The Mystery of Serena

There are lots of Livingstons, and each one has a story.  There are so many different Livingston lives in the family tree that even after eight years, I am often surprised when a new one lands in my lap.

That was the way when I received this mysterious letter from Brian Cushing at a Kentucky historic house called Locust Grove:

"I work with Historic Locust Grove in Louisville, Kentucky. One of the first generation to grow up here, George Croghan, married Serena Livingston, daughter of JR Livingston, ca. 1816-17. I am currently designing a special exhibit on George Croghan's life and, while he is incredibly well documented in extant correspondence, etc, we have very few letters and comparatively little specific information on Serena. We know that the marriage was very troubled, three of their seven children survived, her property was officialy secured as hers in 1844 so that George could not make use of it to pay debts, etc., and that she wound up in San Francisco sometime after George left for the Mexican War in 1846. Does Clermont have any documentation on Serena that may help us paint a more complete picture of her life and side of the story?"

Well then!  I have to admit, the notion of a "troubled marriage" had me curious.  I went to my usual "first source," A Portrait of Livingston Manor, and here is what I found:

Serena was Chancellor Robert R. Livingston's niece.  According to the Livingston Genealogy, Serena was born in 1804, the daughter of Robert's brother John R. (at left) and his delightfully pretty second wife Eliza (below at right).

Serena grew up in New York City and likely spent time in the Hudson Valley with her Livingston family as well.  Her uncle the Chancellor was firmly ensconced at Arryl House; her aunt Janet was all set up in Montgomery Place by 1805.  Other aunts, uncles and distant cousins were scattered around the area as well. 

Portrait also mentions Serena's marriage to George Croghan (pronounced "Crawn"--I've apparently been mispronouncing it for years), but nothing of interest beyond that.  Case closed.  Mystery of the "troubled marriage" yet unsolved.

But then I received a message back from Brian at Locust Grove, and the story got even more interesting:

George, born in 1791, was a hero of the War of 1812.  Apparently he'd shown great promise in the military and was a bit of a celebrity.  He and Serena were married were married in 1816 or 17.

Wait--what?  Do the math.  George was about 24.  He was established financially and appeared to have a good career ahead of him. 

But Serena, SERENA was born in 1804.  That would make her as young as 12 when she got married.  That's seems very young, especially amongst the Livingstons who usually let their girls mature a bit before marrying them off.  Her cousins, Margaret Maria and Betsy, were married when they were about 17 and 18.  Her uncle's wife Nancy Shippen was 18.  Her aunt Gertrude was 22.  Cousin Harriet Livingston Fulton was also 22.  Her aunt Janet (who admittedly married late) was 30.

You get the idea.  Either someone got a date wrong somewhere, or Serena was the youngest Livingston marriage I've yet encountered.  Let's be charitable and say that was born early in 1804 and married late in 1807, making her almost 14 (the image at left shows Serena in her early teens, possibly around the time of her marriage).

At any rate they stayed in the Hudson Valley for as much as a year or two, where young Serena would continue to have the support of her family.  And then they moved to New Orleans and bought a plantation:

"They had the plantation by 1819; supposedly the climate and circumstances did not agree with Serena. We can't be sure what she knew of George's activities beforehand but when he attempted to sell the plantation to a Mr. Bell from New York in 1824, it slowly became apparent to everyone how badly George had been managing his affairs. The horses were dying and emaciated and the sugar works had never been completed because George never payed the workers; one had even gone to debtor's prison for his inability to pay his own debts because of having not been paid by George. By Louisiana state law, there was a lien on the property due to George's non-payment. Caroline Bell described George and Serena as leaving the area by night by boat to escape the sheriff. They went to Kentucky, where a militia captain guaranteed George's safety (apparently against extradition).  George was still a celebrity due to his August, 1813 defense of Ft. Stephenson. It's no wonder Serena was impressed when he showed up in New York in ca. 1816."

So let me get this straight.  Serena, now at the ripe-old age of 20, and responsible for two young children (she had already lost 4 in infancy), escaped with her husband in the dark of night.  Did the children go with them on this daring escape?

I'm willing to bet that this is not what Serena had bargained for--or what her parents had expected when they married her off to a prominent war veteran.  It took only five years for George to run the plantation into the ground.  For the first three years, her uncle Edward was not too far away at a plantation in New Orleans.  Had anyone known?  Surely dieing horses would be visible.  Had George ever let on about the state of things?  Did Serena ever write of these troubles to her family?  If she did, the papers were surely burned to maintain privacy.

And the story continues.  George somehow managed to go back--though Serena didn't or wouldn't join him:

"Against his older brother's advice and with the help of Andrew Jackson, George was Postmaster of New Orleans beginning as early as 1824 but certainly by 25. Somehow, he was able to go back without facing the consequences he fled from but he was struggling to settle the financial catastrophe left by the plantation deal. Serena eventually joined him in New Orleans; this time, they got to live in the city in a house provided by the Post Office.

It was during this time that George was wrangling with William Henry Harrison over what he felt was insufficient recognition for his actions at Ft. Stephenson. He was also looking for a way into a high ranking position in the army and accepted the office of Inspector General in February 1826; his reputation seems to have suffered by this point. Before he could leave New Orleans, however, there was an audit of the Post Office which revealed that George had been embezzling funds.

Here George's life seems to take a serious nosedive.  Not knowing his status or how on earth he ever got to this state of affairs (and maybe he didn't either), I can only view the next chapter of his life with compassion for both him and Serena:

Correspondences at that point seem to indicate that George attempted suicide but references to it are often vague.  By December of 1826, Serena was caring for George in Philadelphia and referred to him recovering from the "wounds" on his arms. Since she referred to plural wounds, I believe this indicates he attempted to cut his wrists. Serena seems to have been instrumental in keeping the whole thing quiet and George got to keep his job with the army.

What followed was years of struggling with money, borrowing from others, relatives doing whatever they could to help George financially, while he just spiraled deeper into debt. Reports eventually circulated that revealed whenever George was on tour with the army out of the site of Serena or family members, he was drinking heavily (described as "beastly drunk") and gambling. He was even described in one letter as having become an "object of disgust" in one location. His brother in law, Thomas Jesup, could not send his own daughters to school one season because of all of the money he had given to George. George and Serena were unable to send their own son, St. George, to school at one point. George narrowly escaped court martial but in May 1841, Serena confided in George's brother John about George's behavior to which John responded that he was afraid of George committing a "shocking act."

...By 1842, some sort of separation seems to have taken place, as George was mostly living with his brother John at Locust Grove [at right] ... but Serena was not. She did come and go, however, and [she] and George did spend time together."

Where were the children during all of this?  St. George was 20 in 1842, and his older sister was likely married, but his younger sister Serena Eliza was only 10.  I assume she with Serena, who was traveling between her Livingston family and her husband.  And what was the effect of all of this on the children?

"George had stopped drinking during this period and even joined a temperance society in Louisville. The repercussions of George's past actions loomed but he did not loose his rank. In October 1844, one of the Livingstons helped secure Serena's property for her so that George would have no control over it. He left for the Mexican War in 1846 and died of cholera in New Orleans in 1849, three days before his brother John."

This seems like a hard tale of a life that got out of control: gambling, drinking, and failure to maintain household after household.  I see repeated "do overs"--times when George tried to start again as the Post Master of new Orleans, by returning to the army, financial help from family members, even joining a temperance society to find an end to his drinking.  But these "do overs" seem to have only been short-term fixes for a long-term problem in his life that may never have been solved.

And what was Serena's take on all this?  Initially, at least, she was dragged along--a young woman racing along through the dark to escape her husband's mistakes.  As a woman, her rights were few.  She could not take over the finances, and divorce would mean that her children would be left with a man she clearly felt she couldn't trust.

Later she tried to resist being pulled down with him.  This began when she tried not to more with George back to New Orleans in 1825.  By the time she was 40, Serena was building walls around herself to protect her from George's continuing downward spiral.  She used family assistant to separate her money from his in 1844.  She found safety in distance by staying with her family in New York--but still she visited him in Kentucky, and they even conceived another child as late as 1832.  Was this wifely duty?  Or was it a woman conflicted and powerless to help a man she loved when he was bent on self-destruction?

Even the last image we have of her is in question.  It was painted in the 1840s, when Serena was around 40 years old.  With its harp and music, even the slightly out-of-date hair style, it is a reference to Serena's earlier portrait in the red dress (see above).  Nevertheless, the hair is blonde, and the face seems ageless--it could be either Serena or her daughter Serena Eliza, now 20.

Without Serena's own words, the answers may never be known.  The scandals of alcoholism and debt and suicide attempts were concealed, and along with them we've lost any hope of reassembling a full picture of the story.  Much of Serena's life will remain a mystery.

An Historian Remembers Chancellor Livingston

Reposted by permission of Tom Shanahan from the Register Star of Hudson, NY: 

It’s an anniversary which passed with little public notice – even here in his home county. That’s a shame.
February marked the death, 200 years ago, of Chancellor Robert R. Livingston. A leader in politics, diplomacy and business, he played a critical role in the development of this state and nation. His descendants still live here in the Hudson Valley.

A member of the “Committee of Five” which drafted the Declaration of Independence, he never actually got to sign the document he helped create, because he was recalled to New York to help draft this state’s first Constitution.

He was called “Chancellor” Livingston, not because he was the person who ran SUNY, but because he was Chief Judge of the Court of Chancery – the highest court in New York at the time. That made him the highest ranking judicial officer in the new national Capitol in New York City when the U.S. Constitution took effect, so it was his duty to administer the oath of office to George Washington for the first time.

As Ambassador to France, he negotiated the Louisiana Purchase – doubling the nation’s size for the bargain basement price of three cents an acre.

In France, Livingston met a fellow American, an inventor who was trying to sell a new method of naval propulsion to the French Emperor. Napoleon had spent the entire $15 million dollars earned from the sale of Louisiana on plans to invade England. Getting his entire army across the English Channel was a difficulty which would require at least three days. But when presented with the inventor’s idea of doing it mechanically, Napoleon dismissed it out of hand: “What, sir,” Bonaparte is reported to have said, “Would you make a ship sail against the wind and currents by lighting a bonfire under her deck? I pray you, excuse me, I have not the time to listen to such nonsense.”

Unlike Napoleon, Livingston saw the ingenuity in Robert Fulton’s idea. With his financing, Fulton’s genius, and the benefit of a monopoly franchise for steamboat operations on the Hudson – awarded them by the New York State legislature – they created the North River Steamboat of Clermont, the first practical use of a steam engine to propel a boat commercially. Clermont, of course, was the name of the Livingston family estate.

The steamboat Livingston had the vision to finance, transformed the nation. It made the 150-mile trip upriver from New York to Albany in 32 hours – essential, because their boat had to achieve speeds in excess of four miles an hour to maintain that monopoly.

But Livingston’s vision extended far beyond the banks of the river which flowed past his home. Even as the steamboat chugged past Clermont, Livingston knew that mechanized vessels plying the massive rivers of the territory he had negotiated away from Napoleon, were essential if that distant territory was to be inhabited by more than just a few adventurous souls. Together with Fulton and Nicholas Roosevelt, they built the first steamboat to travel the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers.

That wasn’t his only important financial venture. He was the largest investor in an enterprise conceived by Aaron Burr, the Manhattan Company. It was supposedly formed to provide drinking water to New York City, but was really a back door way to charter a bank – to compete with Alexander Hamilton’s Bank of New York, at a time when Hamilton controlled the state legislature and could block any competition.
Two financial institutions, competing for business, helped generate the capital to fund the industrial revolution, forced on this country by British blockades during the War of 1812. Without financing to develop expensive new machinery, the industrial revolution might have taken root here years after it actually did.

We will always owe a debt of gratitude to the Founders – brave men like Livingston who risked their lives to pluck this country from British rule.

But how relevant are Livingston’s other contributions today, when steamboats are a pleasant anachronism for gamblers to play on, our country has spread far beyond the boundaries of the Louisiana Purchase, and the industrial revolution is now concentrated in Asia?

Consider this – the successor institution to that original bank and water business called the Manhattan Company, still exists. It’s now called J.P. Morgan Chase.

Robert Livingston’s marble statue stands as one of New York’s two contributions to Statuary Hall in the U.S. Capitol (the other being George Clinton). There’s a reason for that. The last 200 years might have turned out very differently, were it not for Chancellor Robert R. Livingston.

***

Tom Shanahan is Executive Producer of the Webumentary: 1812 – Uncle Sam’s First War, and is a speaker in the New York Council for the Humanities Speakers in the Humanities program, on the same topic.

It All Started Here: Livingstons and the Mansions of the Hudson Valley

At Clermont, we love to say that "it all started here"--the Hudson River Valley mansions, that is.  It's a bit of an overstatement, but you may be surprised to know the number of mansions that were built by Livingston family descendants.

When the Historic American Building Survey (HABS) was done as part of the National Parks Service in the 1930s, one report listed "twenty-one contiguous estates along the east bank of the Hudson River between Staatsburg and Tivoli."  Fifteen of those have ties to the Livingstons, and there are plenty more that don't show up on the HABS list.  In all we can claim links to about three dozen dozen mansions along the Hudson Valley.  The Livingstons' architectural legacy here is staggering.  The houses run the gamut from stately Georgian and Federal rectangles to fanciful Queen Anne Revival confections, and while some are still privately owned, others are now museums that you can visit. 

All of this makes us at Clermont feel pretty important, the originators of a huge dynasty of grand mansions.  Looking at this list highlights below gives you a good idea of just how interwoven the Livingston family is with the history of the Hudson River Valley and New York.

Name: Staatsburgh--aka Mills Mansion--
Livingston Connection:  Gertrude Livingston Lewis, builder's wife, (1757), Maturin Livingston (1816-1888), and Ruth Livingston Mills (1855-1920)
Status: Museum
Staatsburgh, as we know it now (short for Staatsburgh State Historic Site), is a big grandiose Gilded Age mansion.  If you want marble and gold and silk on the walls, Staatsburg's got you covered.

It was originally a Greek Revival house, built by Morgan Lewis (a New York governor) in 1832 on the ruins of his previous 1792 mansion, which had burned.  His wife was Gertrude Livingston, a daughter of our beloved Margaret Beekman Livingston.  They married their daughter off to one of her Livingston cousins named Maturin Livingston.

Finally, Ruth Livingston (Morgan Lewis's great granddaughter) inherited the house, married wildly wealthy Ogden Mills and began updating her childhood home with vigor.

In 1895 they hired the fashionable firm McKim, Mead, and White to renovate the house into the palatial estate they truly wanted, seen above from the back side.  The results are grand in the extreme, and the museum is currently a favorite spot for the local public to visit at Christmas.  The over-the-top decorations are something to see!  You can befriend them on Facebook and follow their activities.  If you can't get there for a visit, which is the best way to really feel the impressive quality of the space, you should at least look through the photos.


Name: Montgomery Place
Livingston Connection:  Janet Livingston Montgomery, builder, (1743-1828), Edward Livingston (1764-1836)
Status: Museum

Janet Livingston was the oldest daughter of Margaret Beekman Livingston and no spring chicken when she built Montgomery Place in 1805.  She was given the land by her mother, and she named the estate after her husband who unfortunately died in the American Revolution after three years of marriage (originally she called it Chateau de Montgomery, but successive generations Anglicized it.).  It was a Federal mansion, a big rectangular block with good symmetry, a fabulous orchard, and a romantic waterfall in the back.

Without any children of her own, Janet passed the house on to her youngest brother Edward when she died, and Edward's darling Haitian wife Louise decided to tart the place up a little.  They hired AJ Davis to do it right, and the place achieved that grand blending of architecture and landscape that makes it so highly regarded today.

The house later passed into the Delafield family (who are closely married into the Livingstons--for instance Alice Delafield Clarkson Livingston was the offspring of both clans--and was eventually donated to Historic Hudson Valley.  Now it's one of Clermont's closest neighbors and right next door to Bard College.


Name: Teviotdale
Livingston Connection:  Walter Livingston, builder, (1740-1797)
Status: Private

Walter was descended from the Manor Side of the Livingston family and inherited this piece of the original manor when his father Philip the 2nd Lord passed away.

This is another classic Georgian block of house, proudly built of brick, and elevated well above the ground level to give it an imposing feel.  Built on a hill above the Roeliff Jansen Kill, the house may once have faced this broad creak and been remodeled later to focus instead on the entrance from the road on the other side of the house.  My favorite feature about this house is undoubtedly the funny little servant's passage that leads out of the dining room.  It is neatly concealed behind a decorative arch, making it seem as though your food is appearing out of thin air.  A matching passageway exists on the other side of the house, but this one leads to the exterior, suggesting that this building may once have had hyphens and dependencies (pg 784-6 in
Architecture and Town Planning in Colonial North America, Volume 2 for more examples of this architectural feature).

This house has come up in a couple of Clermont's blog entries as the home of Harriet Livingston Fulton, wife of Robert Fulton.  It passed out of Livingston hands in the 19th century and was generally ignored and unloved by the Delafields for a number of years.  I am told by the current owner that when his predecessor purchased it in the 1980s, it was derelict, home for farm animals and vagrants.  Now it is beautifully restored, though many choices had to be made that were conjectural because of an absence of evidence.  The current owner has occasionally opened the place up for public tours, and if you have the chance, I encourage you to hop on one!

Name: Wilderstein
Livingston Connection:  Thomas Suckley, builder, (1810-1888)
Status: Museum

This glamorous Queen Anne Revival mansion ranks somewhere between castle and confection.  It's got a five-and-a-half story tower, an amazing glassed-in porch, and enough brilliantly-painted trim to dazzle the uninitiated.  And the interior is just as good as the exterior.  Can you tell I love this one?

One of it's big claims to fame is that it was home to Daisy Suckley, whose intimate relationship with FDR was discovered through the discovery of a box of letters, literally hidden under the bed in this house. 

The house itself went through a lot of changes to get to this point.  It started out in 1852 as a two-story Italianate house.  The builder, though he didn't carry the name Livingston, was descended from the Manor side of the family.  His great-great-great grandfather was Robert the Founder.  If you need any more proof that they family identified themselves as Livingstons, check out the stained glass window at right in the dining room, installed later.  Yeah.  That's the Livingston crest.  They've also got a copy of Margaret Beekman Livingston's portrait hanging in the entry hall for everyone to see.

In 1888 Thomas's son updated it, almost completely obscuring the original house.  Though they hired a local architect, they also hired a Tiffany to decorate it and Calvert Vaux (of Central Park fame) to do the landscaping. 

The interior is mind-blowing--check out the griffin lamp that is mounted on the main staircase at left.  In fact, check out the whole set of photos taken during the 1933 HABS survey on the Library of Congress website.

The only thing about those photos is that they were taken as the house feel into disrepair.  The Suckley family had a reversal of fortune shortly after they remodeled the house, and it deteriorate steadily until Daisey Suckley's death in 1991.  It's hard to believe it got worse after the 1930s, but you have to imagine another 60s years worth of neglect.

Thankfully, now a private museum, Wilderstein has undergone some amazing restoration.  Really amazing.  Step by step, they are taking back to the glory that  young Mr. Suckley had envisioned in 1888.  Go there if you are ever nearby.



Name: Rokeby
Livingston Connection:  Alida Livingston Armstrong, builder's wife (1761-1822)
Status: Private


I've got to admit, Rokeby is my favorite of the Livingston mansions, and it's entirely because the whole first floor is lined with French doors, a personal weakness.  I once cleaned every single pain, inside and out, for a Friend of Clermont fundraiser there. It was worth it to see them all sparkling in the sunlight.

It's been in the news a bit lately as its current residents have decided to share their curious story.  One has even just recently published a book about her life there.

The house's story goes like this: Margaret Beekman's youngest daughter Alida built this house with her husband, and when their youngest daughter Margaret married William Blackhouse Astor, they tarted it up quite a bit.  After some additional work in 1895 this included an octagonal tower containing the paneled library, a massive drawing room designed by Stanford White (below from the Library of Congress), and landscaping by the Olmstead Brothers.

The house is full of twisting staircases and surprises in every corner.  Historic wallpapers and this terrific mural combine with an unusual floor plan to be just fabulous from every angle.  I won't bore you by trying to sum them all up, but instead direct you to the Library of Congress's HABS photos once again. 

The family's descendants have lovingly kept ahold of the home and its many outbuildings, making as few changes as possible, and they continue to live there today with the ghosts of their ancestors.

Name: Edgewater
Livingston Connection:  John R. Livingston, probable builder, (1754-1851)
Status: Private

John R. was the Chancellor's brother, and Margaret Beekman Livingston's 3rd son in 1824, when Greek Revival architecture was all the rage.  As a result, the place looks like a big temple sitting within view of the Hudson River.  According to the Classical American Homes Preservation Trust, he may have given to hi daughter Margaret to share with her husband.  When both John and his son-in-law died the same year, Margaret sold it right out of the Livingston family and left for England, but that didn't reduce its social importance.


The next owner almost immediately hired AJ Davis to add a library, conservatory and several outbuildings.  Eventually the house was purchased by author Gore Vidal and currently is occupied by Richard Jenrette, who keeps the house in a state that respects and honors its historic past (follow the link to see a stellar brief video of the space as it is now).  The light gleams in through more French doors,

This house was also the subject of a HABS visit, and the photos capture a house that never suffered the kind of neglect that some of the other Livingston mansions did. 

Mr. Jenrette has also occasionally opened the house up for private tours, and he demonstrates considerable pride in its current state.  If the opportunity arises, I recommend that you jump on the chance to visit this one as well.  They don't come often.


Name: Oak Hill
Livingston Connection:  John Livingston, builder, (1750-1823)
Status: Private, with some public use

Yet another Livingston named John built Oak Hill, this one descended from the Manor side of the Livingston family.  He was Walter of Teviotdale's cousin.  Like many other Livingston mansion from the early generations, this one is a weighty brick block of Georgian architecture.  Subsequent generations added a mansard roof on top and the large veranda (both visible in the 1900 image at left), but otherwise, it saw few major changes.

John Henry Livingston's mother Cornelia was born at Oak Hill, and the family traveled back and forth to the house frequently during the mid 19th century.  The house actually remained in the family, and Livingston descendants still live there.

Although Oak Hill is still a private home, you can get married there; the house's lovely lawn can be rented for weddings and receptions.  The family has even used their lawn for some of the Livingston Family Reunions, held every five years (last held in 2012). 


Name: Hoyt House, aka The Point
Livingston Connection: Geraldine Livingston Hoyt (1822-1897)
Status: closed

The last Livingston house I'll pay tribute to today is Hoyt House, known by the family as the Point.  Hoyt House is "a point" of controversy, having been taken from the family by eminent domain in 1963 during a period of massive expansion of the New York State Parks under Robert Moses.

It is rumored that his original plan called for the removal of the house in order to make room for a swimming pool (the same fate was slated for Clermont), but fortunately the plan was not enacted, and the house waited for years to find out about its future.  It waited for so long that it eventually began to fall into disrepair and was subject to vandalism.  Now, some 50 years later, a new generation of Parks Recreation and Historic Preservation staff are looking for answers to preserve this once-beautiful home.

This cross-gabled, but primarily square structure was designed by Calvert Vaux and built in 1855.  It boasts naturalistic stone walls, and it resembles some of his homes in his 1857 book “Villages and Cottages.”  Only a few changes were made during the century that it was occupied so much of Vaux's original structure remains present in deteriorating condition.

Gertrude, wife of Lydig Hoyt, who commissioned the house, was descended down from both Robert "the Nephew" and dear old Margaret Beekman Livingston via her daughter Gertrude Livingston Lewis of Staatsburg (I know, I know!  One day I'll figure out how to post a semi-respectable family tree for Blogger--it gets a little crazy sometimes).

There is hope for Hoyt House.  The Calvert Vaux Preservation Alliance, working with New York State's new generation of staff, has made strides in generating funds for roof repair--one of the most critical ways to slow deterioration of the building while continued efforts are made to save it.  You're not likely to have a chance to visit Hoyt House any time soon, but hopefully, continued fundraising will make it possible in the future.  You can even donate right on the Preservation Alliance's page!


Well, this is a far cry from a complete listing of Livingston mansions, but you get the point. Just to wrap things up, I think I'll list off a few more of the Livingston homes, each with its own fancy name:

Callendar House / Sunning Hill
John Jay Homstead
Forth House (at right from Schoolfield Country House)
Grasmere (Janet Livingston's home before Montgomery Place)
Southwood
Midwood
Northwood
Oak Lawn/ Oak Terrace
Mystery Point (Edward Livingston)
Holcroft (Alice's house growing up)
Locust Grove
Rose Hill
The Hermitage
Wildercliff
Springwood
Teviot
Talavera

Alright, you get the idea.  Like I said, there are over three dozen Livingston mansions in this region!   The Livingstons left a wide selection of beauties in the Hudson Valley, ranging from big over-the-top monstrosities (I use the term affectionately) to smaller, more manageable homes, stretching across two centuries of lovely, lovely architecture.  I mean, considering how prolific the Livingston family was, and that that all of them wanted somewhere nice to live, it's no surprise that this catalog of great architecture can all be linked to them.

Many have been lost to fires or neglect over the years so preserving those that remain--either as private homes or as museums--is a kind of special pursuit that almost becomes a bit of a club.  I've been lucky enough to be invited inside to see several of these houses; hopefully you have that chance too!

Postcards from the Sea

In honor of the Titanic's 101st anniversary this weekend, I thought I'd take a moment to note some ship-themed images from Ollie's stash of early 20th century post cards.

Ocean liner travel was often portrayed as grand and luxurious in the early 20th century, and images of the vessels highlights their massive size, towering above the viewer seeming to be so big that one person could not see the whole thing at once.  Their size and power seemed to capture the industrialized spirit of the early 20th century.

Nevertheless the realities of cramped quarters and common spaces strictly divided by class are pretty well-known both now and at that time.  Ollie herself had come from Denmark on the Hellig Olav (cabin shown at right and another from a sister ship below at left) in 1906.  Space was tight, natural light was a luxury, and there was plenty of time to kill.

Perhaps it was the thought of that recent crossing that made Ollie's friend Helen send her a postcard with a large ship on it in April of 1906.  The Kaiser Wilhelm II proudly belches steam into New York Harbor, escorted by a number of small boats.

The Kaiser Wilhelm II was known for glitzy accommodations with a spacious, naturally lit drawing room (complete with grand piano) for first-class passengers. That reputation was later tarnished by a famous 1915 photograph by Alfred Stieglitz entitled The Steerage that depicted the accommodations for the lowest class of passengers.  Like many steamers, she prided herself on speed and won the Blue Riband for the fastest eastbound crossing in 1904.

 

The Livingston family made plenty of trans-Atlantic crossings too.  In 1870, when John Henry Livingston married his first wife Catherine, the two took the Grand Tour, and in 1890 their daughter Katherine went off to cavort around England (which she liked so much, she eventually moved there), and eventually her widowed father joined her for exotic trips 'round the globe--all by steamer.

Later, in 1906, when John Henry married his long-time neighbor Alice Delafield Clarkson, they again took off for Europe via steamer, and finally they and their children made numerous crossing when they moved to Italy for six years in the 1920s.  Their first crossing was in 1921 on the SS Rotterdam (above and below).  On many of the crossings with the children, Mr. and Mrs. Livingston were sure to snap some photos of the important occasion: the girls were joining a special group of well-traveled individuals.

All of this travel across the Atlantic took time--around a week usually, and companies made an effort to depict the travel time as pleasurable for first class passengers at least.  They competed for passengers with fine dining establishments (the Mauretania's at right and Hellig Olav's below), drawing rooms, parlors cafes, and music rooms.  Parquet floors and ornate carpets made the whole place look like a grand hotel.  When the wealthy left their homes to travel, their was no need for them to take a step down in accommodations.  When you add up all of the crossings Alice Livingston made, she may have spent as much as 45 days at sea all told--that's about a month and a half!

When the Livingstons returned to Italy in august of 1923 after a summer trip home, Janet took the time to write to her old nurse from the ship:

Dear Oli,
It was very nice of you to go with us to the movy's [?] I like this ship very much
Janet

The postcard featured the large ship, steaming proudly ahead, dwarfing tiny sailboats alongside it.  In reality, the Mauretania had once been a glittering luxury ship, but by the 1920s was hard-used by the army in WWI and later re-fitted. 

Ocean liners disappeared from Ollie's post cards for the next thirty years or so.  Commercial transatlantic air travel began to make strides in the 1930s and 40s, speeding up travel times dramatically.  The novelty of flying across the ocean cast a bit of a shadow over the ocean liners, though it took a long time for airplanes to win out as the most common way to cross the Atlantic Ocean.

 Swedish American Line, m.s. Kungsholm, 1955

 Holland-American Line SS Statendam, 1958

 SS America, 1959

These later postcards seem to offer--well--a sunnier view of ocean liners.  There's less emphasis on the smoke belching from the ship.  Heck, the Kungsholm up on top is even portrayed on a harbor so still and sunny that the ship's reflection blinks up at it from the water.  Launched in 1953, she was still a pretty new ship, and must have still had quite a lot of sparkle on her.

The notes are from Ollie's friends:  "August & Dolly Breed,"  "Alma & Svest [?] Olsen," and "Mrs. Swift."  Crammed on the backs of the postcards are the same little pleasantries as always: "Having a good and relaxing time," says one, "I am enjoying a restful crossing," says another.  "We are having a nice tripp over the ocean."

It sounds like Ollie's friends were now enjoying the same kind of relaxing, comfortable travel once reserved for the wealthy--maybe even with shuffleboard, like Honoria and Janet played on the Rotterdam in 1923.  Perhaps to stay competitive in a market increasingly dominated by flight, these ocean liners had to begin extending some little luxuries to more passengers.  How did Mrs. Olsen's trip in 1955 compare to Ollie's in 1906?  How did it compare to the Livingstons' in 1923? 

Today passengers rarely steam their way across the Atlantic, though some lines do still function.  Travel across the ocean has become more of a vacation than a means to a destination.  Consider the popularity of cruise line industry, earning some $17 billion a year.  The luxury that was once offered only to the well-to-do is now a mainstream vacation choice for millions of people around the world.  you can cruise the Caribbean, Alaska, Mediterranean, and even the rivers of the world (including the Hudson!).

I think the most interesting twist of fate in this case that nowadays you have to fly in an airplane to wherever your ship will be departing from.