willing to “make a night of it.” And it
was from these “all nighters” that Mr. White drew the material for the
“studio parties” that at one time brought notoriety to the Madison
Square Garden tower.
In the field of decoration, White had established a place for himself
unlike that of any architect. He was accustomed to make trips to Europe
to secure collections of various kinds. He would get materials for a
Francis I. room or a Louis XVI. room, bring them home, and store them to
be sold later to some rich man who was looking for fads in household
decorations. Sometimes he would collect windows and doors. At other
times he would scour France and Italy for hangings and draperies.
After the tragedy there was great diversity of opinion in the
architectural world as to White’s standing as an architect. Some of the
architects did not hesitate to say that he was the greatest in the
profession in his country since H. H. Richardson. Others asserted that
he shone largely by the reflected light of his partners, McKim and Mead.
It is certain that no architect was called upon oftener to serve on
juries to pass upon the merits of designs for the great buildings of the
country than White.
Those who decried his abilities said that much of the work ascribed to
White was really the work of McKim or Mead. Their tastes ran to the
severely classic designs and to what is known as the field of pure
architecture. It was declared that White, a disciple of the French and
Italian schools, could not have designed many of the buildings for which
he got credit as a member of the firm of McKim, Mead & White. One
architect said:
“The Boston Public library, the Columbia university buildings, the
Villard house, the agricultural building at the Chicago World’s Fair,
and other creations of the McKim firm were not and could not have been
designed by White. All through them runs the genius of Mr. McKim. White
ran to the lighter style of architecture, the florid, the modern, and
not to the Grecian or the severe and monumental style of purely classic
architecture.
“His mood was that of gayety and it expressed itself in his designs. The
bases of St. Gaudens statues lent themselves to his mood, and some of
his best work was done in connection with them. He was essentially an
artist rather than an architect, and his influence in his firm was along
the lines of the artistic rather than along the strict standards of
architectural expression.”
There were current also numerous stories regarding White’s private life
that were not of the creditable kind. It is not too much to say that he
was frequently under suspicion, but there was always something Lacking
in a legal way so that no open scandal attached to his name, although
evil reports were frequent. No action was taken by the investigators,
however, because of lack of tangible evidence.
One incident that contributed much to White’s bad reputation and which
illustrates forcibly his view of a “good time” was the “Girl-in-a-Pie”
affair, which was later to come out in evidence at the trial.
The famed “Girl-in-the-Pie” dinner was given to several artists and men
about town, with several notorious “fashionable” women in attendance.
The spread cost $350 a plate.
At the approach of dawn, four negroes entered, bearing a huge pie, which
they placed on the table. A faint stir was observed beneath the crust
just as the orchestra struck up the air of the nursery jingle:
“Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye,
Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.”
The pie was burst asunder, and from inside there emerged the beautiful
figure of a young girl, clad in black gauze draperies. She turned her
pretty childish face upon the astonished guests, and poised as a bird
about to fly, while two dozen golden canaries, released by her hand,
flew about the room.
Then, when the tableau was complete, a man forced his way to the side of
the table and with a smile assisted the child to the floor. The man was
Stanford White.
The young girl, a model, then 15 years old, lived with her mother, but
on the night of the banquet she disappeared, and remained in hiding for
two years. Efforts of the police to find her were unsuccessful.
At last she returned, to tell a story of revolting mistreatment and
desertion by the man who met his death at the hands of Harry Thaw.
“When I was lifted from the pie to a seat at the table I found myself
queen of the revel,” she said. “It was dazzling at first,” she said,
“but in the end it became a sad queendom.
“Mr. White was kind for a time, but when he went to Europe he instructed
his clerks to get rid of me with as little trouble as possible. I never
saw him again.”
Turned into the street to live as she might, this girl, not yet 18,
finally married, but her husband, when he learned of her part in the
“pie” banquet, brooded over the affair, and deserted his girl wife
without attempting to avenge her wrongs. She died soon afterward.
Stanford White was as respectful to women of the stage who demanded
respect as he was to his wife’s friends.
He was one of a group of men, old and young, who are oftenest seen in
and near theaters where frothy nonsense charmingly unclad is enacted and
in restaurants where musical comediennes tempt their dainty appetites
with broiled lobster.
He knew many theatrical managers, and some of them often invited him
behind the scenes--but not to inspect the architecture.
Stanford White was indefatigable in his pursuit of beauty in his work
and in his play. He was generous and considerate. He would hide a $100
bill in a bouquet he ordered handed over the footlights; he would visit
a poor, sick chorus girl when she thought herself friendless in a
hospital.
Once in a while, Mr. White gave entertainments in the tower, at which
the women and men of society were his guests. But there were other
entertainments on which Venus, not Diana, should have looked down. At
them, if a girl danced on the table she did not scratch the mahogany.
Stanford White vastly admired adolescence. His death was a tragedy and
is a warning. His last night was typical of his method of life.
He dined with his son; he went to his club. From his nearest kin and his
honorable friends he turned to the structure his genius had raised,
where was hid his “studio.” The lights and music of the roof garden
enticed him. And in the presence of the woman who vows he ruined her
life he perished by her husband’s hand. And the last jangle that sounded
to him was a comedy song: “I could love a million girls.”
Madison Square garden, which he created and where he met his death, was
known as his “pleasure house.”
What an awful warning, to the would-be-young-man-about-town! With all
his subtle experience, with his fawning servants and paid detectives,
even Stanford White with his millions could not avert the hand of
vengeance. “Be sure your sin will find you out.” Sooner or later a
settlement must be made. Lucky is he whose balance is on the right side
of the ledger.
[Illustration: THE BIRTHPLACE OF EVELYN NESBIT THAW AT TARENTUM, PA.]