The Houses Lewis Bowman Left Behind: A Mount Vernon Story

Mount Vernon home designed by Lewis Bowman in 1917.
He and his family lived there until 1920. 

 

Bowman was born in 1890 in New York City. His family soon moved to a “Foursquare” on Franklin Avenue in Mount Vernon, N.Y., a fast-growing suburb.

“Foursquare”—because the clapboard house was boxy with a porch and a dormer, a rising architectural style that rejected ornate Victorianism. 

“Bowman”—because some people who live in the houses he designed more than 100 years ago have the habit of announcing: “it’s a Bowman!” as one might exclaim, “it’s a Picasso!” These homes are clustered in southern Westchester County, about 30 minutes by train from Grand Central Terminal.

Quite a few of the best-known, grandest houses that Bowman designed are located along Elm Rock Road in Bronxville, N.Y. They belong to very proud residents of a village that considers itself close to perfection, right next door to Mount Vernon. 

Yet Charles Lewis Bowman, who graduated from Cornell University in 1912 with a B.A. and an M.A. in architecture, left an equally consequential imprint in his hometown.

 

***

While studying at Cornell, Lewis Bowman (he dropped “Charles”) worked summers at the renowned architecture firm, McKim, Mead & White. The prestige did him no harm, of course, but he said it was like working in a factory.

Therefore in 1912 he returned to Mount Vernon, moved in with his parents,  and joined the Milligan Company.

House designed by Lewis Bowman for the Milligan Company, 1917.

Lewis Bowman's drawings for the house pictured above.

Andrew W. Milligan had made a fortune in metals before turning his attention to home construction in 1906. His trajectory resembled that of Andrew Carnegie and other capitalists who rode the wave of modern industry. Milligan sold many a battleship and cruiser to the U.S. Navy during its sweeping nineteenth-century rehabilitation. 

Now 50 years old, Milligan rented an office on First Street overlooking the railroad cut and joined forces with Walter King Cooley, a hometown real estate broker who had planned to become a physician but changed his mind.

“I consider the outlook bright!” Cooley proclaimed to anyone who asked about Mount Vernon’s prospects.  

Walter King Cooley
Who's Who in Westchester (1925)

Indeed, most American suburbanites looked forward to a charmed future.

Milligan and Cooley planned to build up-to-date homes on small plots in a variety of architectural styles. Alas, Milligan died unexpectedly in 1907. Cooley continued the construction business, which was quite successful. Subsequently, he reorganized the company and established Gramatan Homes, Inc.

Lewis Bowman was just 21 when Cooley offered him the position of chief architect.  

This decision transformed the new company.

Young Lewis Bowman in his studio
(Bronxville History Center)

 

The young man proved to be extraordinarily versatile. He created dozens of Colonials, Tudors, and English cottages that went up quickly during the boom years surrounding World War I.

I believe there are far more than have been identified. Clues appear in trade journals wherein Bowman’s designs were lauded. Occasionally, he published an article and sat for an interview. One can only hope that greater access to Bowman’s plans and properties will come someday, when the City of Mount Vernon decides to run a professional Building Department.

Bowman disliked modernism, insisting that he could not imagine swapping stone, brick, slate, and other classic building materials for steel.

Yet he embraced modern conveniences: underground garages, heated garages, the best furnaces and boilers, closets with shoe shelves, sinks flanked by porcelain drain boards, and so forth.

The houses that Bowman built in Mount Vernon fall largely within a slice of the Forster Tract (see previous post), a multi-acre property assembled by developers in the 1890s.  

Bowman designed this house for an investor's daughter. It is located on Frederick Place,
 Mount Vernon, N.Y. 

In 1917, Bowman decided to build his own house on a double lot in the Forster Tract. He had married Eleanor Holwick of Canton, Ohio in 1913, and their daughter, Jean, came along just as the house reached completion. Perched on a rocky corner, it incorporated features that would distinguish his later work.

House designed by Bowman, 1920, Mount Vernon, N.Y.

One wonders when Bowman began longing to be on his own. As the twenties progressed, he surely saw the possibilities. In the meantime, an unusual adventure awaited the Gramatan Homes gentlemen.

 

https://www.throughthehourglass.com/

 

*The company took its name from an Indian sachem who conferred land to white settlers, the area now encompassed by Eastchester, around 1700. The story has never been documented fully.    

 

   

 

 

  

 

   

 

 

 

 

Late Afternoon

https://www.throughthehourglass.com/2026/01/late-afternoon.html

The Forster Tract: A Mount Vernon Story

 

Corner of Forster & Primrose Avenues, around 1900

Around 1890, when the lawyer Frederick P. Forster shifted his gaze from Manhattan to Mount Vernon, N.Y., the burgeoning village was two years shy of incorporating as a city. 

Beyond the commercial district where the railroad chugged through, much of Mount Vernon’s four-square miles formed a patchwork of farms, fields, orchards, and eighteenth-century manors.

A 39-year-old Boston native, Forster thrived on real estate deals, buying and selling along the Hudson River and in Riverdale. In 1888 he came to Mount Vernon to referee an auction of contested land.

Before long he returned, now in partnership with three local men: Winfield, Murphy, and Lucas. These three were big boosters of the city and looked forward to investing in property and making a lot of money.

The blustery Winfield claimed he was already a millionaire, having made his fortune buying and selling land in South Dakota.

Forster had no particular affinity with Mount Vernon, although periodically during the next 20 years he would make noises about building a house there. The house never materialized, and it appears that Forster conducted business from a distance.  

Ironically, three city streets are named for him although he declined the opportunity to lend his name to a small park.

Original bricks are still visible under
street pavement on Forster Avenue.

That park, where my friend and I used to chalk up the sidewalks with childish pictures, lay in the middle of what became known as the Forster Tract.

Eventually the four men amassed 75 acres. Since the tract bore Forster’s name, his investment probably was the largest.

By 1901 they were on their way. “The Choice Forster Tract Being Improved,” one headline stated, “The Most Desirable Land in Fifth Ward.”

Winfield, Murphy, and Lucas hired men to regrade the terrain, lay out and macadamize the streets, and install sewers and gas lines after slugging out costs with the city.

On some of the new streets one might find an old farmhouse. But most of the lots stood empty, waiting to be purchased.  

 

SECURE FIRST LOTS AT BOTTOM PRICES.
High ground, flagged sidewalks, high terraced lots.

Only 10 minutes walk to Station.

 

The Forster Tract 

 

***

 

Alas or perhaps not alas, Frederick Forster never got to see the development of the Forster Tract. In 1912 he leased out the family home on West 84^th Street and skedaddled to Milton, Mass. with his wife Edith and six of their children.

There, in the winter of 1913, the Forsters hosted their daughter Dorothy’s wedding to a Yale man with the inimitable name of Rutger Bleecker Miller.  

Soon after, the scandal hit the papers. As executor of several large New York City estates, Forster had borrowed and embezzled upwards of $900,000, even causing one man to go to jail because he could not pay alimony.

The ensuing lawsuits and bankruptcy uncovered securities fraud.  

Forster’s defense—he claimed to have been afflicted with partial paralysis—did not hold water with the eminent Judge Samuel Seabury, who would go on to bring down Tammany Hall in the 1930s.

In 1914, Forster was forced to relinquish his unsold property in Mount Vernon. This may have broken his heart. If so, he did not suffer long, dying one year later at age 62.

I must confide that this news came as a terrible shock. Although it has been impossible to find a portrait of Frederick Prentiss Forster, I imagined him as an amiable bearded man who put the interests of his clients first.

It would seem to follow that the streets which bear his name—Frederick Place, Forster Avenue, and Forster Parkway—honored a generous spirit with an artful sensibility.

I love Mount Vernon, but it has a habit of misleading me.

 

 

 

To be continued.

 https://www.throughthehourglass.com/2026/01/the-forster-tract-mount-vernon-story.html/

Piano Lessons in Marble Hill

 

It would be perfectly fine for the 12-year old girl to ride the trolley across the 225^th Street Bridge. By 1940, she knew the city well and could glare fiercely at anyone who scared her.   

During those years her mother was chronically ill and often disappeared into hospitals and sanitariums. But Rose was around often enough to decide that her only child, Gloria, should have piano lessons, and she went about finding the right teacher.

That turned out to be Mrs. H. Victoria Wilde. Born in England in 1864, Mrs. Wilde immigrated to the U.S. in 1894. There, she taught piano and voice for decades.

Around 1910, Mrs. Wilde and her family moved from Brooklyn to an apartment in Marble Hill, N.Y.

New York, 1911
Mrs. Wilde, unknown woman, Elsie 
& Muriel, seated
(courtesy of the family)

Marble Hill is such an evocative name. One imagines Primrose Hill in London, with its panoramic views. Mrs. Wilde’s Marble Hill was a hilly hodge-podge of narrow streets lined with houses and apartment buildings. Except for the commercial district along 225^th Street, near the subway and trolley stations, the neighborhood stayed pretty quiet. It had its own charm.

There is a strange twist in the history of Marble Hill. Originally, in the time of the Lenape Indians who inhabited Manhattan until the early 1600s, a narrow creek, which the Dutch named “Spuyten Duyvil,” flowed around the northern tip of the island between the Hudson and Harlem Rivers.

In 1886, the city fathers decided to widen and reroute the creek to accommodate a growing number of barges and tugs. Over nine years, as laborers constructed the Harlem Ship Canal, Marble Hill was transformed into an island and subsequently, through the miracle of landfill, became part of The Bronx.

Politically, it remains affiliated with Manhattan. Marble Hill’s residents vote in Manhattan elections.

Amusingly, in 1939 the Bronx Borough President, James T. Lyons, planted a Bronx flag at the highest point of Marble Hill and claimed it for his borough.

Everyone laughed and the Times declared Marble Hill to be The Bronx’s Sudetenland.  

Trolley tracks on the 225th Street Bridge 

Gloria, her parents, and her grandmother lived in Inwood, the northernmost neighborhood in Manhattan. In order to get to Marble Hill, Gloria rode the trolley north on the lower level of the swing bridge that crossed the Harlem Ship Canal. Debarking on the other side, she’d walk a few blocks to Mrs. Wilde’s apartment.

Every spring, Mrs. Wilde hosted a piano recital to show off her students. She printed programs, so I know that Gloria performed pieces by Chopin and Grieg, Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, and Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue.

Program for Mrs. Wilde's recital, 1942. 
On the left, Elsie Wilde performs a song by Clara Edwards;
 on the right, Gloria Stromberg performs Gershwin.

The recitals were held in Mrs. Wilde’s living room. Perhaps you’re wondering how all of the pupils and their guests squeezed in.

Mrs. Wilde didn’t teach on a grand, not even an upright. Her piano, a spinet, was small with extra-short keys. Spinets became popular during the Depression. Though eminently affordable, they fell short of the rich tone of grand pianos.  

In addition to the spinet, the room held a chest of drawers and a couch. As many chairs as possible were rounded up for the audience. 

45 Marble Hill Avenue

While she managed everything with aplomb, things had been bumpy since Henriette Victoria Hodson Wilde sailed from England to America in 1894 at the age of thirty.

She arrived with her six-year old daughter, Elsie, and the man who would soon become her mercurial common-law husband, William (Willoughby) Wilde. He traveled under “William White.”

Henriette and Willoughby were met by a friend, Francis Wilde. He went by Frank. The two men were not related. 

They had a plan, however, so everyone set out for North Adams, Mass., where Willoughby had been hired to perform as an organist or choirmaster, possibly accompanied by Mrs. Wilde’s voice.

But Mrs. Wilde might have been indisposed because her second daughter, Muriel, was born in North Adams.  

Before long they were off to Oskaloosa, Iowa, where Willoughby had secured a position as the organist and choirmaster at the First Presbyterian Church. He also directed the new philharmonic society in town.

Mrs. Wilde became very popular in Oskaloosa. She gave vocal performances at musicales, women’s clubs, graduations, and churches. The local papers showered her with praise: “artistic,” “delightful,” “sweet and dainty,” “the gem of the evening.”

Meanwhile, Frank worked in bookbinding or real estate. Sometimes he sold clothing and fruit.

In 1895, the family moved to Reading, PA, where Sidney was born. Before long they were off to Lebanon, PA, as the family began its zigzag journey back east, ending in Marble Hill.

Willoughby S. Wilde surrounded by members of
his chorus for an operetta, "The Ballet of the Seasons,"
performed in Reading, PA, 1903.

Of course, Mrs. Wilde’s students did not know that the British lady in her mid-70s had inhabited far more American cities and towns than they could imagine.

The teacher possessed her own odd story and so did my mother, who took piano lessons for at least ten years and insisted that my brother and I do the same. But we never heard her play a note. 

Mrs. H. Victoria Wilde and Gloria held their years close.

They have gone away but the mysteries remain.

 https://www.throughthehourglass.com/2025/11/piano-lessons-in-marble-hill.html

 

*Deepest gratitude to Tom and Liz, who opened up their memories and files.

 

The Short Happy Life of Norman F. Wells: a Mount Vernon Story, Part II

 

Newspaper announcement, 1939

When he registered for the draft in 1918, Norman Wells described himself as a “print expert.”

His employer, the prestigious commercial art gallery M. Knoedler & Co., prized his knowledge and taste. Yet he had started his career as a clerk, uninitiated in the art world.

Nearly every summer between 1924 and 1938, Norman traveled with his wife Mathilde to Europe. There he met with art dealers and visited museums and chateaux, wherever an Old Master print might turn up and he could make an offer. 

Paris, London, Amsterdam, Geneva – which city did he love most?

That would be Mount Vernon, N.Y., where he grew up rough-and-tumble with the neighborhood boys; friendships forged for life.

Norman joined Knoedler in 1897 when he was 22. I imagine the commute, which would last for fifty years. He steps onto a train at the Mount Vernon West station and rides to the city; walks down Fifth Avenue to the firm’s rowhouse gallery at 34^th Street.

Over time the company moves farther north and Norman keeps rising.

He is a busy man.

Back in turn-of-the-century Mount Vernon, an exhilarated Norman just became a volunteer fireman with Engine Company 3, a position he would hold for the rest of his life. Commissioners, chiefs, deputy chiefs, superintendents, and captains—he knew them all and they loved him like a brother, revered his modesty and judgment.

Mount Vernon, N.Y. Fire Department, 1908

Norman also had just dipped his toe into local Republican politics. During the next four decades, he would attend every party dinner, meeting, and inaugural buffet. He hobnobbed with the popular Mayors Edwin Fiske and Edward Brush and sought appointments on local commissions.

Perhaps his favorite Mount Vernon pursuit was the Mike Nitz Bowling Club, organized in fall of 1897—that lucky year—with Norman as its captain.

The club’s first big event did not occur at a bowling alley but on City Island, which is located in Long Island Sound very close to The Bronx.  

City Island is fun, the way it transports you to an eighteenth-century village on the Massachusetts coast. In 1897, when the bowlers crossed the bridge in a carriage lent by the local funeral home, City Island must have been a blast. 

City Island Drawbridge circa 1880
www.bridgesnyc.com 

Norman and nine of his friends went to Flynn’s Restaurant, where they danced till midnight and then devoured a sumptuous feast, according to the Mount Vernon Argus. Everyone was home by 4 in the morning.

In 1898 they had another great time: dinner at Bock’s Alleys in Mount Vernon, followed by performances on banjo and xylophone.

In 1899, the highlight of the year turned out to be a Decoration Day outing with baseball, fishing, boating, and a shore dinner to beat the band.

Checking the old scores in the local papers, I understand why the Mike Nitz bowlers were happiest when they were eating and drinking. The club ranked poorly in its league.

But the happy bowlers persisted: beer bottler William Hobby, lawyer George Appell, saloonkeeper Alvin Bardes, county clerk Leon St. Clair Dick, jeweler Alfred Schickerling, diamond setter Martin Van Orden, and Norman Wells.

They rolled on after Norman’s death, and never forgot him.

Parke-Bernet auction catalogue, 1946.
Mrs. Wells sold most of the couple's prints.  

See part I, August 13, 2025

https://www.throughthehourglass.com/2025/10/the-short-happy-life-of-norman-f-wells.html 

Note: During the summer of 1940, Mathilde Wells presented the Mount Vernon Public Library with print cases for the new Norman F. Wells Alcove on its spacious second floor. She changed the displays seasonally—bird etchings, scenes of old New York, and work by modern artists Louis Lozowick and Martin Lewis—until her death in 1964.

The Mount Vernon Territory

 

During the 1960s, we lived in a Tudor house on a corner lot, built in 1917. Ivy crept up the stone chimney and twirled around an iron lantern at the front door.

The street it faced felt dim and mysterious yet wide and bright. A straight, quiet street with overarching sycamores and a slate sidewalk of many hues.

Sidewalks lilted up the sunny side of the street and darkly down the other, shaded in part by a granite precipice on which two homes perched.

The massing of slate, brick, and stone beneath tall trees was like a piano chord played by a child who holds the “sustain” pedal for as long as possible.

And Forster Avenue has, more or less, sustained itself.

The exception is a few houses that are falling apart, including the Tudor house on the corner where the windows are broken, the iron lantern has disappeared, and the weeds are as a high as an elephant’s eye.

I’m not optimistic.

But the Manhattan lawyer Frederick Prentiss Forster sure was optimistic when he came bounding out of Manhattan to make a mint in Mount Vernon, N.Y.

Frederick Forster did not actually attend law school but he was a Harvard graduate, class of 1873, who made his way to New York City where he boomed in the real estate business.

You don’t need to visit the municipal archives to examine the rolled-up maps that crackle with time. Every day the newspapers published Forster’s voluminous transactions in fine print, and now it’s all digitized. 

Forster moved from firm to firm, sometimes working with his older brother George, brokering deals largely on the Upper West Side. There, on West 84^th Street, he commissioned a five-story brick mansion for his family.

During the late 1880s, he had some business in Mount Vernon, N.Y., in southern Westchester County. Something about the place grabbed him. Ev'rythin' was up to date in Mount Vernon: newspapers, funeral homes, even a department store. The city fathers had just laid the cornerstone for a hospital.

And they had already made a grave mistake—the decision to lower the train tracks that passed through the commercial district. Italian immigrant laborers performed the back-breaking work. In effect, the railroad cut segregated the city and still does today.  

Digging the railroad cut in Mount Vernon, N.Y., 1894
 (Westchester County Historical Society)

“Developer” wasn’t a term yet, but Mount Vernon's real estate men had been busy since the Civil War ended. Now, as the 19th century wound down, the descendants of 17th-century landowners were ready to let go.    

It wasn’t Forster’s style to show up one day like a stranger in town. He found three associates: Richard M. Winfield, a newcomer to Mount Vernon, and John H. Murphy and Edwin Lucas, who had spent most of their lives in the city.

Was there a glint of the Wild West? Pocket watches and checkered vests. Nary a gun in sight, although they were girded with purchase agreements and leaky pens.

Not to mention that Lucas was once charged with assault in the third degree when he punched out a restaurant keeper.

Walking the dirt roads on the north side of the city, the four men eyed family estates, farmland, and even a golf club, which they eventually assembled into one parcel. The Forster Tract would encompass 75 acres.

The Tudor house on the corner lot rose years later, after Frederick Forster fled New York in disgrace. 

Even today, more than a century later, certain Mount Vernon foreclosure notices refer to the Forster Tract, Map No. 1603, filed in the county's Register's Office on March 19, 1906. It looks like one has already been served on the house I love.   

 

Map with the Forster Tract marked, 1920s

To be continued. 

https://www.throughthehourglass.com/

The Short Happy Life of Norman F. Wells: a Mount Vernon Story, Part I

M. Knoedler & Co.
14 East 57th Street, 1900 

 

Like many commuters, Norman Wells traveled by train between the suburbs and the city for nearly 50 years. It was just a half-hour ride from his hometown, Mount Vernon, N.Y., to Manhattan.

On Valentine’s Day, 1939, he left work on East 57^th Street and walked over to Grand Central Terminal, probably stopping to pick up a box of chocolates or a bouquet of flowers for his wife Mathilde.

On the train, he suffered a heart attack and died. He was just 65.  

At the time of his death, Norman Freeman Wells had achieved success that far exceeded his family’s expectations.  

He and his wife Mathilde lived in a large stucco house on the fancier side of town. Their home was filled with art, and the couple traveled extensively.  

Walter Wells, Norman’s father, descended from early English settlers. He had been a carpenter since boyhood. In the 1890s, he started building pedestals and managing display equipment at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In 1897, Norman began his career at M. Knoedler & Co., art dealers with an impeccable reputation, specializing in Old Master prints and post-Impressionist art.    

It’s not clear how Norman found his way to the gallery. He had no formal education in the field and must have been a quick study because he rose swiftly in the organization.

During the late nineteenth century, however, such a trajectory occurred more often than one might expect. As the antiquarian art market became increasingly competitive, enterprising young men sought entry-level jobs at shops and bookstores that dealt in maps, prints, and engravings.

Some started off sweeping floors. Those who prospered might eventually take over the store or go out on their own.

Originally, M. Knoedler & Co. was part of Goupil, Vibert & Cie, a Paris auction house that established a New York branch in 1848.* The branch’s founder, Michael Knoedler, eventually bought out Goupil. He left the gallery to his son Roland, who hired Norman as a clerk and promoted him quickly.

Knoedler advertisement, 1905

In 1908, when Norman married a Mount Vernon girl, Mathilde Kelly, one of the Knoedler sons attended the wedding and the firm gave the couple a piano and music cabinet for their new home, a small frame house on N. High Street set on a corner lot with a stone barn.  

Most of their years would be spent there, on the city’s west side, a largely German and Irish enclave. The neighborhood was their comfort.

Mount Vernon, N.Y., 1900s

 

Every summer, the Mount Vernon papers published an announcement that Mr. and Mrs. Norman F. Wells had sailed to Europe, where they would spend two months touring and Mr. Wells would conduct business. 

Norman learned well from an older colleague, Charles Carstairs, who worked closely with such high-end art collectors as the industrialist Henry C. Frick and the financier J. P. Morgan, Sr. When Carstairs was sent off to establish Knoedler’s Pittsburgh branch and subsequently moved to London to direct that branch, he left room for Norman to flourish.

The younger man developed a friendship with Herbert Greer French, a vice president at Proctor & Gamble, whom he advised on purchases of Old Masters prints. Eventually, this multitude formed the core of the Cincinnati Art Museum’s fine prints collection.  

At the time of his death, Norman was Knoedler’s secretary-treasurer. Many an artist inscribed and presented prints to him, which must have brought him great happiness.

What was his true passion, however?

Knoedler Annual Dinner, 1907;
Wells is among those standing.

 

 

To be continued.

*Dates vary. In 1863, the business officially became M. Knoedler & Co. 

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