Every time I finish a painting, I feel a twinge of sadness accompanies the satisfaction of completion. It’s the bittersweet realization that for now, I’m letting go of the pursuit of discovering more about my subject. Immersed in its stories and thoughts, I find myself detached momentarily. It is swiftly overtaken by the excitement for the next painting, knowing that it will bring me closer to new stories, sometimes concealed, occasionally diverging from the familiar narratives. These twists and turns weave connections between me and the present painting subjects.
It wasn’t different for this particular building. She is a beauty full of mysteries and I had attempted to uncover her tales earlier, but she eluded me, hiding her stories behind many different house numbers, entranceways and even a street name alteration. Yet, when I finally committed to capture her, and really listen, she gave it all to me.
As she is standing on Jersey City ‘s John F. Kennedy Boulevard, she draws the attention and imagination of those who pass by. I remember my first encounter with her, she looked sad and withered. Abandoned and in shambles, still majestic but in a state that you feared she might just crumble. I frequently walked past, always pausing and contemplating when a caring soul would restore her to her original magnificence.
A couple years later, a new owner breathed life into her, igniting a sense of hope within me, shared by many in our city. The initial visible exterior changes were remarkable, but then, the progress stalled. I decided it was time to paint her, and I had already started sketching her form, when a text by a neighbor alerted me, she was back on the market. The treat coming with the listing was an opportunity to glimpse inside her, revealing gutted interiors, evidence of a grand project initiated with the best intentions. Now, the torch was to be passed, urging another old house lover to carry it forward. My phone buzzed incessantly that day, abuzz with conversations from friends and acquaintances, all unravelling speculations - why was the owner selling, why the halt in the transformation? Amidst this, I thought “You truly called out to me, magnificent lady” and I sat down and started my usual research just to fall down into a deep rabbit hole.
She was built in 1900 by Edward B. Gumaer an architect and engineer born in Jersey City. Prior to this, Gumaer’s expertise consisted mostly of industrial projects. He was connected with the Pennsylvania Railroad Company’s engineering department, his portfolio featuring an array of notable designs - from an Oil Warehouse at Communipaw to a host of structures enhancing railroad functionality.
However, Gumaer had bought several lots in this neighborhood and his architectural plans started extending beautiful residential designs, likely a factor that led John S. Menagh to ask him to go all out and to create a grand mansion at the corner of Hudson Boulevard, now known as JFK Boulevard, and Gifford Avenue.
Menagh, a wealthy business man running a hardware enterprise wanted a spectacular home. I guess it was the McMansion of its time, if you think about it, although I am not sure any of the recent McMansions will be as awe-inspiring to future generations.
The first floor was definitely built to host and more importantly impress guests. The reception room - the fireplace, the staircase, the intricate moldings - all captured in a photograph shown a bit further down below - made me swoon..
The vast layout may have proven quite difficult to maintain. Completed in September 1901, an investment of 25,000 Dollars, nearly a million dollars in today’s terms, but only 3 1/2 years later, passed on to the Bliss family, the Menaghs moving on to 84 Glenwood Ave. The mansion passed through several hands, a narrative that both intrigued and saddened me. From the Bliss family, my research journey led me to Robert Griffin, president of the Griffin Wallpaper Company. The striking lady, it seemed, struggled to find her rightful role as a home, perhaps her grandeur wasn’t tailored for family life in that era, as the Griffins only stayed a couple years before renting her out and advertising her features as suitable for a a doctor’s office or business premise with an adjoining home.
Then, a tragic episode in 1933 marked a sad chapter of the mansion. Harry Bol, working for an extermination company and sent to fumigate the home, succumbed to cyanide exposure, leaving behind insurance questions of value and responsibility of human lifes to be solved by higher courts.
The mansion’s subsequent years saw occupancy shifts and major renovations and modernizations with notable figures like Dr. Solomon Ben-Asher and Dr. Lobban. Dr. Lobban, by far the name best remembered as connected with the mansion by people who grew up in this city.
In the 1980s she embraced a new role, housing the Agudath Shalom Congregation, a connection bridging my recent painting finished just a couple months ago.
Years of transformations and changes in ownership, the grand lady was veiled by neglect and time’s passage. 123 years of countless changes, erasing and reconfiguring her features. While some original elements were lost due to exposure, her potential to shine anew remained. Listing images, show two years of dedicated restoration efforts, deserving nothing but applause. I have lots of hopes that another steward will step forward, guarding against her further deterioration.
And so, the painting found its origins in this intricate narrative, in case you ever wonder ;)
In another post, I will circle back to Edward B. Gumaer, as there are other stories to tell about him that are interwoven with this city, so stay tuned.
Nat
Fascinating!!!!